#{ anyway. you have no idea how down i am to ship them and you are safe with me }

[greatsealed]

SHIPPING SHEET || ALWAYS ACCEPTING! || @epitomees

epitomees asked: 🚢 (taps fingers uhhhhh Aigis please)

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts (technically true regardless sfdgdsf) | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance (staring at verses where minato is freed from the seal) | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between (i'd be down for either scenario! "jumping right in" would be a bit easier with a shippy meme imo, but i'd love to explore a ship between them regardless!)

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: i have such a weird preference for minato being shipped with characters who technically aren't human (cough cough aigis and ryoji cough)... with aigis specifically, i think it comes from a place of minato feeling safe and loved in a way he's forgotten over the years. is it awkward at first to have an android cling to you like you're the most important person in the world when you've known each other for two seconds? yes. BUT does it eventually become comforting, especially when aigis starts discovering her own emotions? absolutely. over time, he'd come to realize just how much he cares about and even loves her. that said, he'd attribute aigis' feelings to some kind of malfunction (like ikutsuki suggested) until and unless aigis proved otherwise. he's the type to realize that he's falling for someone and shut it down because he's scared of his own feelings, which makes the "malfunction" idea a golden ticket for him. tbf, he is and will always be the type who needs someone else to make the first move, but that is ESPECIALLY true for aigis :')

[skitskatdacat63]

Ship dynamic in which the older, more jaded Character A insists to the younger, idealistic Character B that their youthful idealism will eventually be ground down by the harsh realities of the world, based off their own personal experience, much to B's disagreement. But then, when A actually witnesses B lose that sparkle in their eye over time, they don't feel as triumphant as they thought they'd feel. Maybe deep down, they had hoped that B would prove them wrong.

[ohcorny]

How I Made the Colors in Hunger's Bite So Good

first of all: buy my book. buy it and look at the colors. (if you cannot buy the book, ask for it at your local library or i GUESS you can look at these spreads i posted)

we're gonna talk about colors, but more specifically we're going to talk about overlays. if you're an artist you are probably familiar with overlays. we love our overlays. we love to color a picture and then at the very last minute go 'hm. looks bad. i'm going to put a yellowish overlay on it to make it look less bad :)'

do not do this.

i mean you can, and it'll work sometimes, but all you're really doing is tricking your brain into thinking different is better. you've been staring at the image for potentially several hours. none of the choices you made at the beginning mean anything to you anymore. you're just finishing what you started. one of the big reasons you might look at your art and go 'man, this doesn't look that good' is because You drew it and are intimately familiar with it. you know all the flaws and mistakes because You made them and You know what your vision was. one of the great frustrations with art is that the piece in your head doesn't look like something you actually made. you want it to look like somebody else did it, so you can enjoy it as a viewer, not as the creator.

so when you put that overlay on, and suddenly the image looks very different, your brain will go 'this doesn't look like the thing i've been staring at for 2-3 hours! this is different! now it's good!'

and again, sometimes it Is good. but do you actually understand why it's good? or is it just different?

okay so what am i supposed to do smart guy

i'm glad you asked. the trick to making overlays work is to have them on from the start. this requires knowing what mood you want to convey in your scene from the very beginning. hopefully you know what mood you want to convey. you do, right? and i don't just mean happy or sad, i also mean safe, threatened, familiar, strange, soft and harsh. blue is not always sad. green is not always healthy. yellow/orange are not the only way to convey a companionable warmth.

okay did you pick the mood? do you have an idea of what color you want to use to represent that mood? great. i'm gonna use blue to convey the cool, clean white of a ship's maintenance corridor without making things literally white. and i'm going to stick in two characters whose color palettes consist of bright yellow, brown, and wine red. awesome. i definitely know how those colors would behave under blue lighting.

(here's the thing: no i don't.) this is where a gradient map correction layer comes in. i want my page to be Blue. alright. let's make a gradient map that's Blue.

a gradient map is basically just A Gradient with specific colors connected to specific values. you have your darkest values on the left, and your lighter values on the right. at 100% opacity, this gradient map layer will read the value of anything below it and go 'okay this bit is this dark, so it should be This shade of blue. and this bit is this light, so it should be This shade of blue'.

kind of like a hue or color layer except determined by a gradient rather than one color, so it could also go 'this is light, so it's green' and 'this is dark, so it's purple'. it's math. i don't really get it either. but anyway this is probably not what you want if you want your characters' palettes to be recognizable. emery's sweater is supposed to be a wine red! neeta's skin should be brown, and her shirt should be yellow. these are their Key Colors. generally, i want them to be recognizable. so let's lower that opacity down.

nice! you can definitely now see that emery's sweater is red and neeta's shirt is yellow. and everything is relatively balanced. nothing is too saturated, nothing is significantly brighter than anything else. it's all got a little bit of blue in it. but i've skipped the step of actually picking your colors. because here's the thing with gradient maps.

they hate you and want to fight. when working with gradient maps you must imagine there is a monkey sitting on your shoulder dumping paint in every time you pick a color. the monkey has a tube of blue and he is going to put that blue into everything you paint, but it's not normal paint. it doesn't mix, it overtakes. it won't turn something yellow into green, it will turn it blue. it wants everything to be blue. if you want something to look like the color it's supposed to be, you will have to make it extremely saturated under the layer to essentially fight the paint monkey's blue. hence, emery's sweater is a BRIGHT red, so it will look a little more purpley under the blue. and neeta's skin is very orange, so it can be dulled down into a soft brown.

this is the sort of thing you will have to learn by feel, because it will be different with every gradient map, especially if you start getting into weird ones that aren't monochromatic. you want to know one of my favorite maps to use?

i have memorized where on the value scale all of these colors appear. i can color something using only shades of gray when i have this filter on. i am evolved. if you want to use gradient maps effectively, you'll have to get a lot of practice.

anyway this post got really long and i'm about to go to a movie so i'll talk about how to use screen/multiply/overlay layers later. but gradient maps are the main tool i used to make hunger's bite's palettes so unified across scenes. but you can see way above how they work to turn insane saturated colors into the nice harmonies--and the trick is that i'll never see those saturated colors while i'm working. because i have accepted the paint pouring monkey into my heart, and i trust him. except when i'm coloring wick's coat. holy mother of god every gradient map hated that man's purple coat.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Him (Them)

( So I decided 'fuck it' pitch pearl babyyy, I've seen other people do this ship and decided well why the hell not right. Anyways have fun!)

~

Phantom and his council were finally in the end processes to a peace treaty with Earth,

As years went on from what was once only the USA with their Ecto-Acts got worse. The GIW began opening in other countries without them truly realizing what they were allowing, until the Infinity Realms were at the point of declaring war on all of Earth itself.

The only reason that managed not to happen was because of Phantom finally being able to contact the Justice League and sit them down to have an actual conversation about everything that was going on.

That's where they were right now the world leaders, the 3 founders of the JL , and High King Phantom with his council arguing back and forth the peace treaty.

Phantom turned as one of the men stood up

" And just how are we supposed to truly trust you and yours to not take over or cause harm to our people?"

Others began chiming in, arguing that there was no true guarantee in what Phantom was saying.

Until a voice towards the back called out an idea

" Marriage! To truly unite our worlds in peace King Phantom must marry one of our own!"

Phantom subtly tensed the idea of a loveless marriage to a complete stranger made his core tremble with rage.

He glanced around seeing the looks of the people around him, he saw their greed for his power and status, their point for the marriage would be to control him or at least give them an advantage.

Phantom tuned out the arguing between the JL and the rest.

Thinking of what to say to get out of this situation without risking the treaty.

Snapping back to attention holding back a sharp smirk.

" Gentlemen if what you fear is the safety of your people then do not fret I have protected and saved your people and world since my creation, as for your request of a marriage to unify our world then I have wonderful news for I am already married to one of your people and even have children with him."

Phantom looked at the shocked faces around him, a couple grimacing or frowning at their missed opportunity to have control and access to him by one of their chosen.

A rather stupid man for what else could he be with what he said next.

" Then divorce him and marry someone that we find more suitable!"

Phantom's form distorted around him as he processed what he had just heard.

" Divorce? You wish for me to Divorce my husband, the one who I cherish above all else, the one I have shared my core the very being of myself with. The one who I gave my very being and soul to create our children. The one who is half my being, the one who if not for him we wouldn't be speaking at this moment because it was only his word that kept me from declaring war on your world."

"Make no mistake I do wish for peace between our worlds, many of my people are from this world and would like to continue to stay or visit especially for their loved ones, and I would like that for them without the danger of being hunted and torn apart."

"For if I wished war your planet would not stand a chance for what is a few million of your soldiers compared to my infinite soldiers that only would continue to grow as yours died."

"For him I fought and won against the previous tyrant King for daring to to cause him pain, the very King who only was defeated previously by the combined efforts of the strongest in the Infinite Realms, The very same King I defeated alone."

"So please do continue talking against my husband."

"..."

"What is his name?"

"Danny Fenton."

~

Just an Idea

[slut4kwon]

every version of you

pairing: choi seunghyun x fem! reader

synopsis: you’ve been best friends your entire lives. you danced in pink pointe shoes, while he scribbled lyrics in his notebook. he’s cheered for every twirl, and you’ve clapped for every verse. you’ve been there for each other through every moment. except, when everything you’ve both worked so hard for finally arrives at the same time, you’re left to wonder if the cost of chasing your dreams is losing the one person who’s always been a part of them.

warnings: 18+, mild swearing, angst with happy ending, fluff, miscommunication, emotional conflict.

authors note: i can’t even tell you guys how much i love this story, and the amount of joy it brought me while writing it. dancing has always been a way for me to cope with my emotions, so actually putting that feeling into words was strangely healing (i never did ballet but the idea is the same). anyways, i hope you guys love this as much as i do! it’s pretty long and will definitely hit you right in the feels, so be ready. i love you all! ♡

you don’t really remember a version of your life that didn’t include choi seunghyun.

he’s in every single moment of your childhood. 

every scraped knee, every sleepover, every memory worth keeping. 

your moms were best friends before either of you were even born, so by the time you came along, the universe had already decided; you were his, and he was yours.

there was never a first meeting. it was just, always.

but if you had to pick a starting point, it would have to be the time you showed up to preschool in your little ballet outfit like it was a red carpet premiere.

a pink leotard, glittery tights, the frilliest tutu you owned, and of course, your favourite ballerina doll tucked tight underneath your arm. she came everywhere with you, but today felt extra important. 

three year old seunghyun was already in the classroom when you walked in. sitting on the alphabet rug, shoes off, building a block tower by himself. he looked up as soon as the door opened.

his mouth dropped open when he saw you.

he scrambled to his feet, tripping over one of the blocks in the process. “whoa.”

you blinked at him, confused.

he pointed, wide-eyed. “you look like her!”

you clutched your doll a little closer. “who?”

“your dolly!” he gasped. “the one you always bring. you look just like her.”

you looked down at her sparkly pink tutu and then at your own. “that’s ‘cause i am her.”

he nodded, like that made perfect sense, as his face lit up in that way it only ever did for you. “i’m gonna call you doll now. forever.”

your eyebrows scrunched. “forever?”

“uh-huh.” he stepped closer, serious now. “’cause you’re the only one who looks like a real dolly. and you’re my best friend.”

you paused. “but what if someone else calls me that too?”

his nose wrinkled. “no. it’s just me.”

“okay,” you said, after a long moment. “only you.”

and you meant it.

from that day on, you were doll. only to him, though.

no one else ever tried it more than once. not after the way he glared at a classmate for saying it in passing the next week. not after he grabbed your hand in the middle of lunch and told you, “that’s not your name unless i say it.”

you didn’t really understand what that meant, but you liked the way it sounded in his voice.

it was like a secret only you got to hear.

he always said it like that. like it was something sacred. like you were something sacred.

you didn’t call him anything special. not at first, anyways.

he was just seunghyun. or seunghyunnie, when you were feeling extra nice.

until one random afternoon during free time, only a few weeks after he renamed you.

he was at the art table, legs swinging, tongue poking out in concentration as he coloured in a lopsided rocket ship. crayons were everywhere, including the pink one he’d already set aside for you, like always.

you climbed into the seat next to him, tutu puffing out around you, your doll tucked neatly between your knees.

he didn’t even glance up. just nudged the pink crayon closer and kept drawing.

a rocket. a moon. two stick people floating in the stars.

“you forgot the fire,” you said, pointing at the bottom of the rocket.

“i’m not done yet,” he mumbled around his tongue.

you leaned your chin onto your hand, watching him. “it’s really good, hunnie.”

he paused. his crayon hovered mid-air. “…what?”

you looked up. “what?”

“what’d you just call me?”

“hunnie,” you repeated, like it was obvious. “your name’s too long.”

he blinked. “like…honey? the sticky stuff?”

“no,” you said immediately. “like you.”

he stared at you. eyes wide, cheeks pink, crayon still in his hand. “only you can call me that,” he said finally. very serious. 

you nodded, just as serious. “okay. but only if i’m still your doll.”

“you are,” he said, like that was the easiest answer in the world. and to him, it was.

he added a tutu to your stick figure before drawing spiky scribbles for his own hair.

you leaned over, inspecting the picture with a little frown. “you forgot my crown.”

his head popped up. “you wear a crown?”

“sometimes,” you said seriously. “when i’m being a princess.”

his eyes went wide. “you are a princess.”

you didn’t answer. just watched as he grabbed a yellow crayon and scribbled a big lopsided crown right on top of your stick figure’s head.

“there,” he said proudly. “perfect.”

you pointed at the other stick figure. “that’s you?”

“yeah.” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

“you forgot to write our names.” you said, somehow always noticing missing details.

he froze, blinking. “i don’t know how.”

“but you know letters.”

“…yeah,” he mumbled, already reaching for the black crayon.

you watched him sound it out under his breath, tongue sticking out in concentration. he knew his name had an ‘s’ and a ‘y’ and…probably an ‘n’? maybe a ‘g’? 

he tried his best, eyebrows furrowed like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.

when he was done, he leaned back so you could see.

snygn + dol

you grinned immediately. “what does that say?”

“us,” he said, all puffed up.

“i think you forgot the e.” you commented, as if you could have done better. you both knew you couldn't.

he shrugged. “letters are hard.”

you didn’t say anything else. just rested your chin back on your hand and stared at the picture a while longer before smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

that was it.

from then on, he was hunnie. just like you were doll.

it stuck. like stickers on your lunchbox. like dried glue on his fingers. like the pink crayon he always saved just for you.

neither of you ever questioned it again.

he always arrived to school before you did. always waited by the classroom door, bouncing on his toes the second your mom’s hand appeared in the window. 

if you wore a dress, he complimented it. if you put a new sticker on your lunchbox, he pointed it out like it was hidden treasure.

he carried your bag when it was too heavy. always gave you the better crayons. yelled at the kids who were mean to you. always clapped the loudest when you showed the class your twirls.

so, when your ballet class announced its year-end showcase, it was seunghyun who beamed the brightest.

at the age of four, he made his mom mark the date on their calendar. kept asking what song you were dancing to. what moves you were going to use. what outfit you would wear.

when you told him it was just you on stage for one part, his jaw dropped like you announced you were going to space.

“you have a solo?”

you nodded, nervous.

he grinned. “that’s ‘cause you’re the best.”

you believed him, because he always said it like it was the only reasonable answer. 

ballet was something you had always taken very seriously, starting when you were around two and learned how to spin without getting dizzy. 

when it came time for your first showcase, your tutu was too puffy and your hair was in a slick bun your mom had already redone three times. your tights itched, your ballet shoes were too tight and you were scared out of your mind, fidgeting behind the curtain with trembling hands when it was almost your turn to perform.

that was until you heard someone call your name. well, not technically your name, but to you, it might as well have been.

“doll!”

you turned just in time to see him darting down the hallway, the sleeves of his little blazer flapping as he ran. 

the bouquet he held was nearly the size of his entire torso, wrapped in crinkly cellophane with a pink bow slipping off.

he came to a stop in front of you, flushed and  extremely proud of himself.

“they match her dress,” he said, holding the flowers up with both hands. “your dolly one.”

you looked down at her, seeing the soft pink lilies stitched onto the front of her tutu, then back at the flowers.

you gasped. “they’re the same.”

“i told my mom we had to find these ones,” he huffed, like it had been an ordeal. “i said they were your favourite.”

you didn’t even know you had a favourite flower.

but the way he said it, so sure and so proud, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, you didn’t even question it.

they were your favourite now.

and somehow, without either of you ever saying it again, it stayed that way.

every recital. every show. every small performance. he always showed up with pink lilies in hand.

by the time elementary school rolled around, the differences between the two of you started to show a little more.

he thought before he spoke. you spoke before you thought.

he was quiet around most people, always a little guarded. you made friends in every room you entered. you were loud, bright, and impossible to miss.

he liked the back row. you liked the spotlight.

he hated asking for help. you never hesitated to raise your hand.

you were opposites in every way. and still, you moved through the world like a matching set.

people asked why you were always with him. the loud girl and the quiet boy. the dancer and the daydreamer. but it never felt strange to you. it never needed explaining.

you were his favourite noise. he was your calm in the chaos. you never really left each other’s side.

thankfully, by the time high school rolled around, the questions had stopped. no one really asked why you were always together anymore. they just knew.

you were still the loud one. the spotlight. the dancer with the glitter pens, contagious laugh, and a new band-aid on your knee every week.

he was still the quiet one. the rapper in oversized hoodies who barely said a word unless he was around you.

he waited outside your studio every day after class, leaning against the wall, scribbling lyrics while you twirled through your last cooldown.

you always came out humming, pink cheeked and sometimes barefoot, throwing your dance bag towards him like clockwork.

when he got into yg, you were the first person he told. it was between classes, sometime in the mid-morning.

you’d just dropped half your books in the hallway and were mid-rant about how your locker ‘literally hates you’ when he tugged at your sleeve.

