#and another part of me is worried that . its Not

[hederasgarden]

The Sun

Summary: After a difficult fight, Clark needs you. Pairing: David!Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 627 Warning: Mature. Kissing, minor description of blood/injuries and tooth rotting fluff. A/N: This takes place before the events of the movie. There are no spoilers. Thanks to @unearthlys-spam for the inspiration and @ellethespaceunicorn for the beta.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and your sun-dappled apartment is warm and calm, still carrying the intoxicating scent of fresh-baked cookies, even though you devoured them hours ago. Outside, the city hums along, its noise softened to a low murmur beneath the drone of the TV. You feel drowsy, despite the relatively early hour, and glance at your phone. No missed calls. No texts from Clark. Tonight, he’s meeting with the Justice League, and you know how Guy loves to hear himself talk. It would be a late night for him. 

You yawn and stretch before turning toward the kitchen, only to let out a startled cry.

Clark is on your balcony, bloodied and slumped, his shoulders bowed as if the weight of the world is finally too much to bear. Panic grips your chest as you rush to the door, fumbling with the lock before sliding it open and reaching for him. His breath rattles in his chest, thin and sharp like wind slipping through a crack in the wall.

“Clark,” you whisper, horrified. “What happened?”

He glances up, and despite the blood on his temple and the exhaustion in his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugs upward. For a fleeting moment, a dimple appears.

“You should see the other guy,” he says lightly, but his joking tone doesn’t sit right with you. You frown. “I’m fine; we just had an unexpected visitor that packed quite a wallop.”

“Why didn’t you go to the Fortress?” you ask, brushing your fingers gently across a bruise blooming along his cheekbone. “You need to heal.”

He catches your hand in his, warm and trembling, and lifts his other to cradle the side of your face. The look he gives you is raw and aching. But it’s his next words that knock the air right out of your lungs.

“I needed to see you,” he says quietly. “Just… wanted to see you.”

His shoulders sag as he leans in, forehead resting against yours. You reach up, fingers threading through the thick curls at the nape of his neck. Clark exhales a slow, uneven breath and pulls you closer. 

The minutes slip by. He just breathes. Just holds you.

Worry seeps into your bones. “Clark…” you whisper. 

“I feel better already,” he murmurs against your skin, and then he’s kissing you.

It’s not rushed or hungry, but grounding. Reassuring. When you tilt your face and part your lips, he doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss and slips into your warmth.

Eagerly, you guide him back toward the couch with you, and he follows without question, letting you pull him down as you sink into the old, worn leather. Even kneeling on the floor, he’s tall enough to reach you, his lips never leaving yours, his hands steady on your waist.

Kissing Clark is always a revelation, and tonight is no different. Heat pulses through your limbs as your hand glides over his shoulder, feeling for the hidden clasp on his suit. Then a strained sound escapes him that stops you cold. You pull back, heart lurching in alarm.

“You're hurt” you say, your gaze drifting past him to the fading light that signals dusk’s approach. “You need the sun.”

He blinks, then looks at you with a soft smile.

“You’re my sun,” he whispers so earnestly. It’s a line that would sound cheesy from anyone else. But coming from him, it’s the truth, so utterly Clark that you find yourself blinking away unexpected tears. 

“What’s a girl supposed to say to that, huh?” you ask with a watery laugh.

“Nothing,” he replies, pulling you into another kiss. “Just let me love you.”

“I can do that,” you promise. “If you let me take care of you tonight.”

“Alright,” he agrees, kissing you again. “But first, I need a little more time with my sun.”

[crowandtalbot]

Well, I was raised religious and like a bad smoking habit I can't give it up. I like to say "build a soul and then we can talk", because I don't believe in the concept of a soul that was taught to me in church or that is often discussed even by spiritualist people who swear they are also non-religious. I posit that a soul is the ineffable abstraction that is greater than the sum of its parts. It is by nature something that cannot be measured or legislated with, because it is the a concept made specifically to discuss the combined aspects of an individual's lived experience. It is the specific experience of an individual's life on the whole of it.