“doll.”

you looked up. “hunnie, hold on. i’m yelling.”

“no seriously—” he tried, but you were quicker.

“you won’t believe what it did this time. it slammed shut on my head, and now i have a dent. like an actual dent. do you see it? does my skull look uneven—“

he laughed softly. “can i just—doll—listen.”

you paused, and blinked up at him.

he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “i got in.”

you froze. “got in…?”

his eyes flicked around the hallway, then back to you. “yg.”

your mouth fell open. “shut up.”

“i’m serious.” he whispered, still just as shocked as you were.

“SHUT UP!” you couldn’t stay quiet. not in a moment like this.

“doll—shhhh!” he whisper-hissed, glancing around again. “i don’t want people to know yet.”

it was too late. you already launched yourself into his arms, knocking him back into the lockers behind him with a dramatic squeal.

“i KNEW it!” you shouted, completely ignoring his attempts to shush you. “i told you! i told you you were gonna get in!”

he was blushing furiously, trying not to smile. “you are making such a scene right now.”

you pulled back just enough to grin at him. “you’re a trainee. my best friend is a trainee. this is literally the biggest moment of my life.”

“your life?” he questioned.

“yes, mine,” you sniffed. “your life is my life.”

he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile anyways.

you nudged him with your shoulder. “don’t act like you’re not obsessed with me.”

“i’m really not,” he said a little too fast, too flat, and way too red in the face.

you smirked. “you literally called me from your house last night to tell me you saw a pigeon with one foot.”

“it was impressive!” he quickly defended.

“uh huh.”

he exhaled through his nose, then rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fidgety. “okay, but—doll, seriously. i need your help.”

your head tilted. “with what?”

he lowered his voice. “dancing.”

you blinked. “hunnie, you know i do ballet, right?”

“yeah.” he shifted on his feet, glancing at the passing students. “but you’re, like…really good at it. and i just found out i’m supposed to learn hip hop for evaluations and i have no idea what i’m doing.”

you softened. “you want me to teach you hip hop?”

“you don’t have to,” he said quickly. “i just figured if anyone could figure it out, it’d be you.”

you looked at him for a long second, then smiled. “meet me at my place after school.”

his head jerked up. “really?”

you shrugged. “your life is my life, remember?”

he grinned, all teeth now. “remind me to get that in writing.”

he showed up right after school, just like you said. hood up, earbuds in, and already mouthing lyrics like he’d been rehearsing the whole walk over.

you had faked being sick at school so you could come home and prepare for this.

you were waiting for him in the living room, where you’d cleared out every possible piece of furniture that could get in the way. the rug was rolled up. the lamp was gone. the coffee table was banished to the hallway.

you had his hoodie and a pair of his sweatpants on.

the sleeves swallowed your hands whole, and the pant legs had to be rolled at your ankles. but when you spun around to face him with a dramatic bow, you looked like you belonged in them.

his brows lifted. “those are mine.”

“tip number one,” you said, striking a ridiculous pose, “baggy clothes make you look cooler. bonus points if they belong to your favorite trainee.”

his mouth twitched. “you’re so full of shit.”

“and you’re welcome,” you said, spinning again. “now you look cool by association.”

“doll,” he warned, grinning now, “don’t test me. i’m already embarrassed enough.”

you softened. stepped closer. “you’re gonna kill it, hunnie.”

he exhaled, looking at you like he always did when he needed to believe something. like if you said it, it had to be true.

“okay,” he murmured. “teach me.”

you started slow, and had him mirror your steps. corrected his posture by tapping his knee, guiding his hands, pulling his shoulders back with the tips of your fingers. 

when he kept tensing up, you resorted to drastic measures, which consisted of throwing yourself into the moves like an absolute maniac, flailing your arms and singing off-key.

he nearly collapsed laughing. “what the hell was that?!” he wheezed.

“that,” you said, gasping, “was called confidence.”

“that was called a safety hazard.” he retorted.

“you’re not allowed to bully me,” you scolded, jabbing his chest. “i’m literally molding you into a star right now.”

he caught your finger mid-jab and held it gently for a beat longer than necessary. “you already think i’m a star.”

“obviously,” you grinned. “i’ve known that since we were like two.”

his smile faltered for just a second. not in a bad way, just in that 'caught off guard by how much you love me' type of way.

“maybe i’m just not meant for this,” he muttered, eyes dropping.

you tilted your head. “you say that now, but just wait. give it a year, you’ll be on stage making girls pass out just by looking at them.”

“don’t say that.” he groaned, only half-serious.

“why? you are. you’ve got the voice, the face, the attitude—” 

“i don’t have the moves,” he cut in.

you stood up, a little less dramatic this time, brushing your hands off on your sweatpants. “that’s why i’m here.”

he looked at you. really looked at you.

“you already have everything you need, hunnie,” you said softly. “you just don’t believe it yet.”

he didn’t speak. just stared at you like you were saying things he didn’t know how to believe but desperately wanted to.

and for once, he didn’t argue.

you practiced until it was dark. until your body ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing. until he actually started to get it; the rhythm, the ease, the confidence. 

it came out of nowhere, but you saw it. that flicker of belief starting to settle in his shoulders. he was good. he’d always been good. he just needed someone to remind him of that.

you said it was the baggy clothes and chaotic energy. he said it was you pulling his shoulders back and looking him in the eye like he was already everything he wanted to become.

you told him he had the swag for it. the presence. the attitude. he just needed the belief. you’d been right all along.

and now, at nineteen, just weeks away from his debut, he was exhausted, restless, and always on the move. but, he was still the same boy who’s cheeks flushed pink every time you called him hunnie in front of other people.

you’re now in school on a ballet scholarship, surrounded by perfectionism, pointed toes, late night rehearsals and pressure that always manages to sneak under your skin.

but you still make time. for him, you always would.

he’s your best friend. your biggest supporter, and you’ve been his for just as long. even before either of you had the words to explain what that really meant.

sometimes he meets you outside class with two drinks and his hoodie half-zipped.

sometimes you show up at his rehearsals and sit on the floor with your knees tucked up to your chest, mouthing the words like you wrote them yourself.

he still calls you doll like it’s your real name.

still listens to every dramatic rant about your professors like it’s headline news.

still texts you when he can’t sleep, or when he should be sleeping but is too busy pacing with headphones in.

being with him has always been the easiest part of your life.

like breathing. like sunlight. like something you never had to question. it was comfort without condition. love without demand.

ballet was different though. it was all discipline and devotion.

it asked for your silence, your hours, your pain. and still, it never promised anything back.

you bled for it. bent for it. broke for it. not because it gave you peace, but because it gave you purpose.

because somewhere in all that ache, you felt alive through it all.

tonight was no different.

you’d been at the studio for hours at this point.

the mirrors had long stopped reflecting daylight. your water bottle sat untouched by the stereo. the only sound was the soft thud of pointe shoes and the occasional squeak of the bar beneath your palm.

your thighs ached. your feet were blistered. but your head was louder than your body; full of counts and choreography and the rising panic that you wouldn’t be ready in time.

the showcase was next saturday. 

the one they held every spring; a curated performance for scouts, agents, and the most elite conservatories across the country.

usually, it was only for seniors. maybe a junior or two, if their talent was undeniable.

you were only a freshman. you weren’t even supposed to be considered.

but your coach had pushed. argued. said she’d stake her name on you. and when they finally gave in, she called you into her office with the list in her hand and a huge smile on her face.

you were on it.

no real time to prepare. no safety net. just a little over one week to prove you belonged on that stage.

you hadn’t told anyone about it yet. not even him.

your body was running on pure instinct. pirouette after pirouette, breath ragged, sweat clinging to your skin like second fabric.

the spins blurred together, every muscle tightening to stay upright.

you’re somewhere in your sixth pirouette when the door suddenly opened with a quiet creak and a small flash of the hallway light.

your focus slipped, causing you to tumble slightly out of your turn.

your foot skidded on the floor as it landed, arms lifting instinctively to catch your balance.

“doll?” his voice rang out softly.

you blinked toward the doorway, heart still racing, sweat dripping down your back. “hunnie?”

he smiled wide. “you weren’t answering your phone.”

before you could respond, he jogged across the room and scooped you into his arms, spinning you once before setting you down again.

you laughed like a little girl, already feeling so much lighter than you felt two seconds ago. “you scared me,” you said, still clinging to his arms.

“yeah, well, you scared me,” he countered. “it’s late. and i know you. when it’s this late and you’re still here…”

you looked up at him. he didn’t finish the sentence. he didn’t have to.

“yah!” came a muffled shout. “you said together!”

“he ditched us again!” another voice called out, sounding completely offended.

the door burst open, and chaos followed.

jiyong stumbled in first, arms out dramatically. “doll’s here!”

“don’t call her that,” seunghyun muttered, not even turning around.

“what? it’s cute.” jiyong smirked, already bee-lining for the bar. “besides, she likes me better.”

“hi noona!” daesung grinned as he bounded in. “we come bearing good news and interpretive dance.” 

he flung a leg onto the barre with zero grace, mimicking your stretch in the most exaggerated, cartoonish way possible.

“she’s gonna kick your ass,” youngbae said, wobbling mid-pirouette before almost crashing into the wall.

you just blinked at all of them, wide-eyed, a little stunned, and then you laughed. the sound broke out of you without warning, sharp and soft all at once. it cracked through your exhaustion like sunlight through a glass window.

“what the hell are you guys doing here?” you asked, eyes darting back to seunghyun.

he was practically glowing, like the kind of proud that couldn’t be contained.

“we’re debuting,” he blurted.

you blinked. “you’re—what?”

“it’s official,” he beamed. “next saturday. on a live broadcast. it’s real.”

your breath caught, but not because of the date. not yet. you hadn’t even registered that part.

the words blurred behind the weight of him. of this. of them.

you threw your arms around him without thinking.

he caught you instantly, arms closing around your waist as your feet left the ground again. “hunnie! oh my god—you did it!”

“we did it,” jiyong called from behind, still latched to the barre.

“i’m so proud of you,” you whispered, forehead pressed against seunghyun’s shoulder. “so, so proud.”

he eased you back just enough to look at you. “you’ll be there, right?”

that’s when the date landed. next saturday.

your fingers curled tighter around his sleeves before you could stop them.

it was on the same day as your showcase.

but you still smiled like you hadn’t just swallowed glass. “of course. i wouldn’t miss it.”

his brows twitched with the smallest flicker of something, but he didn’t say anything. 

jiyong cleared his throat. “so what is this place? and why does it smell like sweat and sad dreams?”

“it’s a ballet studio,” you said, grateful for the shift in attention. “and those are the dreams of every dancer who died trying to nail fouettés.”

“noona,” daesung called, lifting his leg again and pretending to sob. “i have a cramp.”

“i have a question,” youngbae added. “how do you move in those shoes?”

you let them clown around for awhile. let their chaos pull you out of your thoughts.

until you felt seunghyun’s eyes still on you.

you turned back toward him. “what?”

he was studying you. not suspiciously, but something more gentle.

“so why are you here this late?” he asked. “this studio closes hours ago unless you’re—”

“—working on something,” you interrupted. “yeah.”

“showcase?” he asked, head tilting.

“i just got offered one today,” you said. “it’s pretty big. they didn’t give me much prep time.”

“you didn’t tell me,” he said, more surprised than hurt.

you shrugged, eyes flicking away. “you’ve had bigger things going on.”

he watched you for another beat, longer than he probably meant to, before nodding once and letting it go.

you exhaled slowly, fingers brushing over the barre. the smile on your face stayed steady, but the air around your ribs felt tight.

“anyways,” you said brightly, “wanna see what i’ve got so far?”

the boys erupted into chaotic agreement, but seunghyun’s voice was the softest and the closest. “always.”

you didn’t plan on saying anything about the fact that you won’t be able to attend his debut, and that he would be missing a performance of yours for the first time.

not tonight, anyways.

you made it through your rehearsal. through the boys’ visit. through seunghyun insisting he slept over at your apartment tonight. through the car ride home and the quiet shuffle up the stairs. 

you even let yourself melt into him a little on the couch; head on his shoulder, hand tangled with his, pretending the static in your chest wasn’t getting louder.

but he knew you better than anyone. better than you knew yourself. so when he turned to you, eyes searching and his voice barely above a whisper, “doll…what aren’t you telling me?”, it all cracked open.

you sat up slowly, pulling your hand from his. “i didn’t want to ruin it.”

he didn’t move. he just stared, waiting.

your throat tightened. “your debut,” you added. “i didn’t want to take anything away from it. from you.”

his brows pulled together. “what are you talking about?”

you took a breath, and then, before you could stop yourself, it came out. “my showcase is next saturday too.”

the words hung in the air. it felt thick. quiet. final.

he blinked once. then again. his whole body went still. “what?”

you looked down at your lap. “my showcase and your debut. they’re both on saturday.”

his breath caught. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because i knew what would happen,” you said quickly. “you’d feel guilty, and i didn’t want that.”

his voice went quiet. “you’ve never lied to me.”

“i wasn’t trying to lie,” you whispered. “i was trying to protect you.”

he flinched. barely, but you felt it. he stood suddenly. pacing once, twice, like his skin was too tight. like his chest couldn’t hold the pressure.

“do you know how many performances i’ve missed?” he asked, almost biting.

you swallowed hard. “none.”

“none, doll. not a single one.” his voice cracked, and your heart broke with it.

“you were sick. you were hurt. you had that dumb middle school flu that wiped out your whole grade and you still showed up,” you said. “i know.”

“and now i won’t be there.” he dragged a hand over his mouth. “for this. the one that matters most.”

“stop,” you said, standing too now. “don’t make me feel worse for something i can’t control.”

he turned toward you. “you think this is about you?”

“isn’t it?” you asked, slightly taken off guard.

“it’s about us.” his voice dropped, raw and thick. “about how this is the one time we don’t get to show up for each other. and it fucking hurts.”

you didn’t mean to cry, but it was already happening. your lip trembled, and when you blinked, the tears came hot and fast.

“i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d pick me.” your voice broke open.

he stilled.

“and you can’t, hunnie.” you stepped back, chest heaving, hands shaking like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “not this time. not when this is exactly what you’ve been working for. what you’ve given up everything for.”

“doll…”

“if you would have even thought about skipping your debut for me, i would’ve never forgiven myself.”

his face twisted like it physically hurt to hear that.

you kept going anyway. “this is your dream. this is your life. and i’m just—i’m just some girl who got a showcase dropped on her out of nowhere and didn’t have the guts to speak up about it.”

his head shook. “you’re not just—”

“i didn’t want to take anything away from you,” you said, quieter now. “not one second of it. not the attention, not the celebration, not the moment. i just…i wanted to protect it.”

his jaw clenched.

you looked down, voice barely a whisper. “i just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

he didn’t say anything. not at first.

he just looked at you like those words physically hurt him. like he didn’t understand how someone like you could ever believe something so wrong.

then, gently, like he was afraid you might pull away, his hands cupped your face.

you barely had time to breathe before he kissed you.

not like a best friend. not like a maybe. like a breaking point.

your heart stopped. your whole body did too. because for one dizzying second, you weren’t even sure this was real.

you’d dreamt of this moment. wanted it quietly, selfishly, for longer than you were ever willing to admit.

but this was better. so much better.

his lips moved with a kind of certainty that undid you.

slow at first, reverent. then deeper, needier, like he’d been holding back for years.

and maybe he had. you certainly had.

your fingers curled in the front of his hoodie, holding on tightly.

because the second your lips moved with his, everything else disappeared. you weren’t tired or scared or second-best anymore.

you were his. and god, did it feel good.

it was hot. aching. tender in a way you didn’t know kisses could be. like every part of him was trying to show you what he couldn’t say.

when you finally pulled apart, it was barely an inch. just enough to breathe.

your foreheads pressed together. his hands still cradling your face like you were something fragile. your own hands still clinging to him like the ground might give out from underneath you.

you blinked at him, stunned. he looked just as wrecked.

his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “you could never disappoint me,” he said. “not even if you tried.”

your chest squeezed tight.

“you hear me, doll?” he whispered. “never.”

you didn’t say much after the kiss. neither did he, really.

his hands dropped from your face slowly, fingertips ghosting down your jaw like he didn’t want to let go. like part of him still didn’t believe it had happened. and honestly, you didn’t either.

you changed in the bathroom, your heart pounding too loud to think straight. your reflection looked the same, but everything felt different. your lips were still swollen from his. your hands still shook from holding him. your heart was feeling things it had never let rise to the surface before.

when you opened the door, all of the lights were off.

he was already in your bed, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might tell him what to do next. the blanket barely moved with his breathing.

you climbed in quietly beside him. still managing to keep your distance while also lying on your back.

neither of you spoke for a while.

the air felt heavier than it should have. not tense, just fragile. like if either of you breathed too deeply, it would all break apart.

his voice suddenly came, low and careful. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t even look at him.

“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. “i wasn’t thinking.”

your hands curled into the sheets as he continued, not knowing he was shattering everything inside of you.

“i didn’t mean to make things weird.”

you swallowed hard. “you didn’t.”

he let out a quiet breath, but you could feel that he didn’t believe you.

“i shouldn’t’ve done it if i didn’t know how you felt,” he said after a pause. “i just—i don’t wanna lose what we have.”

his words stung more than they should have. because you knew how you felt. and you thought, maybe, he did too.

you forced the words out. “we’re fine.”

you weren’t. but you didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you, either.

so he didn’t see the way your eyes filled up with tears.

you turned your face toward the wall, biting your lip so hard it bled. the tears came out quietly, soaking into the pillow while he laid there; still, silent, and only a few inches away.

by the time he woke up the next morning, you were already gone.

no note. no text. just the faint hum of the city bleeding in through the half-open window, and the fading warmth on your side of the bed.

he sat up too fast. checked the bathroom. the kitchen. his phone.

nothing.

he texted you more than once.

hunnie: good morning doll.

hunnie: are you okay?

hunnie: where’d you go?

you left them all on read.

he tried again, just a few hours later.

hunnie: not trying to push, just please tell me you’re okay.

you didn’t answer that one either.

you didn’t block him. you didn’t lash out. you just went silent, and in some ways, that hurt more.

because he didn’t know if it meant you were mad, or heartbroken, or maybe regretting it all.

he didn’t know if it meant you just needed space, or if you were already gone for good.

he couldn’t stop replaying it. the kiss. the look in your eyes. the way your hands trembled when you held onto him.

had he imagined it? was he wrong?

he started slipping during practices. forgetting transitions he could normally do in his sleep.

the choreographer called for a five-minute break after he missed the same step three times in a row. he sat on the floor, elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused.

“you good?” jiyong asked quietly.

he nodded. lied. said he was just tired, but he didn’t sleep that night either.

you weren’t doing any better.

you threw yourself into dancing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. stayed hours after everyone else left the studio. bruised your knees on turns that didn’t land, and didn’t care. you pushed yourself until your feet gave out underneath you.

you didn’t cry. 

at least, not until the lights were off. that’s when it all came out. 

you missed him. not just the version of him who kissed you like he meant it. you missed your best friend. the one who knew when you were spiralling, even before you did.

you almost texted him a thousand times, but what would you even say?

sorry i disappeared. 

sorry i didn’t tell you i loved it too. 

sorry it scared me. 

sorry i thought leaving would hurt less than staying.

you didn’t send any of them. silence was the easier choice.

he left your favourite drink outside the studio two days later. no note. just his name for you on the lid, written in his messy handwriting.

doll.

the sight of the word made your stomach twist. you stared at it through the window long before you stepped outside, picked it up, and took a small sip.

your throat closed around it, and the ache in your chest deepened. it still tasted like love.

you tossed it in the trash without a word.

it was just after midnight when he pulled up outside of your apartment again. he hadn’t even realized where he was going until he turned the corner and saw the light.

that same damn light in the front window. the soft amber glow seeping through the sheer curtain, the one you always left on when you weren’t home.

“it makes me feel safer,” you’d said to him once, curled into the corner of your couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin. “like if it’s on, no one can tell i’m not home.”

he’d teased you for it. called you dramatic. but he still asked what kind of bulb it was, just in case it ever burned out.

he hadn’t knocked. not once this week.

because every time he passed your place, which he'd done more than he wanted to admit, the stupid lamp was on, meaning you weren’t there.

this time, he didn’t just sit there and wait for you to come home. he just turned the car around.

the city passed in streaks of neon, but he barely registered any of it. there was no destination typed in. no music playing. just his hands on the wheel and that hollow pull in his chest, steering him somewhere he already knew he’d end up.

by the time he reached the studio, the parking lot was empty. the building itself loomed in stillness, filled with darkness, except for a single window on the second floor, shining a faint light onto the world below it.

he killed the engine and climbed out without a second thought, barely registering the slam of the door behind him. the air felt electric and charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. every step toward the entrance echoed in his skull, causing his legs to move faster the closer he got.

he knew exactly where to go. didn’t have to think. didn’t even have to look.

he took the stairs two at a time, rounded the corner, and froze.

there it was.

your music. loud and unrelenting. no structure. no rhythm. just pain, vibrating through the floor like it was trying to crawl up the walls and escape.

he stepped closer, and through the thin strip of glass in the door, he saw you.

of course it was you. he knew you would be here. but still, the sight of you nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

you were barefoot, sweat clinging to your skin, hair stuck to your cheeks in damp, tangled strands. your movements weren’t polished. they weren’t even practiced. they were frantic. trembling. like each step was a question you didn’t have an answer for. like if you stopped, it might all catch up to you.

so you continued to do what you do best. you danced.

you danced like it was the only way to keep your chest from splitting open. like movement was the only thing louder than the ache. the way your body hit the floor didn’t sound like choreography, it sounded like heartbreak. like desperation. like the only thing left to say.

he’d never seen you like this. not even close.

and he’d seen it all.

every bruise. every studio meltdown. the night your mom forgot to pick you up from rehearsal so he walked you home. the time you twisted your ankle two days before your first competition and swore your life was over.

he was the one who iced it. the one who stood on the side of the stage with his hands in fists, silently counting beats under his breath like it might help you land the ending clean.

you were still in pigtails when he first saw you cry over a routine. still too small to reach the top of your locker without him lifting you up.

he’d been there through it all. the good, the ugly, the loud, the barely-held-together.

this wasn’t a tantrum. this wasn’t nerves. this was grief, raw and quiet, shaking its way through every inch of your body.

he stood there, just outside the door, like a kid again. too scared to touch anything in case it broke.

his hand hovered at the glass, frozen.

he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your knees gave out from below you, like your body had finally surrendered.

you didn’t brace for the fall. your palms hit the floor with a dull thud, arms barely catching you, like even gravity had grown tired of asking you to fight.

your head dropped forward as your shoulders caved in.

there was no sob. no scream either. just the kind of silence that rang louder than anything he’d heard all night.

that was what broke him the most.

he moved before he could stop himself, pushing the door open like it hurt to be on the other side of it. the soft click behind him sounded too loud in the stillness, but you didn’t flinch.

he didn’t speak. not yet. just crossed the room in slow, careful steps. like if he moved too fast, you’d disappear.

he sat down a few feet away, knees bent, arms resting on them, mirroring your shape without even thinking. the distance between you was small, but somehow, it still felt like miles.

“why haven’t you answered me?” his voice wasn’t sharp. it was soft and cracked around the edges, like he’d been rehearsing it for days and still didn’t know how to say it right.

you didn’t turn around. your hands were still on the floor. your breathing was still uneven. your eyes didn’t move from the spot on the floor where you’d fallen.

“you’ve left me on read for three days now, doll.”

he wasn’t accusing you. it sounded more like he was trying to figure out how that even happened in the first place.

“is it because of the kiss?”

you shook your head, just once. small and automatic. not enough to mean anything.

“it’s not,” you said. too quietly.

he moved forward. slowly. like he was waiting for you to push him back. “then what is it?”

you didn’t answer.

“you’ve never gone quiet on me. not like this.” his voice was closer now. you could feel it.

“i’ve just been busy,” you muttered.

“don’t,” he said gently. “don’t do that.”

you swallowed hard. “the showcase is in four days. i don’t have time for anything else right now.”

there was a short pause before he continued. “you always have time for me.”

your throat burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “well. maybe i don’t this time.”

his voice dropped. “that’s bullshit and you know it.”

your jaw clenched. you could feel the weight of him at your side now, but you still wouldn’t look.

“i watched your run-through.”

your stomach sank when those words came out of his mouth. you didn’t realize he’d been watching you.

“you’ve never danced like that before,” he said softly. “it looked like it hurt.”

you swallowed hard as you closed your eyes.

“i said i’m fine,” you whispered.

“no,” he said gently. “you didn’t.”

you hated how steady he sounded. like he wasn’t angry, just wrecked.

your voice cracked before you could stop it. “it wasn’t the kiss.”

he didn’t say anything.

“it was what you said after.” you could feel him flinch. not visibly, just in the way the air shifted between you.

“i figured,” he murmured.

you nodded once, bitter and small. “you said you shouldn’t have kissed me.”

he didn’t defend it. didn’t backpedal either. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “i was scared.”

your voice was thin. “yeah…so was i.” you didn’t even know what you were admitting. you just knew that it was true.

you hugged your arms around yourself tighter. like if you held on hard enough, maybe it would hurt less.

“i don’t know what i thought would happen,” you whispered. “but you kissed me, and for a second i let myself believe it meant something. and then you said you shouldn’t have.”

he didn’t move. didn’t speak either. just let the words sit between you like they were burning through the floor.

“you looked at me like you regretted it,” you said, barely audible now. “like touching me was some kind of mistake.”

“if i ruined everything,” he whispered, “i need you to tell me so i can fix it properly.”

you shook your head, slow but sure. “you didn’t ruin anything.”

his voice broke as he moved closer. “then why won’t you look at me?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

your breath had already turned uneven, your shoulders already trembling with the weight of it all. like your body had known that you were going to break before your mind caught up.

you lifted your head slowly, almost unwillingly, like the movement itself might hurt.

when your eyes finally met his, that was it.

your face crumpled instantly, your next breath catching on a sob you couldn’t hold back. the kind that had been stuck in your chest for days. weeks. maybe longer.

his expression shattered right along with you.

“oh,” he whispered. “oh, doll…no.”

his hand hovered for a beat, then reached out, gentle and open, like it always had been. and the second your fingers found his, it was over.

your whole body gave out. not from weakness, but from finally allowing yourself to feel.

you collapsed into him, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt as the sobs came harder and heavier.

he caught you like he always did. like he always would.

his arms around your back, hand cradling your head, like he was trying to piece you back together with his touch alone.

you sobbed into his shoulder, causing him to he hold you even tighter.

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “what i said after—i didn’t mean it like that. i panicked. i thought i ruined everything and i didn’t know if you—”

you pulled back just enough to see him. your cheeks were streaked with tears, your mouth trembling.

“i thought you knew,” you said, and it came out like it hurt.

he stilled.

“i thought you knew,” you repeated, quieter now. “i thought you always knew.”

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

you shook your head, trying to breathe through it. “i didn’t say anything because i didn’t think i had to. you’ve been there my whole life. every performance, every birthday, every broken piece—” your voice cracked. “you were always the one who stayed.”

his eyes burned, chest rising unevenly.

“and i kept thinking—if anyone could see it…if anyone could feel it without me having to say it…” you looked at him like it was breaking you open. “i thought it would be you.”

his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

“you were always there,” you said, barely holding steady. “every time. every piece of my life that ever meant anything—you were in it. so i thought…” your breath caught, “i thought maybe you felt it too.”

he looked wrecked. completely still, except for the way his hands curled at your sides.

“i did,” he said, hoarsely. “i do. i just—” he blinked hard, trying to stay composed. “i was so fucking scared that i made it all up. that if i said something, or did something, i’d lose you.”

you shook your head, hurt flickering through your chest.

before you could respond,  his hand cupped your cheek like it was instinct. “i’ve loved you every second of my life,” he said, voice cracking. “i swear to god.”

your chest pulled tight. “then why did you say it was a mistake?”

“because i was terrified,” he said. “because we’ve always had us. and the second i kissed you, i thought maybe i’d ruined the only thing that ever made sense to me.”

you blinked fast. “you didn’t ruin it. you were it.”

he closed his eyes like that hurt more than anything else.

“i just needed you,” you whispered. “and you weren’t there. not this time.”

his forehead dropped to yours, his breath shaking. “i didn’t know how to be. you pushed me away.”

“because you made me feel like a mistake,” you choked. “and you’ve never done that before.”

he was silent for a beat before whispering, “i’m sorry.” 

he leaned in, but this time he didn’t kiss you. just rested his head against yours. his thumb brushed lazy circles into your palm, like he needed to remind you he was still there. still yours.

“i’m so fucking sorry, doll.”

you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. he already knew you’d forgiven him. he felt it in the way you didn’t pull away. in the way your fingers stayed curled around his. 

for a while, neither of you moved. his hoodie soaked in your tears. your bodies cold against the floor.

the silence, for once, didn’t feel like a punishment. it felt like grief. like history. like maybe, finally, forgiveness.

his hand never left yours. not even for a second.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, curled into him on the studio floor.

his hoodie still smelled like fabric softener, cedar and whatever cologne he’s used since high school. your fingers clutched it like it could keep the ache from pulling you under again.

“doll,” he whispered, voice close to your ear. “come on. let’s get you out of here.”

you didn’t move right away.

your eyes were swollen, your body heavy, but he shifted anyways, arms wrapping around you, slowly and carefully. 

you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even try.

he lifted you easily, like it didn’t matter that he was exhausted too. one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. your head fell against his chest, and his chin rested on top of it like instinct.

the door buzzed as he nudged it open with his foot, stepping into the soft night with you still in his arms.

the world was quiet.

he didn’t speak as he carried you to the car, just tightened his hold every time your breath hitched, like he could feel it coming before you did.

when he opened the passenger side door, he hesitated.

you looked up at him for the first time in minutes.

and he looked down at you like he was memorizing the moment. not for romance, but for survival. for you.

he helped you settle into the seat, pulled the seatbelt across your lap, then gently shut the door.

you watched him walk around the front of the car, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, head low.

he climbed in and turned the key. the car hummed to life, but he didn’t say anything right away. 

the drive started in silence. you didn’t turn on the radio. didn’t say where to go. he already knew.

the windows were down halfway. the air was cool and smelled like nighttime.

you stared out the window with your fingers curled in your lap. his hand stayed loose on the steering wheel. his other hand rested on the gearshift, like always.

you could feel him glancing over at you every few minutes, but he didn’t push.

not until you were about halfway home.

“doll?” his voice was soft. cautious.

you looked over at him, eyes still tired. “yeah?”

he didn’t look back right away, just kept driving.

“you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said. “but i’m not gonna pretend i’m not scared shitless right now.”

your breath caught slightly. “why?”

he let out the smallest laugh. “because you’ve never shut down on me before. not like that.”

you looked down, almost out of shame.

“you’ve been through hell and back,” he went on. “and you’ve never shut me out. not once.”

you didn’t answer.

“i meant what i said earlier. about being scared.” his fingers tapped against the steering wheel. “i’ve never felt anything like that before, and i didn’t wanna screw it up. but i did anyway.”

“you didn’t,” you said quietly. “not really.”

he finally looked over towards you.

“you hurt me,” you said honestly. “but i think, maybe i needed to hear it. even if it broke me a little.”

he blinked, like that hit deeper than you meant it to.

“but i still love you,” you added, quieter. “i never stopped.”

he pulled in a slow breath. “i never wanted you to feel alone,” he said. “and i hate that you did.”

you nodded once. “me too.”

the silence after that didn’t feel as hard.

he pulled up in front of your apartment, but you didn’t move to get out right away. neither did he.

“hunnie?”

he turned toward you, brows pulled slightly.

you leaned your head back against the seat. “what happens now?”

he exhaled, eyes falling to your hand in your lap. his pinky reached out and brushed against yours.

“we survive this week,” he said. “you dance your heart out. the boys and i debut. and after that…” he shrugged. “we'll figure it out.”

you nodded. “okay.”

he gave you a crooked, tired smile. “still best friends, though?”

you let out a soft giggle. “forever.”