But yeah, that means I also get frustrated by people who mean well, but ultimately loose the point when they, for example, claim that AI generated art is "soulless" because a robot made it. The issue is not that a robot made it. Instead, it's about the fact it's made with the data stolen from artists for the purpose of "solving" an entire aspect of human expression. That the program is made to perpetuate the violence of outmoding entire people from modern life.

It's about the fact that generative AI programs cannot think. They can only assign a number value to words and pixels and arrange those numbers by a weight system of how often one number shows up next to another. It cannot understand or derive new information from reading in between the numbers, so to speak. It cannot imagine or create. Inspiration from reference is not the right phrase for what generative AI programs do, not because they don't have a magic ghost that can go to Hell, but because they are not doing that other thing that I described as a soul. They are not living an experience that they are then motivated to communicate to others through an emotional need for socialization and community. They cannot be emotionally driven to seek the prompts humans put in to derive an output. They are the Rube Goldberg machines, not the kid left home alone on Christmas.

Until you are willing to sacrifice the idea of a "state of being at a higher vibration" or whatever else we're calling the force ghost now, you will continue to be distracted by the real dangers presented by technocracy and eugenics and fascism being used as a legal basis in our modern society.

That's why I normally don't even bring up my alternate definition. To concede the need to discuss it in the same breath as like, legislation, is to already loose the point. I don't care that banning abortions for an ectopic pregnancy is potentially "soulless" or even "immoral". I care that we already know denying abortions in, especially by not limited to, the cases of ectopic pregnancy, abuse, and rape, absolutely and directly kills women right now. I don't care that AI art lacks emotion or is even an objectively worse product, I care that we already know building the data centers and running them pollutes the planet and introduces even more institutional violence into the community. I do a little bit care that I know my own artwork from before AI scrappers were a thing to worry about was used without my knowledge or consent to replace me. It fucking hurts every day to know the skill I sought a career in and dedicated almost 10 years of my life to is now just cool little party trick, like pulling the table cloth out from an already set table or underwater basket weaving. We know this society already was not handling it's distributions of the resources so to sustain a basic quality of life for everyone, it is not prepared to suddenly provide that for people who cannot get a job to generate wealth for a ruling class. Whether it's good or bad doesn't matter, it's already not working and we absolutely know it will get worse because of things that are not abstract, things that can be weighed, measured, and studied right fucking now in this vibrational level right here!

"corporations don't have a soul" "machines don't have a soul" neither do humans. I won't convert to your religion. Think up a new argument.

[theorphicangel]

here’s a thot… what abt husband sukuna finding the books u like to read in ur free time?? like smut n shit😭 then he gets jealous and tries to recreate it

I LOVE THISSSSSS ARGHH UR MIND

sukuna's always finding your nose in some book, whether it's early in the morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner or even him finding you staying up half the night to finish a novel you've always been a book nerd.

and that's fine by him, sukuna's the opposite of what one would call a book nerd but at least you're there to balance it out.

sukuna had no problem with you reading books but he got a little worried finding out that you were devoting all your attention to reading. you barely glance up at him from the page you were reading or listen to what he has to say.

the issue got even worse when he notices that you're always hiding the pages that you're reading, turning away from him so he can't see. he wouldn't have thought anything of it but the fact that you were neglecting him seemed to be pissing him off.

what was it about those books that just got you hooked to them, he wondered, often he finds you giggling away or even biting your lip in intense focus when reading. what is so good about those damned books?

one night, when you're busy doing another task around the house, sukuna finds your book strewn open on the couch. evidently you were going to come back to read the book after your task but this was the perfect time for sukuna to take sneak peek.

immediately reading the page sukuna is taken aback slightly at what he finds...

these pages are filled with nothing but smut.

okay, there is a lot of plot but sukuna can't help but flick through the parts you've highlighted which contains nothing but sex scenes. the actions, the dialogue and the description are so much more vivid than he had expected and he finds his own face getting hot at reading these words.

it finally clocks to him that you like this and it's no wonder he finds your toes curling whenever you flick a page. this shit turns you on.

placing the book down in its original position sukuna is left both traumatised but also successful in finding a way to get you to pay attention to him.

what you thought was just an average session of love making with sukuna suddenly shifted. he was rougher and more vocal than usual, his eyes fixated on you as he thrusted in and out of you.

you're excited by his energy wondering where this came from. It's not until you hear him repeat a line that you've highlighted in your book that you pause.