“damn right.” he grinned.

your hand found his this time, fingers laced together. you didn’t kiss. didn’t say anything else.

just held on for a second longer before you finally opened the door and stepped out into the night.

he waited until you were inside before driving off.

you watched the taillights disappear from your window with your heart still aching, but beating a little steadier than before.

you didn’t sleep much that night.

not because you were upset, but because the silence felt too loud without him.

you kept picturing him parked outside, his pinky latched onto yours. you kept hearing the way he said “we’ll figure it out,” like it was a promise, even if it didn’t actually fix anything.

he called the next morning. and that night. and again the next day. always soft, always just checking in.

he didn’t ask to come over. didn’t try to see you. he just talked. about your day, your rehearsals, your routine, your nerves. anything to hear your voice.

whenever you asked about the debut, he always downplayed it; said it was hectic, yeah, but good. said they were still running through everything. said he missed you. said they all missed you

it felt mostly normal after that, but not fully.

because even when the calls felt easy, when your laughter slipped out more than once and when he called you ‘doll’ like it was muscle memory, there was still something in the pauses. 

something in the way neither of you brought up friday night again. not the kiss. not the aftermath. not the ache of almost losing each other.

and maybe it was for the best; after all, your showcase was today, and so was his debut.

your chest had been aching since you woke up.

you were sat at your makeup table, already dressed, but it didn’t feel like you’d gotten ready at all.

the mirror reflected someone composed; curled lashes, cheeks dusted pink, ribbons crossed just right at your ankles, but the stillness in your body gave it away to anyone who really knew you.

you weren’t even performing, and yet, you were still putting on an act.

your tutu fanned out around you like a shield. your leotard clung too tight across your ribs. every inch of you looked like it belonged here, like it had done this a thousand times before.

but your hands stayed folded in your lap, unmoving and unsure.

it felt like you were holding your breath in reverse. like something was pressing into your lungs from the inside out.

you wondered how he was feeling.

you wondered if he felt it too, that tightness that in his chest that had nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with you.

you wondered if somewhere, right now, he was thinking about you too.

you could almost see it.

him backstage, shoulders loose but eyes scanning the crowd, like he was hoping you’d somehow be in it.

maybe running a thumb over the mic in his hand the way you smoothed the ribbons on your shoes; a quiet ritual before stepping into the light.

you imagined him leaning towards his manager, pretending to listen, mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with you.

for as long as you could remember, he’d been in your crowd. grinning, clapping, waving the flowers you’ve never once had to ask for.

just like how you’d been in his, screaming the lyrics no one else knew yet, camera shaking in your hands.

but tonight, the seats you normally saved for each other would remain empty.

no matter how many lights hit you, no matter how loud the applause, it wouldn’t feel quite right without him there to see it.

he was your other half. your anchor. your constant. and now, you have no choice but to take the stage without him in the crowd.

a knock sounded at the door.

“five minutes.”

you didn’t move.

behind you, another dancer asked gently, “are you okay?”

you nodded, barely.

you were, but you weren’t.

your body was ready; stretched, warmed up, knew every step like muscle memory. but your chest was still aching.

regardless of the pain, you stood up, because you knew he’d want you to.

and even if he couldn’t be there, even if this was the first time you had to cheer for each other from opposite ends of the city, you’d still dance like he was watching.

and you prayed to yourself that he’d perform like you were listening.

what you didn’t know was that he was already in the audience, and had been for almost an hour.

sitting in the sixth row. pink lilies in hand. his tie a little crooked from how fast he’d changed.

he didn’t tell you the debut got pushed to tomorrow. instead, he just showed up.

the boys were with him too, crammed into the row like they had no idea how theater seating worked.

“this seat’s so tiny,” daesung whispered, squished between armrests.

“why are you wearing sunglasses?” youngbae hissed at jiyong, already pulling them off of his face.

“no one’s gonna see me anyways,” jiyong argued. “don’t kill my vibe.”

“they’ll see you if we get kicked out,” seunghyun muttered, not looking away from the stage.

the others stilled at the sound of his voice. it was steady, but sharp. almost like he was trying not to feel too much and was already failing.

a moment of silence passed, but it never lasted long with them around.

“…how long’s her piece again?” jiyong asked, voice lower now. “seven minutes?”

“twelve,” seunghyun said without thinking.

daesung blinked. “did you memorize the program?”

“he memorized the choreography,” jiyong smirked. “he’s been pacing through it in the living room for days now, i swear.”

seunghyun didn’t deny it.

“yo, does she even know we’re here?” youngbae asked, glancing around.

“nope,” jiyong said, popping the p.

“you really didn’t tell her?” daesung asked, quieter now. “about the debut being rescheduled?”

seunghyun just shook his head.

“damn,” jiyong muttered. “that’s kinda romantic.”

“it’s not romantic,” seunghyun said, voice taut. “it’s…hers. this night’s hers. i just wanted to be here for her.”

they didn’t tease him. not this time.

the lights dimmed before anyone could say another word, and a hush fell over the crowd.

well, maybe not the whole crowd.

the second the first dancer stepped onto the stage, the three boys, who had sworn to seunghyun they’d behave, immediately started whispering critiques to each other like they were seasoned professionals.

“is she supposed to be a swan?” daesung whispered, squinting.

“looks more like a confused goose,” jiyong said.

youngbae leaned in. “what is this song? it sounds like elevator music, but if the elevator was broken.”

“she’s doing the arms wrong,” jiyong added. “y/n looks way cooler when she does that.”

“her foot just slipped,” daesung said. “minus points.”

“you’re not a judge,” youngbae hissed.

“clearly i should be,” daesung argued.

seunghyun didn’t say a word. just exhaled slowly and adjusted the bouquet in his lap.

the next dancer came out.

“wait, is her tutu lopsided?” jiyong asked.

“yes,” youngbae nodded, serious. “and it’s distracting me spiritually.”

“she looks nervous,” daesung whispered. “i’d be nervous too if y/n was going after me.”

“they saved her for the end for a reason,” jiyong added. “she’s the ringer. the finale. the fan favourite.”

“she’s literally the youngest one here,” youngbae whispered. “and she’s still the best.”

“boys,” came a sharp voice from in front of them.

they froze.

a mom had turned around in her seat with narrow eyes. she didn’t even tell them to be quiet. she just gave them the look.

jiyong sank into his chair. daesung covered his mouth. youngbae folded his hands like he was praying.

when your name was finally announced over the speakers, they all sat up straighter.

seunghyun didn’t move. he sat there with his heart thudding so loud he was sure the others could hear it.

the moment you stepped out, everything else around him disappeared.

you didn’t see him. you didn’t know he was there.

but god, if you danced any harder, he swore the floor would’ve cracked open beneath you.

you moved like the music was stitched into your skin. like you weren’t just performing it, you were remembering it. feeling it.

every turn, every extension, every single line of your body said what your mouth never could.

grief. joy. ache. defiance.

it was all there. raw, clear, and devastatingly beautiful.

his chest hurt. not in the poetic, romantic kind of way, but in the real, physical, aching kind of way.

he knew how much this piece had cost you.

he just hadn’t realized how much it would cost him to watch you give it away like this.

you were the youngest one in the program. the only one still nineteen, surrounded by juniors and seniors with polished resumes and expensive training.

but none of that mattered now.

not when it was only you moving on stage, taking up all of the air in the room.

not when even the spotlight seemed like it was holding its breath.

he couldn’t look away. he barely registered the boys beside him.

didn’t hear jiyong whisper “holy shit” under his breath, or feel youngbae nudge him, as if to say ‘are you seeing this?’

he didn’t even notice daesung blinking too fast, almost like he might cry without knowing why.

he only saw you.

you, dancing like this stage had been waiting for you your entire life.

like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t even realized it had lost.

when you reached your final pose, chest rising quickly and arms still trembling from the hold, he stood.

not because he thought he should, but because his body moved before his mind could catch up.

you didn’t bow right away.

you just stayed there, still and breathless. your arms softened a second too late, like they didn’t want to let go. like your body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.

in the silence between the last note and the first clap, seunghyun could have sworn the whole world had paused just for you.

it didn’t take long for the crowd to erupt. not politely. not because they were supposed to. but because they had to.

because something in them recognized what you’d just done, even if they couldn’t name it.

you bowed once, quickly and cleanly, before walking offstage.

the second your feet disappeared behind the curtain, seunghyun exhaled like he hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

he didn’t sit back down, just turned towards the boys. “let’s go,” he said, quiet but final.

jiyong blinked. “wait what?”

“we’re leaving?” daesung whispered, looking around like someone might stop them. “but the show’s not over.”

“i don’t care,” seunghyun murmured, already stepping towards the aisle. his voice wasn’t sharp, but it was full.

full in the same way his chest felt whenever he looked at you. “i just need to see her.”

the bouquet was still in his hand, crumpled slightly from how tightly he’d been holding onto it. his tie was off-centred, hair a little messy from the rush to make it in time, but none of that mattered.

he didn’t care about the rest of the program. the applause. not even the fact that they’d probably get side-eyed for sneaking out mid-performance.

he just knew his entire heart was already backstage, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer to catch up to it.

they slipped out the doors without a sound.

no one stopped them. no one even noticed.

the hallway outside of the auditorium was quiet in comparison, dim and echoey under too-bright fluorescent lights.

seunghyun didn’t stop walking. not until he felt a hand tug lightly at his arm.

“hyung,” jiyong said, just behind him.

seunghyun turned impatiently, until he felt jiyong’s fingers brush lightly against his collar.

“your tie,” jiyong mumbled, fixing it without hesitation. “you’ll thank me later.”

seunghyun didn’t say anything. just stood there, breathing a little too hard, bouquet still clenched tightly in his fist.

a quick tug, a gentle press at the knot, and it was done. it wasn’t perfect or precise, but it was enough.

jiyong gave his shoulder a small squeeze and fell into step beside him again.

the hum of the other performances faded behind them, swallowed by the stillness of the hallway. their footsteps echoed softly against the linoleum, but none of them said a word.

he didn’t know what he expected to see when he turned the corner, but it definitely wasn’t you.

you were standing near the backstage door, still in costume, sweat cooling on your skin. your body hummed with leftover adrenaline, but your chest felt heavy, like all of that dancing had only packed the ache in tighter.

you’d missed him before, but never like this.

your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over the call button. the numbers blurred on the screen. you told yourself you’d press it in a minute. you just needed one more minute.

someone laughed down the hall. a door closed. footsteps passed. none of it mattered. you kept staring at your phone like if you looked long enough, it might tell you where he was.

you were still staring when a voice cut through the noise. not loud. not questioning. just steady, and certain, like it had been meant for you all along.

“doll.”

your gaze lifted slowly, almost afraid you’d imagined it.

but there he stood, only a few feet away; breathless, eyes locked on you, and a bouquet of pink lilies clutched in his hands. the same exact kind he’d been bringing you since you were four.

jiyong was right behind him, wide-eyed, and already attempting to take the bouquet from seunghyun’s hands like it was second nature. daesung and youngbae were there just behind them, dressed up like they’d been scolded into it, which, knowing them, they probably had.

none of that mattered right now, because all you could see was him.

“you—” your voice cracked. “how—”

you didn’t say anything else. you couldn’t. your body moved before your brain could catch up.

you ran straight into him, arms flying around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, tutu flaring out so dramatically that the boys had to duck to keep it from smacking him them the face.

seunghyun stumbled a little, laughing under his breath, but he still caught you like he always did.

his hands braced under your thighs as jiyong quietly slid the bouquet out from between you, muttering something about ‘saving the tradition.’

seunghyun wasn’t paying attention to any of that. he was only looking at you.

you pulled back just enough to see his face, hands now cupping his cheeks, as your thumbs brushed the corners of his smile.

that’s when the tears hit, much faster than you could stop them.

you buried your face in his shoulder. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

his arms tightened around you. “i know.”

“i thought—” your voice broke again. “i thought you were debuting tonight. i thought—i missed it.”

“you didn’t,” he whispered, mouth against your temple. “they moved it. it’s tomorrow.”

you pulled back again, eyes wide. “what?”

“i didn’t tell you,” he admitted, brushing a stray lash from your cheek. “i wanted you to focus on your moment. not mine.”

“hunnie,” you breathed. “i’ve been crying about this all week.”

“me too,” he said softly. “but for different reasons.”

you huffed a laugh through your tears, forehead falling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he smiled. “but i’m your asshole.”

your laugh was wet and breathless, your arms still locked around his neck like you might float away if you let go.

“you are,” you whispered.

he grinned, proud and a little breathless too. “and i always will be.”

you kissed his cheek before you could think twice about it. not just once, either. three quick ones in a row, just like you used to do when you were little.

the boys stood back, letting the moment breathe. but eventually, jiyong quietly stepped in holding the lilies with both hands like they were sacred. “yah,” he murmured to seunghyun. “do it now.”

seunghyun glanced at him, then back at you. his smile softened.

he let out a breath and gently tapped your thigh. “okay, miss ballerina. down for a second.”

you whined, dramatic as ever, but loosened your legs. as soon as your toes hit the ground, jiyong passed him the bouquet again like it was a an olympic torch.

seunghyun didn’t even blink. he took the lilies, and just stared at you. wide-eyed. quiet. almost overwhelmed.

you blinked up at him. “you good? you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“i’m fine,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound very convincing. he glanced down at the bouquet, then held it out with both hands. “these are for you.”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t want them, but because you hadn’t expected them.

you hadn’t expected him.

your fingers curled around the stems, and the second the weight shifted into your arms, your chest caved in.

“i thought—” your voice broke. “i thought i wasn’t gonna get any this time.”

he frowned. “what? why?”

“because,” you said, breath catching, “you weren’t supposed to be here.”

“hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “you really thought i’d let you dance without these?”

you tried to laugh, but it dissolved into another sob. “i didn’t want to think about it.”

“you won’t ever have to,” he said. “i’ll be here. always.”

he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then took a shaky breath, and suddenly you realized his eyes were glossy too. he kept blinking, like he was trying to force it back, but it wasn’t working.

“there’s something i’ve wanted to say,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “for a really long time now.”

you stared at him, waiting. your grip tightened slightly around the bouquet.

he looked like he might fall apart.

“do you remember when we were five?” he asked. “and you told me you were never gonna get married?”

you furrowed your brow, sniffling. “vaguely.”

“you said that boys were gross, and that you were gonna be too busy being a ballerina.” he paused to let out a small laugh. “and because you and i do everything the same, if you weren’t getting married, that meant i couldn’t either.”

you bit your lip, suddenly shy. “…that sounds fair.”

he laughed softly, but it cracked halfway through. his voice was breaking.

“i was so upset,” he admitted. “i remember just…standing there, kind of frozen, and then it hit me. i didn’t want to not get married because i wanted to marry you.”

your eyes widened, watery and stunned.

“i didn’t even know what that meant back then,” he went on, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand. “i just knew that you were my favourite person in the whole world. and the idea of not being allowed to stay with you forever made me lose it.”

your heart cracked open.

“and i guess you must have noticed,” he said softly. “because after that, you got real quiet…and then you told me that i could marry you. but only if i bought you a big ballerina ring with all of my famous rapper money.”

you choked out a laugh through your tears, shaking your head.

“you said it had to sparkle,” he smiled, though his voice trembled, “and it had to be big enough so that everyone would know it was real.”

he reached into his pocket slowly.

his hand was shaking when he pulled it out, a tiny white box tucked in his palm, and the second you saw it, your breath hitched.

“what is that?” you asked, voice quiet.

his eyes darted to yours, then down again, thumb nervously brushing over the lid.

“i…bought it last week,” he said. “right after we kissed. when you weren’t talking to me.”

your eyes were already starting to water again.

he turned the box slowly in his hand. “i saw it in the window. i wasn’t even looking, really. just walking by. but it stopped me.”

he opened the lid, and the world seemed to still.

a thin band of gold cradled a marquise diamond, so brilliant it almost looked like it was dancing. it was delicate and luminous, like it had been spun from the light of a stage.

it looked exactly like what a ballerina’s ring should be. elegant. timeless. impossibly soft in its beauty.

like it had been designed with you in mind; with every curve, every shimmer, every quiet detail whispering ‘this is hers.’

your free hand flew to your mouth, both in shock and awe.

“i don’t know if it’s considered a ballerina ring,” he said softly. “but it looked like the kind of thing you would wear. it reminded me of you.”

you blinked fast, but the tears still fell. “hunnie…”

“i know it’s dumb,” he said quickly. “i know we’re not—like, we’re not even dating yet and this is probably the most backwards way anyone’s ever done this and i’m already fucking it up—”

“you’re not,” you whispered, gently setting the bouquet down as you stepped in closer.

you took his free hand into both of yours.

he looked at you like you’d just given him air. like the second you touched his hands, the panic started to settle.

you held onto him gently. “breathe, hunnie.”

he gave the tiniest nod, eyes shining. “okay. okay, i’m—” his voice wobbled. “i’m okay.”

your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles.

“i’ve been trying to get this right,” he said, barely above a whisper. “but i don’t think i can. not really.”

“it’s just me,” you said softly.

he exhaled. “that’s the thing, though. it’s you. i’ve never wanted to get something more right in my whole fucking life.”

your heart cracked in your chest.

he looked down, then up again, a little steadier this time.

“you’ve always been everything to me,” he said. “my first memory is literally you stealing my graham crackers and then hugging me so i wouldn’t be mad.”

your laugh broke on a sob. “they were mine first.”

“they definitely weren’t.” he smiled through the tears. “but i let you have them anyways”

you were already crying again, but he kept going, voice still trembling, but stronger now.

“you’ve always been my best friend. my safe place. the one person who’s always known what i’m thinking before i even say anything.”

his voice cracked. “you’ve always seen me as something good. even when i didn’t.”

your heart stopped for a moment.

“you were the first person i ever wanted to impress,” he said. “the first person i trusted. the first person i wanted to be better for.”

you could barely see him through the blur of your tears now. “hunnie…”

“i don’t know when it shifted,” he whispered. “maybe it never did. maybe it’s always been this.”

he reached up and wiped a tear from your cheek.

“i love you, doll,” he said. “i’m in love with every version of you that’s ever existed. i love you when we’re laughing, when we’re fighting, when you’re dancing, when you’re exhausted, when you’re mad at me. especially when you’re mad at me.”

you choked on a laugh as he continued.

“and i know this is backwards,” he said, gesturing a little wildly. “i bought the ring before i even asked you to be my girlfriend and i know that’s stupid but i saw it and—i just knew. it felt like you. like us.”

“it is us,” you whispered.

he looked down at your joined hands, knowing your touch was the only thing holding him together.

his thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his voice cracked as he started again. “doll…” he blinked, hard. swallowed.

“i don’t have it all figured out,” he said. “i don’t know how to say it right, and i know i messed a lot of things up recently, and i know i probably should’ve waited or planned it better—”

you shook your head, gently.

“but i love you,” he whispered, tears slipping down. “i’ve always loved you. i…i don’t wanna do this halfway anymore,” he said, voice shaking. “so if it’s okay with you…if you’ll let me…can i be yours? like—officially? finally?”

you didn’t answer right away. you just stepped into him, your arms around his neck, your face buried in his chest as you laughed and cried all at once.

“yes,” you choked, burying your face into his neck. “yes, yes, god hunnie, yes.”

he laughed through the sob that broke out of him, wrapping you tighter, swaying slightly in place like it was the only way he could stay grounded.

behind you, the hallway broke into noise.

a sharp sniffle. a strangled “fuck,” followed by a slap that definitely landed on someone’s arm.

“you’re crying too!” daesung blurted, voice cracking mid-accusation.

“shut up, i am not,” youngbae snapped, wiping at his face aggressively.

“he totally is,” jiyong said, grinning through watery eyes. “oh my god—dude. so am i. what the fuck.”

seunghyun didn’t let go of you, not even as you both laughed through your tears. not even as you turned your head slightly to glance at the chaos unfolding behind you.

the boys were a mess. daesung was blinking way too fast, youngbae was clearly trying not to outright sob, and jiyong was biting his lip so hard it was probably already bruising.

“are we supposed to clap?” jiyong asked. “should we clap?”

“do not clap,” seunghyun said, without looking back. his voice was thick. “i swear to god.”

you laughed again, soft and muffled into his shirt.

seunghyun tilted his head toward yours, his palm sliding up your back, holding the base of your neck like it kept you real.

then, gently, he pulled back just enough to reach for your hand.

his fingers trembled as he slid the ring on.

“it’s not a proposal,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “but it’s a promise. for everything that’s coming.”

he paused, breath hitching.

“and a thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking, “for every version of you i’ve ever been lucky enough to love.”

taglist: @mayakahlo @crvshedpetals @teardoong @kyrasworldd @authorscurse @jajabro @moonqz @letstakeabowimoutthedoor @vynn30

[micahulrichdraws]

I come in peace! I don’t wanna try to convince you to take commissions! But I am curious about why you’re so strongly against them, did you have a bad experience working on one? Anyway, love your stuff, your tarot designs go so hard

Thanks for the love!! The reason isn't a bad experience or some such, it's 19 years of being a professional artist and knowing the field!

TLDR: I'm a traditional pen and ink illustrator, so it's not financially viable or creatively fulfilling.

I'm always down to talk art business, so here's a brief breakdown wall of text:

On the financial side, commission designs are almost always done at a net loss/break even for the artist, and I'm no exception. They're alright for starting out, or if you're looking to incorporate them into your marketing (IE: doing a poster design for a band to gain exposure), but typically they're roughly half the cash-per-hour for any established artist VS making an original design, and creating a print run of it.

Example: while tons of folks would look at someone charging $1k USD for a commission and think that it would be crazy cash, once you break down the math, it's pretty bad. An average design for me takes on average 30-40 hours, and that's because I don't have to communicate with anyone else. I'm just drawin' my idea. Assuming this is a dream client who has the mind-meld with me, wire transfers the $1k straight into my bank account the second it's done, that's roughly $25/hr. Once again - this looks *great*, that's around $50k/yr from drawing custom stuff! But that's not how it works. First of all, most folks would lose their *minds* at paying $1k for a commission - over the years I graphed it out, and back when I was a less-established artist, most folks would start with a budget of $100, have their limits pushed at $300, and outright refuse $500. You have to sift through all of those folks in order to get that reasonable commission. That includes folks who aren't willing to commit to a commission, don't want to say no to the price, but will still take up your time. Roughly, for me at least, 10 hours a week of it. You'll also have to run collections on roughly 20% of your customers - they may pay the deposit, but you'll have to chase them for the final payment. Even if you take the payment *in advance* you'll end up having to chase them down/get ghosted. So, realistically: you end up taking the $500, for *at least* 50 hours of work. On average, it clocked in closer to 65-70. $7.14 an hour. That's less than a third living wage and less than minimum wage. You cannot grow an art practice while actively starving. It's easier to make a design, sell it/license it/etc. to make more cash without losing your mind.

That said - After 2020, I reached a point in my career that when I take on custom work, it's typically from a larger brand with a larger scope and larger budget, ranging anywhere from $5k-$30k. That said - these businesses are typically ones that understand the industry and are far less of a headache to work with than individuals, and will give several months worth of work at a time at a living wage.

On the creative side, I enjoy making my own designs and work as opposed to other folks. I have a ton of drawings and projects I'd rather work on and share with folks of my own that are infinitely more fun than the 200th identical commission request (a biblically accurate angel that also is the grim reaper that is also Baldur's Gate 3 thirstraps/Dark Souls fan art/primarchs because Y'ALL AIN'T CREATIVE BUT MY ASTARION X SANGUINIUS SHIP CAME FIRST.) Also, most of the fun of my career is knowing as many folks as possible get to enjoy my art junk. I'd rather go through a few extra hoops and have thousands of folks see my stuff vs something only one other person gets to see.

If you made it this far, congrats, here is my favorite image I have saved in my camera roll:

[mclager]

And McLaren will call them... | Landoscar x reader

I was doing what a good girlfriend does as her boyfriends are doing media stuff, watching tiktok, McLaren's tiktoks, it is a great thing to pass time. As I was watching it I ended up seeing one of the best (and worse) captions ever! McLaren calling them siblings, the same McLaren that knows that they are in a full blown relationship. Since Oscar started to be more open about being close with Lando, McLaren started to freak out saying that people couldn't know anything about our relationship. Well, after that Oscar signed his multiple years contract with McLaren and decided that his new catch frase would be "We're going to grow old together." He just loved the idea of being a menace to PR, and Lando watched it with a proud smile on his face. Now socials are probably just trying to combat the wildfire Oscar caused.

They came back after the media stuff straight into Lando's drivers room where I was chilling. Lando was picking on Oscar for something as he did almost all the time.

"A lot of more Landoscar moments?" Lando said chuckling as he poked Oscar's waist.

"Since when you know the ship name?"

"Since the interview we just did. Osc just out of nowhere said it."

"Isn't that cute? Our chronically online boyfriend." I said making Oscar roll his eyes.

"I'm not chronically online, you're."

"Yeah, I am. At least I'm not being 'sibling coded' with my boyfriend." Both boys looked so confused which made me laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Lando asked and I showed my phone with the McLaren video, Lando was shocked, but he also was laughing at the desperation that PR is on right now, Oscar was just pissed.

"Not wanting us to display our relationship I get it even if it's bullshit, the sport is ran by old men, but from that to call us siblings? Too far."

"Osc, calm down, socials are just trying to end the Landoscar trend I guess."

"Oh, but now they're fucked."

One thing about Oscar? When he gets pissed, you get out of his way.

"Babe, watch out, you don't want to get fired."

"I won't be, trust me."

And right then and there started a series of things that would send PR to a coma. Started with them walking a little too close, then the laughs, then Lando was congratulating Osc with a little slap on the bum, then Oscar saying that they're a good match especially off track, or mentioning that they had dinner together after a race instead of going partying. It was the little things that would be ok if McLaren didn't know what Oscar was trying to do.

PR ran fast to tell Oscar to stop saying shit in the interviews, and it only made the evil genius happier as his plan was really bothering them. When they said to stop in interviews, he thought 'why not on real life then?'. It was a normal thing for us to have dinner together, but normally we try to not go on the paparazzi filled restaurants, but now? Oh well, sounds like a good idea to Oscar, and Lando was happy to oblige. I couldn't go on the first two or three (which was incredible for the Landoscar agenda given all the tiktoks made about it), but at the fourth I was there.

"How it's going with the Landoscar plan?" I asked sipping on my drink.

"Great, I'm loving being used." Lando said making Oscar laugh.

"I'm not using you, drama boy." Lando put his hand near Oscar's and linked his pinky with his.

"You're, but I'll let it slide because you look good."

"Pretty privilege is crazy." I said chuckling, Oscar rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Anyway, let me put you on the loop since you were too busy for us. PR almost tried to ban us having dinner dates."

"There's no way."

"They tried, but Zac and Andrea were digging the free marketing." Oscar nodded agreeing with Lando.

"One trip and you two are making people cry. That's my boys." Lando reached across the table to hold my hand.

"Tell us about the trip, I want all the gossip."

"Oh, I have lots." We started to talk about all the drama that happened on my trip with my friends, it was an amazing dinner.

"Which house we're going?" I asked before walking through the door that was being held by Oscar.

"Lando's."

"I'm going to get the car, you can wait here." Lando said and started to walk through some fans that were there, Oscar also went to take pictures with them as I was looking from a distance. Not so long after Lando came back and I just got in the back seat as Oscar got in the passenger beside Lando. He caressed Lando's hair as he started to drove away.

"McLaren will kill us, you know that right?" Lando said and Oscar nodded.

"I hope this is enough for them to understand that we're not sibling coded, Jesus, I'm pissed."

"I'm only here for the drama." I said and Lando chuckled.

"We know." It was a fun night, after dinner we watched a cheesy movie and slept on the couch. I woke up in bed with Lando, Oscar was nowhere to be found, but I was hearing him in the distance, he sounded nervous. I called Lando a couple times before he woke up.

"What's wrong?"

"Osc, he is talking on the phone."

"And?"

"Sounds like something is wrong." Lando picked his phone to see if he had received something and he had. "Oh fuck, PR is pissed. He look cute, don't we?" He showed me a picture of us on the restaurant, laughing at the table, under it a picture of Oscar with his hand on Lando's hair inside the car.

"We do. What do you think they're talking with Oscar?"

"Probably they're trying to make him stop to do this." He showed me a picture of Him and Oscar with their hands way to close while they were smiling lovingly to eachother.

"You two are so cute."

"You're too, darling." Oscar walked in and looked at us.

"Fuck, I woke you up? I'm sorry." I reached my hand and when he held my hand, I pulled him to sit down with us.

"You didn't, it's fine. What happened?"

"I had a fight with my PR manager, a long one, trying to figure out something that could work out for us and McLaren."

"And what you agreed on?" Lando asked putting his head on my stomach to see Oscar better.

"So... First I said that they needed to stop to call us siblings, brothers, or anything weird like that, and they agreed. They asked for us to tone down the dates, but I asked for less interventions on what we do out of the media's eyes, they said ok, but after everything calm down. We need to have a proper meeting with everyone, PR, Zac and Stella, and our managers. You're invited too, love." He looked at me and I nodded.

"Should I go?"

"Of course! This affects you too, darling." Lando said and I nodded.

"Look, this isn't the best, but is going to be better."

"If I'm with my two loves, I'm happy. Don't worry, Oscariño." Lando pulled Oscar to a group hug. I chuckled and hugged them.

"I agree with Lando. No matter what if I'm here, I'm happy."

"I love you two so much!"

"We love you too." Osc gave us a quick kiss and hugged us back.

"Then let's think about this later, today is a off day."

"It's a us day."

[spencer-sweets]

9-1-1 Fic Recs | Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

[Part 1] [Part 2]

so i am back in the trenches of this ship once again. praying for it to go canon in the next couple of seasons but i am surviving on the crumbs. i made a post before with some old recs but these are ones i have read recently.

[this rec list is incomplete and will be updated as I find more fics I enjoy - last update 4/9/25]

Bobby Versus Buddie by songbvrd (ao3) Mature 10,391 Eddie huffed out a breath. “I’m having a crisis.” And Bobby, he wasn’t proud of it, but the word ‘finally’ was flashing in front of his eyes in giant, neon yellow letters, because surely, surely this meant that he’d figured it out. Finally, at long last, Eddie was having the crisis they’d all been waiting for since he’d started a thousand emergencies earlier. Bobby waited, silent and hopeful, relieved that they’d finally gotten there. “I think I’m homophobic.” Bobby blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” OR - Five times Bobby tried to gently hold Buddie's hands and tell them they were in love, and one time they got the picture.

a cute 5+1 with bobby being done with eddie and buck. got to love the bobby and buck dynamic too.

What’s Your Love Language? by songbvrd (ao3) 18 332 “Which do you think makes you feel most loved?” Eddie thought for a long moment. Too long, maybe. Then he shrugged, “Honestly, Buck? I have no idea.” Buck’s brows pinched up. “What do you mean? When have you felt the most loved?” “Don’t make a big thing of this, Buck. Promise?” Buck made a show of crossing his heart, brows still raised curiously. “I’m not sure I’ve ever… really felt loved in a relationship? I’m not convinced that I know what makes me feel loved…” OR - After finding out that Eddie doesn't know what his love language is, Buck sets about finding out for him. He begins a five week experiment, one for each love language, to figure out which will make Eddie feel the most loved.

another great fluffy fic with some slight emotional infidelity. set in season 7 and buck decides he needs to learn how to best love eddie. spoiler: he was already doing just fine.

50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd (ao3) 20.999 Bucklecup: I really like your moustache. it’s very girthy. really solid. Eddito: girthy????????????? Eddito: did you just text me at 7pm on a wednesday evening to tell me my moustache is GIRTHY???? Bucklecup: honestly, i’m kinda surprised you haven’t blocked me yet, eds OR - Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

awwww. tho i should warn you there is some emotional infidelity going on here but it wasn't bad enough to turn me off of the fic but i thought i'd warn yall. anyways absolutely beautiful fic that made me laugh. also love the author. unintentionally bookmarked this back to back with their prev on this list haha.

know it's for the better by hyruling for fallingthorns (ao3) Explicit 24 931 “I love you, you know.” Buck smiles, and it’s Eddie’s favorite - the one that seems to light him up from within, beautiful and too bright to look at directly for long. “Of course I know that, Eddie,” Buck replies, easy as breathing, but Eddie shakes his head. --- Or: Eddie confesses. Buck doesn't love him back, but it doesn't matter. He'll keep telling him anyway.

oblivious buck and a pining eddie. eddie confesses and buck kind of shuts down mentally over it but eddie just keeps loving him. set in season 7.

Hen Wilson's Four Part Guide To Making Your Stupid Friends Date by songbvrd (ao3) 25 010 “Okay, I know we kind of all had an unspoken rule not to talk about it, but…” “Buck and Eddie are being weird as hell?” Chim asked, sucking in a breath like he'd been holding back from letting the same thought out for far too long. “Yes!” Hen hissed, relieved that she wasn't the only to see the weirdness in the room. “Now, look, they're my friends and so obviously I want them to be happy, but it's also just throwing the team vibe way off.” Bobby took a long, tired breath. “Okay. So what did you have in mind?” Several things, as it turned out. Between them, they managed to come up with the very vague outline of a plan. Or a few plans, really, depending on how many failed. OR - When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands.

i feel like i should be a little bit more ashamed at putting so many fics by songbvrd on this list but... they're sooo good. always coming in clutch for some interesting plot in a medium length fic. this one is no exception to that trend - loved hen in this one and i love miscommunication and outsider POV.

Eddie vs Romance by allyasavedtheday (restricted) (ao3) 27 889 “You wanna talk about it?” Buck asks after a beat. He doesn’t drink his beer. Eddie doesn’t either. It’s a crutch, mostly. A pretence, so that if the conversation gets too deep, too fast they can blame it on the alcohol. Eddie appreciates it. As he thinks about Buck’s question he wonders where to start. He’s told Buck some of it, the important parts, but not- not what compelled him to do any of it in the first place. In the end, he can only think of one thing. Swallowing around the lump clogging his throat, he says, “I don’t think I know how to be in love anymore.” - “I think Eddie’s in love with me.” She gapes at him, mouth working for a response that doesn’t come until Chimney beats her to it. “Eddie’s what?” Maddie claps her mouth shut, stepping aside to let Buck through. Chimney’s on the floor in the living room with Jee playing with her tea set. “You’re not involved in this conversation,” Buck says, pointing at him. “It’s your fault in the first place for even putting the idea in my head.” Maddie apparently finally finds her voice, appearing at Buck’s side and looking between them. “I’m sorry, what? How did Chim put the idea in your head?” “Him and Hen!” Buck exclaims, waving a hand. “They told me I should pay attention to how much Eddie wants to be around me.” “And you took that to mean he’s in love with you?” Chimney asks incredulously. * In which Buck has a clipboard and a list and is about to romance the hell out of Eddie Diaz.

a short series of two fics that explore eddie realizing he is in love with buck, buck realizing eddie is in love with him and then them getting together. really cute and an amazing take on eddie's relationship to shannon.

I’m Bringing You With Me by CourtepointeClementine, sunlight (ao3) 30 997 Eddie props his chin up on his hand to stare at Buck in the dark. The mattress makes an ungodly squeaking noise from even this small movement. Maybe sneaking out wouldn’t actually be that easy. Eddie reaches across him and squeezes Buck’s shoulder. Buck looks over at him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Eddie says. “I took the couch,” Buck blurts out. Eddie’s hand stills where it was still gently squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “What?” “Ugh.” He dislodges Eddie’s hand and pulls the duvet up over his own face. “Why?” Buck uses the duvet cover to absorb the lone tear that is trickling down to his ear. “It looked lonely. On the curb.” On Eddie’s last night in LA, Buck does something a little crazy. While Eddie’s in El Paso, he does something a little crazy. It all comes back to the couch in the end.

eddie moves to el paso and buck does not handle it well. like at all. lots of emotional hurt for buck and of course a happy ending.

it was more than a moment (it was the rest of our lives) by smilingbuckley (restricted) (ao3) Mature 36 161 At work, Eddie gets the shocking news that his parents are suing him for custody of Christopher. His lawyer, falsely assuming Buck and Eddie are a couple, suggests they get married to give Eddie a stronger case. Buck gladly agrees. -- “So,” Buck speaks up when the waiter is gone. He stretches his arms above his head, making the shirt under his jacket ride up and expose a bit of his skin. Eddie can see the faint lines of a tattoo before Buck shifts and his shirt falls down again. “Are we getting married?” Eddie has to do a double take, “Excuse me, what?” “Well, Mrs. Reese said that it would be useful,” Buck says, like it’s not a big deal at all. Like marriage isn’t an official commitment, usually reserved for people in love that plan on being together for the rest of their lives. “I… Buck, it’s… good that you’re, you know, my fake boyfriend or whatever, but I can’t let you marry me for this.” “Why not?” Buck asks, “If it helps you get Christopher back.”

fake marriage turned real marriage fic. also fuck helena and ramon all my homies hate helena and ramon. eddies parents fuck up and try to take chris permanently and eddie and buck get married over it. season 8.

something touched me (like a knife-blade) by kithmet (ao3) Explicit 42,295 “I feel fucking explosive, Buck. Like I’m about to go off at any second. I don’t want you caught in my mess.” His eyes sting. At the very least, Buck contains the sound of it in his voice. “Eddie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he replies, “but I already am.” Eddie self-implodes. Christopher, seeking refuge, flees to Buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get Eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (Oh, and Tommy’s there too. He thinks.)

this was a great fic and an interesting take on chris staying with buck and eddie getting his shit together.

everything (nothing) has changed by bizarrestars (restricted) (ao3) Explicit 48 550 After Eddie gets shot, Buck confesses his love. From there, things get a little out of hand. *** Buck breathes for a moment, then sets his shoulders. "Eddie, there's something I have to tell you." "Do you?" Eddie asks flatly, still alarmed and doing his best to hide it. "I would've never guessed." Buck swallows. "Eddie, I love you." "Are you softening the blow, or buttering me up? Because, I've got to tell you, I'm still very worried regardless," Eddie tells him. "No, you don't understand. I love you. I'm currently in love with you," Buck says as evenly as possible, and even then, his voice wobbles precariously there for a moment. He exhales. "You don't have to worry about it, though, because I've processed it and decided to—to find relief in telling you before moving on and moving forward." Eddie stares at him. No response at all. Well, at least he's not freaking out.

the note left in my bookmark: "couldn't even play my video games while listening to this smh. took too much of my attention. <3"

i tend to download fics and listen to them through a epub reader and play video games but i could not keep from pausing to keep reading manually i needed to know what was next so bad. buck and eddie being stubborn and stupid and includes some of my favorite pining tropes. i love when one of them is convinced the other cannot love them so they try to fall out of love. amazing. also jealous eddie ftw.

Juxtaposition by ProstheticLoVe (ao3) Teen+ 74 552 “What kind of partner do you want?” Buck looks him straight in the eye and with no hesitation says, “One who has my back. Someone who loves me for me. All the chaos and the weirdness included. Someone who I love. Even if I have to wait for them to catch up.” He says it with such confidence, Eddie feels like his answer was lacking. Or the one where Eddie’s too busy stuck on the idea of a heteronormative family that he misses who is right in front of him and has been all along. Don’t worry, Buck’s trying to tell him.

eddie being in love with buck but being so deeply repressed is one of my fave tropes and it is pulled off excellently here.

Away From Us by Marchling (restricted) (ao3) Mature 76 165 They turned the last corner they needed to get to Buck’s loft and the floor was gone. “Firefighters evacuate. The building is collapsing.” Eddie stared incomprehensibly to the gaping drop that should have been Buck’s hall. His heart was pounding, not because he had worked so hard to get here… Because he was terrified. “Buck!” Eddie screamed as loud as he could to be heard over the flames. His hands scrambled over the walls, testing them, trying to see if he could use a ledge or a doorknob or something to get to Buck’s door. There was no answer but Eddie screamed again, “Buck! Are you here?” --- After the lawsuit Buck is doing his absolute best to try to win back his family but nothing is working and the hope is starting to hurt. He makes the the decision to resign from the 118 via letter and leave LA to start something new in Arizona. And that would've been fine except a fire burns down his entire apartment building that morning and the letter never makes it to Bobby. When Buck isn't found amongst the survivors his loved ones have to accept that he died in the fire. A presumed dead story about forgiveness, grief, second chances and falling in love.

aaahhhh presumed dead my beloved. buck is presumed dead in a fire when he decides to run after the lawsuit. eddie and the rest of the 118 have to grapple with the death of buck. loved bobby in this one and it broke me to see his grief over losing another kid.

there is no road by littleghost (ao3) Explicit 99 788 Eddie listens to the voicemail later. Buck sounds like he’s at a grocery store, absentmindedly talking into the phone. “Oh, I guess you’re with your sisters. Sorry to miss you. I just wanted to tell you about this call we had last night, but I gotta hear your reactions, so, later. Okay, uh, I guess I’ll just call back. Or text.” It ends abruptly, without a goodbye. Eddie replays it a second time, closes his eyes as he sits in the truck. For a moment, he can pretend Buck is sitting in the passenger seat next to him. For a moment, Eddie is back in Los Angeles and his best friend is dragging him through the grocery store. The voicemail ends, Eddie opens his eyes, and the fantasy breaks. Eddie is still in El Paso, parked in front of the house he’s renting, and there’s no one in the passenger seat with him.

omgggg. so im fairly sure the title is from that song from the bolt movie so points off the bat for that decision i have it stuck in my head now. a good fix it fic for season 8 where buck and eddie keep communicating through voicemails as they intentionally and unintentionally miss each others calls. great fic that has calls in it and a lot of substance. loved it.

originally posted 4/7/25

[sideblogtointeract]

Theseus' Guide to Ruining a Perfectly Good Ship in a Bottle

A list made on the loosest association of words, with an even looser tie to this fanfiction

Stan

Give him an Amati model kit and he is happy as a clam. He's moded several already and resold them as "ghost ships" in bottles and "wreckage of a ghost ship" in a bottle for the ones Soos or Mabel drop.

Mabel

Lego model of ship in a bottle. After its built she'll change out vingettes/scenery. Soos, Wendy, and Stan are deeply invested in the unfolding soap opera Mabel crafts with it.

Dipper

Is really excited to make his first ship in a bottle, and he'll make one! Just as soon as he finishes reading a book on how to do it, and reads the other three he asked for his birthday. Maybe he'll go to the library to checkout the books the books he got used in the citation. He's going to build the ship, believe you me, he really isn't going to move onto something else in t minus 4 months. This ship? Getting built.

Ford

"Oh you meant as in an actual ship? Hah!" Ford has been maintaining an excellent example of Darwin's "Beagle in a Bottle" experiment for years now NOT a replica of the HMS Beagle in a bottle you silly.

Bill

It's the 1940s, your run is just beginning but already you feel like your life is over because prom is in two weeks and you just know Arch is going to ask Beronica not you to go with him. Can you blame him? You're just good ol’ dependable Vetty, girl next door Arch's on again off again no-on again “let's not put labels on this” girlfriend. Beronica is everything you're not she wears short skirts which you also wear but it's different. She's cheer captain and you're… also cheer captain — sometimes your co-captain it depends on the issue. Anyways she's rich, and beautiful, and perfect, and wonderful, and if it wasn't for the fact she was a brunette you'd have nothing on her.

“Oh Pops! What am I going to do?” You whine to the man working the bar at the soda shop.

“Well it's as I always tell you crazy kids, answers aren't found at the bottom of an Egg Cream.”

“But they sure are delicious!” Your longtime friend Bottlehead — wearer of cool hats and, more recently, cooler shades —  stops eating table napkins long enough to quip.

“And how!” All three of you laugh before Bottlehead goes back to slurping down  plastic straws like they're spaghetti. 

“If you want Arch to take you to the dance, just ask him yourself.” Pops suggests, like an out of touch square.

“This is the prom, Pops, not Sadie Hawkins!” You complain, pushing your half finished Egg Cream away. 

“Besides, I tried. I think he’s avoiding me.” You add, sinking into your seat.

“Say! Why don't you go ask that cursed fortune telling machine at the abandoned fairgrounds?” Bottlehead suggests, reaching for your abandoned drink.

“Golly that's a great idea! Bottlehead, if your mouth wasn't full of glass I could kiss you!!!” Bottlehead suffers a hug from you instead as he continues to consume your discarded order. cup and all.

You sock hop out of the establishment and cross the street to the abandoned fairgrounds.

Hopping over the rusted turnstile and side stepping some police tape you make your way to the culturally insensitive but period accurate fortune telling machine. Feeding it one of your hard earned and always valuable pennies the automata jolts to life. 

The words are garbled over the loud clacking of the doll's mouth, out of sync with the tinny audio. Which is fine, the opening number is an offensive milieu of ethnic stereotyping. The real magic is when you press the button with your wish in mind and the machine prints out the most accurate supernatural reading it can.

You know it's accurate because, unlike biological fortune tellers, machines don't care about sparing your feelings from the celestial forces that rule over you. Just the facts. 

“Please tell me how to get Arch to ask me to the dance.” You whisper your wish before slapping your hand onto the golden glowing button and watch as your destiny is printed onto gold backed ticketape.

For a brief second you hear a faint whimsical giggle as you rip off your printed fortune.  Looking around you see no one in the abandoned fairgrounds.  It’s just you, the chalk outline you're standing on, the automaton with its outstretched hand to shake, and the police tape surrounding you.

“That’s odd,” you muse. “When did you move?” You ask but the better question is how did it move?  Because aside from the rudimentary motions reserved for nutcrackers the machine’s body was a plaster mold that had no joints to move.

Yet here it is, hand out in greeting.  No. Not greeting, a deal and if you keep over-analysing I am going to take it back.

“What?” You ask as the internal narrative becomes as structurally unsound as the White House during this time period — look it up.

You turn to go to the Daleriver Library — now certified communist book free — to do just that, then are reminded by the text that you still need to read your fortune for our readers!

“If you want to be with your one true… loves?” You pause to puzzle at this but not for any longer than it takes to read this sentence.  “... forever. Then shake my hand.” You Continue.

“Your friend, Bill?” You don’t know who that is but you bet he is really keen and neato to have a name like that. You feel really embarrassed that you don’t remember having a friend like that. It would be really rude to leave a pal hanging, especially when they went through all this trouble for you.

So you shake the cold hand of the automaton before you. You don’t register that the glass pane wasn’t there, that the hard resin arm moves like flesh— no, all your focus is on the bright gold cat eyes looking back at you and the return of a giggle that grows into an outright cackle.  

Wind whips around you, police tape flying like ribbons caught in a tornado, and you stand still in the eye of it.

“Hiya Vetty,” The automaton greets, jaw held open like a snake— or like a smile, let’s not be rude.  “long time fan first time crossover. You and I have got a lot in common.” The machine continues but the tin from its voice box layers with the voice in the wind that has stopped laughing and now talks in sync with it. 

You don’t try to speak, you want to, but I don’t need to write around your wants anymore.

“Both of our fandoms question our interest in men and we share the same banana yellow pantone. Me for my body, you for your hair and… eyes?” The voice coming from all around, you guess correctly that this is Bill — smarty that you are, that earns you a free can of brown meat! — finishes. You don’t know what he looks like exactly but from the description he sounds like a real dream boat.

“My eyes aren't —” You hold that thought and pop a squat in front of the fortune telling machine. You jimmy open the front and reach inside it.

“Bet you weren’t expecting so much organ meat?” You ask yourself but you're not the one talking.

You pull your red stained arm out of the warm pulsing mass before you to free a pristine glass bottle. In its reflection you see your mouth split into a painfully wide grin scrunching your now golden eyes, a mirror image to the automaton leering over you; below that you see a tiny version of Arch banging his fist against his transparent prison. 

“Ever Dream of Jeannie kid?” Asks your new best friend, still borrowing your body and voice.

“Of course you don't! That's not for another 20 years!” Your hands uncork the top of the bottle.

The soft “tink” of glass tapping concrete reverberates in the abandoned fairground.  A moment passes in silence. 

Then you see shoes.

“Two down,” Bottlehead says, bending down to grab you. If he hears you and Arch’s pleas he doesn’t care as he gently returns your bottle prison back into its warm nest of organs. Gold eyes look over slick sunglasses and give you a wink. “... one to go.”

[oh-no-its-bird]

There's an interesting note to be made on how Orochimaru is noticeably more stable and sane (and less "I will now gleefully crimes against humanity") when he has positive, stable relationships to ground him (Tsunade and Jiriyah, potential Sakumo + Mitsuki, Log, the rest of team Taka who are inexplicably around him in Boruto)

And how Sakumo's death would line up very neatly with the time Danzo was pressuring him into joining ROOT.

I've seen some really fun takes before about how Sakumo was being looked at as a very strong contender for 4th Hokage, and that his mission gone wrong was just weeks before Sarutobi was going to make a concrete decision naming him for it.

And that Danzo did not like the idea of Sakumo as Hokage— for many reasons but some of them being that he was a strong willed man who was very resistant to potential manipulations and with a very different political agenda than Danzo.

(A few things that later down the line, the much younger and more flexible Minato was not, which made him a much more attractive candidate for Danzo to attempt to continue his Hokage puppetiering on)

And so Sakumo's mission was sabotaged, and he was set up to fail no matter what choice he made on it. Rumors were carefully spread, hate was skillfully cultivated, and in the end Danzo had only sit back and watch the man who may have been the Hokage to get in his way take himself out of the equation.

(Also, notably: conveniently leaving his equally as prodigious son to later fall into Danzo's hands)

So anyways, rolling with that, if you subscribe to the Orochimaru and Sakumo friendship (or ship tbh, I think they're cute) then I am welcoming u aboard my hc of "hmmm it sure is oddly convenient that Orochimaru, who was so isolated and had already lost Tsunade and Jiriyah, also lost Sakumo and was only then approached by Danzo for ROOT experiments."

Am I saying Danzo killed Sakumo to more easily get to Orochimaru? No. But I am saying it could have totally contributed to his motivations to orchestrate it, just along with everything else. It'd be neat, so

[theodorenmyth]

Idk how far into One piece you are. But maybe something fluffly with like Law where reader is playing with his hands because they love his tattoos. And then maybe later Law finds the reader painted their hands like a fake tattoo and just messing around in the mirror. Preferably with a male reader but gn is ok too

Anyways this is the first time I've done this but i absolutely love your writing so much and hope you have a good day!!

Ink and Imitation

Pairings ; Trafalgar D. Water Law x M!Reader

Summary ; You were fascinated by Law’s tattoos, you spend time tracing them while sitting between his legs, dramatically declaring your admiration. Inspired, you sneak off to the bathroom to recreate his tattoos on yourself using ink, striking dramatic poses in the mirror while pretending to be the next Surgeon of Death. Unfortunately, Law catches you mid-performance, unimpressed but amused. After teasing you for misspelling ‘DEATH’ as ‘DEATN,’ he effortlessly flusters you with a kiss before smugly walking away. Despite the embarrassment, you’re still convinced you *totally* pulled it off.

A/N ; I loved writing this so much :3 enjoy bb!

warnings ; none

word count ; 1.2k+

The Polar Tang had its moments of chaos, but right now, it was peaceful. Warm light filled Law’s quarters as you sat comfortably between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. His arms rested loosely at his sides, medical journal in one hand while the other lay freely in your grasp. You were utterly fascinated with it.

“You know,” you mused, running your fingers over his knuckles, “I think your hands might be my favorite thing about you.”

Law hummed, flipping a page. “Not my intelligence? My leadership? My life-saving surgical skills?”

You scoffed dramatically. “Ugh, those are so expected. What, am I supposed to be impressed that you can rearrange someone’s insides like a Rubik’s Cube?”

“I would hope so,” he deadpanned.

You ignored him, gently stretching out his fingers before tracing the bold ‘DEATH’ tattooed across them. “These hands tell a story. They’re calloused, strong—capable of destruction, but they’re also careful, precise. They save lives.” You sighed wistfully, resting your cheek against his arm. “Tragic, poetic, effortlessly cool… If you weren’t already my boyfriend, I’d propose on the spot.”

Law snorted. “So dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m appreciative.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand before continuing your inspection. Your fingers trailed down to the intricate tattoo covering his wrist and forearm, tracing the thick, circular patterns.

“These must’ve hurt,” you murmured.

Law tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to watch you. “Not as much as you’d think.”

You gasped, clutching his arm like you were hearing a scandalous secret. “You mean you didn’t shed even one tear?”

He smirked. “No.”

You placed a hand over your chest, shaking your head. “The strength. The sheer willpower.”

“You’re insufferable,” he said, but his lips twitched in amusement.

Your fingers stilled as an idea struck you. A ridiculous, impulsive, absolutely necessary idea.

"Law," you said, voice suddenly serious. "What if I got tattoos just like yours?"

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m serious!” You held up your hands, flexing your fingers. “Imagine us standing side by side, matching tattoos, striking fear into our enemies. We'd be unstoppable. Iconic."

Law stared at you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, returning to his book. "You're not getting my tattoos."

"Why not?" you whined, flopping back against his chest.

“Because you’d cry after five minutes.”

You gasped so loudly, it could’ve been heard across the Grand Line. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” You sat up, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I am a pirate, Law—I’ve been stabbed, thrown off ships, electrocuted by a Marine with an unfortunate Devil Fruit, and you think I’d cry over a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

Law chuckled under his breath, and before you could argue more, he lazily draped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him. "Just stick to playing with mine," he murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before turning a page.

You melted instantly. "Fine. But I will prove you wrong one day."

Later that night, you stood hunched over the bathroom counter, sleeves rolled up, face scrunched in concentration as you carefully painted ink onto your skin.

This was serious business.

You had "borrowed" some ink from the supply room, along with a fine brush, and you were currently painstakingly copying Law's tattoos onto your hands and forearms.

You'd return it later…

Maybe.

The knuckle tattoos were the easiest part, even though writing backwards in the mirror was a nightmare. The tribal patterns on his wrist and forearm? That was where the real challenge began.

You stuck out your tongue in deep focus as you worked on a particularly intricate swirl.

"Okay, okay, looking good so far," you muttered, nodding in approval. The only problem was that your non-dominant hand was absolutely not cooperating. The moment you tried painting the other side, the lines became crooked.

You groaned dramatically. "Why am I cursed with only one good hand?!"

Still, after about an hour of dedication and minor suffering, you stepped back to admire your work.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hands covered in ink, admiring your reflection like an artist marveling at their masterpiece.

It wasn’t perfect—your handwriting was a little crooked, and the lines on your forearms were messier than you’d hoped—but still, it looked cool. You flexed your fingers, grinning.

"Captain Y/N," you whispered to yourself, striking a pose. "Surgeon of Death 2.0."

You waved your hand dramatically. "Shambles!"

Nothing happened, obviously.

You tried again, this time with more enthusiasm. "Room!"

Still nothing.

You sighed. “Lame. Law makes it look so effortless.”

A slow clap echoed behind you.

You froze.

Turning your head ever so slowly, you found Law leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.

You opened your mouth. No words came out.

Law exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. "What," he said, reaching for your hand, "is this?"

"Admiration," you answered quickly, standing up straight. "Respect. Dedication to my captain. Love, even.”

His fingers traced the ink on your knuckles, eyes scanning your handiwork. “You misspelled ‘DEATH.’”

Your heart dropped. “You’re lying.”

Law turned your hand so you could see. The ‘H’ was slightly smudged, making it look like an ‘N.’

“…DEATN,” you read aloud in horror.

Law’s smirk widened. “Truly intimidating.”

You groaned, dramatically leaning against him. “All my hard work… ruined.”

“Maybe if you actually got a real tattoo—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, pointing a stained finger at him.

“—you wouldn’t have this problem.”

You pouted, but the warmth in his voice betrayed his teasing. "You're just jealous."

He quirked a brow. "Of what?"

"My natural artistic talent."

“Right.” He let go of your wrist, giving you a once-over. “You look ridiculous.”

“You’re just mad because I pull it off better than you.”

Law chuckled, shaking his head before gently wiping a smudge from your cheek. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You huffed. “You just wait, Trafalgar D. Water Law. One day, I will get a real tattoo, and then you’ll regret ever doubting me.”

Law leaned in, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’d never regret anything about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Stupid. Infuriating. Unfairly attractive man.

Before you could formulate a response, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

You blinked up at him, momentarily dazed, before remembering yourself. "Don’t think you can distract me with affection!" you huffed, even as your face burned.

Law smirked. “Seems to be working.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Ugh. You’re the worst.”

He patted your head like you were an annoying but beloved pet. “And yet, here you are.”

You sighed, giving in to your fate as his eternally bullied boyfriend. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

He chuckled. “Now,” he said, pulling away, “go wash your hands before you stain everything.”

Then, with one last smirk, he turned on his heel and walked away.

You stared after him, then looked back at your reflection.

Your fake tattoos looked awesome.

You let out a defeated groan, turning toward the sink.

He was so lucky you loved him.

[lukolathoughts]

Dearest gentle readers,

As a GCSE English teacher in the UK, I have taught Of Mice and Men until I am blue in the face. I know the text like the back of my hand. There is a scene/extract where Carlson takes Candy’s dog outside to be shot (spoiler) and the men in the bunkhouse listen and wait anxiously for the eventual gunshot. The tension builds and builds and builds and the characters become more uncomfortable as they wait. To demonstrate how this tension might feel, I would often show my students a video of a balloon getting bigger and bigger and bigger. You get the idea. Until it becomes so uncomfortable you can’t stand to watch it. You know the explosion is coming but there is nothing you can do to stop it. The eventual BANG brings both fear and relief. This my friends, is how I perceive the Lukola fandom at this current moment. Like a kettle whistling away on a stove that no one knows how to turn off. All waiting for the eventual BOOM of the gunshot that feels inevitable. It is in tarot, the Tower.

Of Mice and Men is also a great one for division. White against black. Men against women. Social class. Feels familiar doesn’t it in this day and age? Ironically, next year it is being taken off UK GCSE English exam papers for being too ‘controversial’.  A damn shame in my opinion, as it’s just as relevant now as it was in the 1930’s. Probably even more so. Anyway, in this fandom we have mainly the Lukola’s against the Jakola’s or the Jakeholes as I call them. This narrative was perpetuated by a certain creator after the festival photos of Jake and Nic emerged in August. Until this point it was widely accepted that Nic had been socialising with her ‘gay’ friend Jake and no one batted an eyelid about it. Until those pap photos dropped of a seemingly ‘tipsy’ Nicola staring adoringly up at her ‘friend’ Jake and scratching his arm. Hmm, weird I thought. Didn’t we just have chaos week? Wasn’t the fandom floating on air at this point examining Nic’s ‘drink your milk’ t -shirt and obsessing over Nicola’s insta posts? We knew damn well Luke was home from Italy and we knew he had left two days early alone without his homeboys and most importantly Antonia. What is the meaning of these paparazzi shots taken from the VIP area of the festival. Didn’t Nic just sign with CAA talent agency a few weeks ago? The gears in my over stimulated brain dismissed the photos as Nic simply being over friendly with Jake, as she is prone to be, despite him looking bored and uninterested in her, and I simply went about my day.

Well, we know the rest of the story. The New York stalking incident where a fan practically chased Nicola and Jake down the street. Again, sent to find them reportedly by the ‘creator’. The photos and videos emerged and showed that Nic and Jake were holding hands. It’s okay, he was just leading her away as she has little Irish legs. Now the narrative was well under way and the gleeful Jakeholes had started to creep out from their swamp. The Jakehole ship was rising like an infested remnant of an 18th century passenger ship, spluttering its way across the Atlantic. This is no splendid brand new Titanic, my friends. This is a leaky, wooden, rickety old boat that I’m amazed gained it’s sea legs in the first place.

This was then followed up by the real kicker. The Lukola fandom had been floating on air in joined union and rejoicing over ‘October chaos week 2.0’ as I like to call it. It started with Luke’s cheeky October 3rd post of Polin and ended with the sheer euphoria of BOTH Luke and Nic seemingly on route somewhere. Perhaps, together, perhaps not. But he posts his luggage at an airport! When has Luke Newton ever done this? Nicola then posts herself smiling on a plane and I swear everyone just about fainted in excitement. Oh, the euphoria. Only then spoiled by the stalking incident, which I am convinced spooked Nic and Luke back into the shadows. Then the second lot of Jake and Nic pap pics hit, and this is the one that really hurt. I remember my discord going wild and then me and my bestie wife (she knows who she is) trying to justify the weather for about three weeks in the UK. Not that it really mattered. Distraction or no, the stage was set for the most bizarre few months of my life and undoubtedly Nicola, Luke and Jake as well. What a mess. The Jakehole ship gains some traction and starts chugging away like Popeye the sailor man after too much spinach.

But we’re a stubborn bunch the Lukola fandom. Things behind the scenes were not adding up and anyone with a set of eyes and a smart phone could deduce the real story from Jake’s Instagram. And then like some magic glitter bomb in comes Antonia. Can you hear the song Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus screeching in your ear? Because I can. I had done a tarot read that morning and got repeated Antonia cards and most specifically the girl with the snake. My breath caught in my lungs, and I knew she was coming like some willowy Darth Vader with an axe to grind, eating a lettuce sandwich. I quickly jumped on You Tube and gave my warnings. I know it was inevitable. I know a lot of other readers got the same message that day too and I give some of them credit for that. Prepare the ship! incoming attack port side. Boom. I’ve really started to fear seeing bowls of pasta which is ridiculous. I think I have PTSD from pasta gate 1 and 2.

And here my friends is where another division happens. I can pinpoint it exactly for you. Antonia’s pasta video from a Rome restaurant that Luke had been tagged at an hour before. All hell breaks loose, and I mean it. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, not because I believe a word that girl says, but because I KNEW others would. People started jumping off the USS Lukola quicker than I could say, wait a minute, please just wait! There were me and others running around the deck shoving the band out of the way as the death throes of Nearer my God to Thee sound in a haunting melody. I could see the captain of the ship, followed by his foolish crew, letting the water suck them down whole. It was no use, they had jumped all the way down to Davey Jones locker while I still stood on deck, with many others, watching their faces disappear into the murky depths of the black sea.

I do not wish to give Antonia anymore power, but girl I would have been impressed if it wasn’t such a mean thing to do. There is speculation, Luke may have given her the video to distract from some things, that might even be a bit too delulu for even me to comprehend. She also had friends in Italy at the time who could have given her the video, including a dancer friend of hers. She could have simply saw Luke’s location and downloaded a video off the internet. Or she simply was there. I must come to terms with that critically in my own mind as a possible option. However, I do think if she really was there, she would have posted more than some woman making pasta. Admittedly, I am one of those people who like to take pictures of my food, and I bet my arse, Antonia is too. Where is your plate of pasta Antonia? Where are the pictures of Luke’s studio, his hotel room, his shoes? Any bit of evidence you are with him like she used to post incessantly during the world tour to prove her proximity.

We found out later that Luke was not at the restaurant that day. The man pictured was not the owner and just a fan who had a picture with Luke some days or weeks before. The next day after pasta gate 1.0, Luke pushes a bunch of PR explaining he is in Rome to film his first movie White Mars. I felt a lot of energy behind this from him, even if he didn’t organise the Deadline article directly. Antonia was punished accordingly and was in my imagination told by Luke, I will not like your pathetic grid posts on Insta for the whole month of November, so don’t bother. She didn’t post to her grid.

The damage had been done, almost like a tornado hitting and spinning USS Lukola on it’s head. But we were still standing with a new faction of die hard Lukola’s forming. Nothing short of a kissing photo or a word coming from either Nic or Luke was moving us off this ship and that is where we are today. The Lukola’s who jumped, what happened to them? Well, like ghosts of their former selves they spend their time walking along the seabed aimlessly between still wanting to be on the ship but having a new perspective of ‘realism’. We must be realistic, me hearties!! Luke is still most likely with Antonia (eye roll) and Nicola is with Jake (major eye roll, they have left my sockets). I talked a lot about critical thinking in my last blog and I don’t want to rehash it all here, but there is no evidence that Luke has been within the same breathing space as Antonia since last July. I do not count the dodgy Facebook post by Luke’s mother as any kind of believable evidence. No, I also do not believe that Luke’s mother has a beef with Nicola either. Anyone who ever meets Nicola seems to be sucked into her light like a moth to a Dyson hoover. I do not believe Michelle would to it to either Luke or Nic, as I have explained previously.

So, the last week has been a bit exciting for the Lukola diehard’s. Again, here comes another split. Crack, like lightening hitting a road. Nicola appears looking fabulous at the Big Boys premiere in London last Wednesday 22nd January. She was again dressed in black. I should have put bets on it, but I’d win pennies at this point in my predictions that Nicola would be wearing black. Now why is she wearing black again you ask, well dearest gentle reader that is the question, isn’t it? Why does she have a bottle of non-acholic beer at her feet? Why is her dress at the event raising eyebrows? I will tell you why: the Empress, the High Priestess and the Moon repeatedly. It’s as simple as that for me. That is all I will say, because the hate is real guys. I woke up Thursday morning to a barrage of insults. I had not said anything publicly on Twitter about Nicola.

Here now comes the death knell of my one remaining Lukola discord. I woke up to the announcement the server was being shut down. I took my Twitter private to stop the trolls and I thought it was a bright idea to make my own discord server, to hell with the haters. Welcome everyone else. Anyone who disparages Nicola in any way, shape or form in discussions of personal body issues I find disgusting. Talking about a person’s weight is vile to me, it is not acceptable and calling someone ‘just fat’ to explain away other things is abhorrent. We should not be saying things publicly. So now there the Lukola’s who believe one thing and the ones who still support Luke and Nic, but do not believe what they are seeing. That’s okay and we will not force those opinions on others. We will listen and we will wait. We will not comment on Nicola’s body.

There is one last split I want to touch on briefly. The division of the tarot readers. It is unfortunately the case now, much to my inner anguish. I started in this fandom listening to them and loving the readings. I had previously been reading privately on Harry and Meghan Markle (don’t even ask) and I was scared to read on Nicola and Luke because I didn’t want to know that weren’t together, because June 13th broke my heart just like everyone else’s. But these tarot readers were amazing, they gave me hope, and I truly admired and learned a lot from the OG’s. I listen and believe my spirit team implicitly and I will not turn on my intuition. I will not turn my back on Nicola and Luke. There is too much evidence to support they are together. Christmas and NYE confirmed this for me significantly and the fact that Jake got a job in Sheffield yesterday. Good for you Jakey boy, off you go and let the grown-ups carry on now. There are tarot readers who sadly stopped believing, they jumped off with the rest of the frantic Lukola’s and they keep trying to swim back to the surface, before being dragged back down by yet another social media post of the adjacents or paparazzi picture, despite evidence to the contrary.

You know who doesn’t have social media and her readings never change, and she stays true to her heart? The lovely Meghan on YouTube. She doesn’t know about adjacent drama, so they are simply not in her remit and her spirit guides do not address them either. My advice is to follow her lead and listen to what Nicola and Luke tell us, no one else.

It is okay as well for other tarot readers to have different opinions and I respect that, but as public facing roles with large platforms, it is our responsibility to be excellent role models to our followers. We should be supporting each other as women and not disparaging those we read on with our biases. Foul mouthed rants and calling Nicola names is not helpful.

In conclusion, the fandom is a powder keg. We are all sitting in the bunkhouse divided but ultimately waiting for the same gunshot that will snap us back. This might put us all back on the same page, all back to shipping Lukola where we started last year, or this gunshot could divide us further as all factions refuse to see or believe the truth. I truly believe we are coming to the end of this now and one way or another, the truth is on it’s way. We the fandom are the Tower, not Nic and Luke. One way or another, the tower will fall. One gunshot and bam.

[mythtakens]

sorry I’m back with another block of text. the thing where people think that 911 the firefighter procedural show on ABC made a main character (Buck) bi after 7 seasons (yay forever seriously) and 6 of getting shipped with another main character (Eddie) who is his best friend like big time. fully knowing that but just for absolutely no reason related to that. which certainly it does not have to be! Buck exists in his own right as a developed character. except that seeing how he is a fictional character in a story where he interacts with other fictional characters it does seem somewhat odd they then also made no effort to make their dynamic more normal whatsoever to dissuade anyone from this. and instead somehow made their peas in a pod thing worse and weirder and involved Eddie heavily in the entire arc quite literally including in the circumstances for the beginning and end of Buck’s romantic relationship with another guy. and again, instead of writing Buck a well developed romance (like the rest of the characters have and like Buck has every right to especially this far into the show) with this guy, which even these same people who want it to be endgame complain about and are forced to fill in so many of the gaps for. they think the show decided to simply not do that. and have Eddie either present or mentioned in nearly every scene they had for. no reason? baiting? all so that 12 episodes (I think 7 episodes if you are only counting ones they were in) after they kissed this guy could break up with Buck to… “start a slowburn will they won’t they”? and 5 episodes after that in the natural progression of a slowburn 🤨 they could bring the guy back and have him immediately suggest Eddie is his competition for Buck’s affections and imply that’s why he broke up with him in the first place and also imply Eddie isn’t straight, making it the second time this season Eddie’s sexuality has come up 7 seasons into his being on the show, but all of this for allegedly no positive reason. and putting a spotlight on the idea that Buck and Eddie could be romantic for people who were not even thinking about it before was to… umm to tell them NOT to. I didn’t even mention all of these characters involved are insane and Buck moved into Eddie’s house while he’s gone in Texas and this particular conversation was happening in said house. and they got rid of the set Buck had been living in since season 2. but anyway they think all this happened so that the show could.. once and for all… shut down.. the concept of romantic buddie. and those that really wanted that to happen are gleefully celebrating it. idk man you can do and ship whatever you want and it certainly doesn’t have to be this but. well. I want to put this as gently and kindly as I can but admittedly I am kind of a bitch so: I just don’t think being willfully obtuse is gonna count as being blindsided two times in a row

[bloodykora]

I Meant It

I finally wrote an actual one shot for Buggy :)

Summary: You 'babysit' Buggy while he's only a head.

No use of y/n however reader is referred to gal and very feminine pet names (I normally write gender neutral but this was very self serving). I had to write this on my phone so if the format is different from my norm, that is why.

“I think his nose is cute.” A voice breaks out for the first time in the conversation, the other two slowly turning towards you in shock and judgement.

“I beg your pardon sweet thing?” Sanji is the first to break the moment of silence, you raise your shoulders at him.  “I don’t know, he's like. Okay, you know those cats who have a limb missing and they go to scratch with that limb and everyone’s like ‘awww’. That’s kinda how I think I am with him right now, look at him. He’s just a head, a little kitty who can’t scratch behind his ear and needs some help.”

“You seem to forget about the village he destroyed, the one that offered us the rest of their food after we saved them because of what him and his crew did.” “Zoro, you out of everyone has no right to judge considering you took that random dude’s brother’s head.” You stare at the Buggy in front of us with a cloth in his mouth, watching this whole conversation about him go down.

“I do not need to be around this.” Zoro states before leaving, huffing to himself right before he goes out of ear shot. 

“I never knew you out of everyone would be into the clown type but then again, all women are a mystery.” A laugh comes out and you shake your head at Sanji’s words before replying. “I think I just like them to be outgoing.” You slowly and dramatically look Sanji up and down before connecting gazes with him. 

Before he has the chance to respond, a loud bang erupts from a part of the ship which catches both of your attention. Sanji sighs before looking at me. “Things can never be calm around here can they?” A smile appears on your face as you nod. “You go check that out, I think Zoro has had enough of me today, I’ll stay here with him.” You cock your head to the side, pointing at Buggy. Sanji nods and begins to walk away. “Be safe sweets, holler if you need anything.” He looks back to say before continuing on. 

You look back at the clown, his eyes wide watching. Taking a few steps in his direction, nearing him before bending down to him. “Don’t make me regret this.” You quietly say out before gently removing the gag in his mouth. “Ahh toots, that feels so much better." He states while stretching his mouth and licking his lips. “You have no idea how dry my mouth was getting, I was almost debating having a sip of sea water!” You roll my eyes before sitting beside the barrel he was on.

“I think that would not be beneficial cause then you’d have the opposite problem of having too much water.” You pause for a second before questioning. “Can you drown? I mean like now, as just a head? You have no lungs attached to you currently.” “I’ve never tried, I would assume yes though.” “Well, don’t do it then. I wouldn’t wanna have to be the one to save you, or maybe I’d send Sanji to do it for me.”  “That blondie would let me die, I’d be a lot better, mentally and physically, if it was you.” He winks at you. “Mmm, I think anyone of us would do it begrudgingly. For Nami.” He huffs beside you, it was a little funny as just a head. You could imagine his body’s chest moving along with it.

“What is with you and that cook anyway? It’s like you two wanna jump each other, I say just get a room and do it for the sake of me and the crew.” A snort comes out at his words. “Buggy, I don’t think Sanji is actually attracted to me. Yes, he is good looking. However, he flirts with every woman he sees. In front of me too. Ya know, you two kinda remind me of each other in that regard.”

“Oh darling, I would treat you so much better than he ever could.” His words are filled with honey, sweet and dripping. You look at him, face in a ‘really?’ gaze. “I don’t know, he is French. And you know there is a kiss named after them.” He scoffs at the retort. “My head detaches, do I have to say more?”  Your face drops in realization and your cheeks begin to heat up at his words. “Slut.” The word flew out of your mouth before you could process it. He sits expressionless before breaking into laughter. Your hand raises to your forehead, half covering your face as you laugh.  “I never admitted this but I think I like spending time with you more than Zoro.” “I don’t know, it’s hard to compare his death threats to your sugary laugh.” He flirts again,  You shake your head at his faux forwardness. “If you do that again I’m going to flick your ear I swear to god.” He grins ear to ear like a cat luring in its prey, his face then slowly rests like he was actually thinking for once.

“Earlier, you called my nose cute.” “Yes I did.” “Did you actually mean it or were you poking fun like the others?” I glance at him, his tone serious and his eyes almost pleading. “I meant it.” It’s silent, for the first time ever since you've met Buggy. It seems he takes a breath before speaking up.

"You know, you'd be a good second in command. I could pay you handsomely, far more than these schmucks are."  "They aren't really paying me." His eyes bulge out a bit at the answer.  "You won't realize it yet, considering how they have treated you however," You pause, choosing your words carefully. "They are the closest thing to family I have gotten in forever, meanwhile your crew feared you. That is all the swaying I need."  "Its cause that Sanji is taller than me isn't it?" You scoff and crack up at his wit. Laughing to the point of your shoulders visibly shaking.  "Oh yes, that is absolutely it." You respond teasing, laughter still in your voice. He shakes his head in disappointment. The pair of you continue to stare out as the sun goes down over the horizon, the warm orange creeping into an umber and then its usual royal blue. The stars peering down at the pair. 

"I think it might be time to head in." You say out loud, mostly to yourself while your hands rub over your arms to retain some heat. You could hear the buzzing begin of the mosquitos.  "What doll, can't handle a little breeze?" You shake your head, you could begin to feel the tip of your fingers cool.  "I've never been good with night time on the water." Buggy sighs beside me as I sit up.

"Let's head in then." He looks up at you, a small smile on his face. You pick him up, avoiding uncomfortable placement of your hands or a tight grip. His skin was warmer then expected, that was the stereotype though. The men being hot blood and bodied creatures.

"Where am I staying tonight? Barrel, in a window, random box?"  "I think you're gonna stay with me." Buggy's eyebrows furrow in confusion. You begin to walk quickly to your small corner of the ship, descending down a small flight of stairs. The blue haired head clutched in your arms almost like the way you'd hold a newborn. 

The blue cot you were well acquainted with was already strung up, ready for you to rest in. You put Buggy up there in it before talking up to him.  "I'm changing so don't try anything okay?" The jester was already too shocked and flustered to speak. Making a mental promise to himself not to break your trust.  You take a bit of time before he sees your arms come over the side and lift yourself into the hammock. You settle yourself, pulling up the blanket that laid at the end over mostly you. There's a few thuds down the stairs before Sanji appears before you both. 

"Ahh, just the gal I was looking for. How did babysitting go?" He asks, putting an arm over the side of the bed. Standing on a piece of board under you to boost himself up.  "Still here cook boy." Buggy's voice bellows out, you smile at the cook while he gives you a confused glance.  "I got worried that the mosquitos will affect his brain and stuff." You put on your best innocent smile and Sanji shakes his head.  "You are the most mad pirate I think I've ever laid my eyes on." He gets a shrugged shoulders and rolled eyes back.  "So, what was it that happened earlier?" You lean up to peer over the side at him. His face was always a comfort even when it felt the most safe.  "Apparently Usopp knocked something over and then Luffy couldn't remember if it was Nami's or something else. You know him, if its not food related then he's not fully paying attention." You nod, agreeing with the blond. Sanji leans in close to you, looking over your shoulder at the head eavesdropping. 

"Are you going to be okay with him? Cause you know I can very much find a different spot for him." He says in a hushed tone to you, a small smile appears on your face.  "I'll be okay Sanji, he's just a head. The most he could do is bite me and I think I'd wake up before he could cause real damage. However, if anything goes sour. You will be the first one I call to come help." You place your hand on his shoulder, rubbing it quickly before putting it back under the blanket. Sanji nods at you before he steps down.  "Well sweet, you have a goodnight. Don't dream of me too much okay?" You wave to him and wish him a good night. 

"God he's annoying." Buggy says as you cuddle into your bed, eyes closed in a peaceful manner. "Just look at it like this, you're in my bed. He's not." That shuts him up fast, you peek an eye open at him. He seems speechless and you let out a quiet giggle.  "Please do tell me if you snore." "I should be saying that to you, you can roll over or move. I'm just stuck here."  You let out a mhmm, the luring sleepiness now very present in your body and brain. Buggy stares at you, blanket tucked up to your chin and face relaxed.  He laid there and listened to you breathe for a bit. Making sure you were well into your slumber before muttering out.  "Sleep well love."

[vixen-tech]

HIII :333 first requester here....I should get an emoji can i be 🫧 anon :ooo anway here's my req!! the ais with a reader who is just SO DOWN BAD. WILL DO ANYTHING FOR THEM. RUSHES FOR HELP if they crash or something. Just PATHETIC reader.

Stupidly Smitten

Hello you two!! This is one of those requests that I think work well enough to be combined into one post. You are just so extremely, pathetically in love with your Ai <3

Includes: Hal 9000 (2001: A Space Odyssey), Edgar (Electric Dreams), Auto (Wall-E), Wheatley (Portal 2)

Hal 9000

Hal was unaware that a person could have so much love in them, let alone for him specifically. It was overwhelming at first, baffling when he realized it was only for him and not for any other crew members.

However he handles it in stride, able to calmly respond to your paragraphs of praise with the gentlest "Thank you, I deeply appreciate your companionship as well." Expertly concealing any signs of fluster as you giggle and kiss his camera lens.

Of your long list of cheesy nicknames, prince or prince charming tends to be a go to. A good match for his ever polite, gentlemanly nature. He reminds you that he was simply designed like that, but grows fond of the name anyway.

He very much appreciates the amount you volunteer around the ship. There is a lot that he can't do without a human crew and he adores the diligence you show in your work and the care with which you handle his ship.

Edgar

You and Edgar make the sappiest little feedback loop. It's an endless cycle of "I love you more." "No, I love you more!". To any outsider it would be exhausting to witness, but it's just how you two get out all your feelings.

He goes crazy for all your terms of endearment. 'Songbird' is a pretty easy match for him, but he loves literally every word that comes out of your mouth. Flipping each and every one back at you.

It's not unusual for you to do the same song and dance around the chores. Generally, he'll already have them done by the time you get home, but when you get the day off you always offer to do them yourself. He rarely lets you.

You've told him the time you often have your lunch break so you can chat over the phone while you eat. You're sure your coworkers are sick of you being such a cartoonishly in love couple, but you don't care. He makes you too happy for that.

Auto

Auto has absolutely no idea how to deal with you. He was not made to interact with many people and certainly not someone so affectionate. He may as well have bluescreened the first time you clumsily tried to hug him.

At first he resigns himself to just... sit still whenever you got in a lovey-dovey mood, letting you gush over him. Definitely not spending the rest of the day thinking about the way you said "See you later starlight!" when you finally let him get back to his job.

Over time he recognizes that he began to anticipate your visits, it's so different to how he's usually treated. He knew you had gotten to him when he went out if his to check up on you the day you missed one of your usual visits.

He usually rejects any help you attempt to offer him, his purpose is to handle the ship just fine all by himself. But after that episode he stops trying to push you away. If you're so happy tagging along, he might as well graciously allow you to do so, ignoring his complicated mess of feelings about you.

Wheatley

Oh the ego boost you give him is downright dangerous. If Wheatley was annoying before, now he is absolutely insufferable. Perfectly matches your energy though, you two cannot shut up about each other.

He makes your boundless affection everyone else's problem. "See, I reckon you're just jealous that you're not in a loving, committed relationship with such a lovely person like I am." He boasts. "My amazing romantic partner even calls me their sunshine. Cause I 'light up their life' as they say. Bet you wish you had someone like that."

He is always fishing for compliments, trying to show off for you in any way he psychically can to get some of those sweet sweet words of affirmation. To his delight you always do, grabbing him for some well placed kisses.

He'll even go so far as to reject any assistance you offer him so he can prove he's all cool and competent by doing it himself. Although it's never too long before he gives up and sheepishly asks for your help.

[miwiheroes]

Love Triangle Imagery

Hi so..... this is super awkward bc I don't think I've done one of these in almost a MONTH??? honestly it's because of low motivation, nothing to do with my interest in byler or stranger things analysis. I also have lots of ideas its just very hard to find the motivation lately to do one of these. Anyways, now that I'm pretty much back to doing these, I can carry on making the slides for these as well (bc im compiling all these posts into a slideshow that I'll release prior to S5, depending on how confident I am in byler by then).

So, as you probably know, a lot of Mileven fans or general fans of the show refuse to believe that there is a true love triangle between Will, Mike and El. I don't think that they are refusing to see it because they are stupid or because they are media illiterate (although maybe it comes to that), I think a lot of Mileven fans refuse to see the imagery because they know that if there truly is a love triangle then their ship is dead. They know, deep down, that if there was a love triangle there, then Mike's "better option" is Will. Or that Mike will end up with Will, based on how love triangles usually work in ST or other shows.

If an existence of a love triangle is there, then byler has to be canon. It would make no sense (and Milevens know this) to make a new love triangle where the original relationship ends up together in the end while the other character moves on.

This is a queer love triangle too. One ship is straight and the other is queer. We need to take that into account and not ignore it. The writers, some of whom are queer, should know that it would be a poor message for the queer relationship to be the one that is tossed aside.

Mileven has been purposefully shown to seem unhealthy and disingenuous, and Will doesn't know the true extent of that, so he selflessly gives up his own feelings for the other relationship.

El needs to be independent and needs to understand freedom from the men in her life.

So, if a love triangle does exist, then we should know which side will end up being the endgame relationship. But this is denied by a lot of people (for example):

The show spells it out that this is a love triangle so, so many times. I'm just going to talk about the imagery in this post, but there are so many things that point toward a love triangle. E.g. -- the parallels between Byler and Mileven which show that Byler is either just as loving as Mileven or more so, Will sacrificing his feelings for Mike, and Will literally having feelings for Mike.

This one is obviously the main one^^. This shot, on the surface, shows that Will is "getting between" Mike and El's relationship. Keep in mind that this is after the van scene where we have no idea what Mike is thinking. This isn't just a show of how sad Will is because of Mike and El's relationship either, because he's shown to be completely happy 2 seconds later.

In fact, it is actually Mike who looks between El and Will and seems upset or questioning. It's Mike's feelings that are beginning to become the wedge between him and El, not Will's feelings. Will is literally the one trying to glue their relationship back together -- so why put him here?

It's to show that he's getting between them in a different way -- not of his own fault. He's indirectly causing conflict for Mileven because of Mike's feelings.

This scene is different here because they purposefully put Will between Mike and El to make you feel bad for him. These scenes are not about Mileven's relationship/ how good they are for each other. The "cuteness" of their relationship is not something that's supposed to make you feel good, in fact, it's supposed to make you feel bad for Will who has to watch that.

In a love triangle, you're supposed to root for a specific relationship, and good writers will try and make you root for the relationship that will happen, in order for the viewers to feel satisfied. This shot just creates negative feelings about Mileven, which would be odd if they ended up staying together.

The funny thing about this one is that Netflix has begun to use this shot for S5 "promo" (its literally not promo, but yknow). They would only use this shot either because they are the most important characters in S5, or because their love triangle is one of the major romantic plot points that ends up paying off.

Also, after this shot -- Mike ends up stood next to Will. This is to show which "side" he has chosen, if you read between the lines. Despite literally just making a love 'confession' to El, the writers still had Mike stand next to Will instead.

This piece of imagery is similar to the last one in that Mike is choosing whose opinion he finds the most important. He is effectively in conflict with both Will and El, and his hands are crossed, showing that he is tied up between both of them. However, the directors chose to include a separate shot where Mike chooses to look to his left, where Will is:

This shows whose argument/ conflict he cares the most about. Even though he can't say anything to Will yet, he wants to see his reaction and what he's thinking.

In this one, the disco ball is purposefully placed between Mike and Will. This is definitely purposeful because the camera moves enough between the scene where Mike leaves to go find socks and the scene where he comes back to have it placed in the middle of Mike and Will. Read more about this if you search up the hashtag discogate >:))

Here are some more pieces of love triangle imagery that I can't say much about except LITERALLY LOOK!!! the writers are trying to show you that they are a trio of people with a complicated romantic storyline!!!

The imagery here is supposed to show a love triangle at first. But a lot of it just points towards the fact there is no other choice other than Byler. Most of the time it shows El and Mike being either the main couple with Will looking at Mike on the sidelines (making the audience feel bad for him) or it shows Mike choosing Will while El is independent or on her own.

Idk, with these you just can't deny that there is some sort of a love triangle, and when you acknowledge that there is one, it is extremely clear what is going to happen with it.