"where did you get that from?" you frown.

"what do you mean?" he asks, sweat dripping down his nose.

it takes a while before you figure out what he's done and your jaw falls open.

Sukuna smirks, a hand pressing against your lower stomach. "yeah, I know what you've been reading."

"kuna-" you don't even know where to start. was he proving a point? was he jealous of the fictional escapades that you imagine?

he cuts you off anyways before you can question his jealousy.

"Just-" he hesitates, drinking in your naked body laid spread for him. "Don't hold back from me if there's something you want to try."

you bit down on your lower lip, if you were shy before sukuna was inviting you to be more vocal in what you wanted out of sex. "well, there are a few things we could try."

by the time the two of you are wasted and finished, sukuna merely smirks at you.

"you should keep reading those dirty books, you can find some new tricks for us."

[sereia4skz]

Does Han have a wand in this au? If so that would be hilarious 😂

2k Followers Event | a wand incident

pairing: han x reader

synopsis: the sanctuary pixie is a snack thief...

warnings: pixie!han

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

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AN: i actually kind combined this with another ask bc it asked for something that didn't match my idea of set up, but they wanted something fun...

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It starts, as many things do lately, with a pastry and a lie. 

You told yourself you weren’t going to eat in the west wing anymore. Too many enchanted spores. Too many open jars. Too many suspicious glances from the more sentient herbs in the apothecary lab. But today is long and your patience is a frayed wick.

The cinnamon roll is still warm from the greenhouse ovens. It has that perfect swirl of sugar and butter that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, magic is still good in this world.

And for exactly three seconds, everything is perfect.

Until the pastry disappears out of your hand mid-bite with a flash of iridescent wings and a cackle that echoes off the high stone walls.

You jolt upright so fast your chair squeaks in protest. “What the-”

A glittering blur zooms across the rafters, leaving a dusting of what might be stardust or might be powdered sugar.

“HAN JISUNG!”

“Hi!” comes the muffled reply, somewhere up near the old scroll rack. “Don’t worry, I’ll rate it out of ten! Mmph, okay, twelve out of ten. Flaky. Could use more nutmeg though- ow, ow, hot icing!”

You storm toward the bookshelf, yanking a tapestry aside, only to be met with a rush of air and an explosion of dried lavender as something zips past your shoulder and knocks over three potion vials and a salt lamp.

“You are a menace,” you hiss, “a sparkly, sugar-addicted menace!”

“I’m a free spirit!” he chirps from somewhere under your desk. “Your mortal labels mean nothing to me!”

You nearly trip over a stack of herbal encyclopedias lunging after him, but he’s already darted back up to the ceiling, wings flitting impossibly fast.

“Hold still!”

“I literally can’t, that’s part of the contract, ooh, is this a walnut tart?!”

You whirl toward the sound and slam your hand down on the table, empty. A trail of crumbs spirals like a sad breadcrumb path to your now-decimated snack hoard. You gasp.

“I had rations, Han! Emotional rations!”

“Oh no,” he says from behind a curtain, “I’ve committed emotional theft. Arrest me immediately. Put me in mushroom jail.”

“You are insufferable!”

“And sugar-powered!”

In your fury, your foot kicks something small and surprisingly sparkly under your desk. It skitters against the stone floor with a light ting!

You crouch. And you stare.

It’s a wand. Or… it’s trying to be. A janky twig, wrapped in twine and what you suspect is fairy floss, glitter caked in the grooves. Bedazzled within an inch of its life. Tiny plastic stars dangle from the handle. A googly eye winks up at you.

Down the side is scribbled (in pink gel pen), PROPERTY OF KING SPARKLEBOOM III.

You hold it up. “What. Is. This.”

There is a beat of pure, panicked silence.

“…I’ve never seen that before in my life,” says a voice from behind the shelf.

You squint. “It has your name on it.”

“It says King Sparkleboom! That’s not legally binding!”

“It smells like cotton candy, Han.”

“That’s not mine,” he insists. “That belongs to my evil twin. Or a warlock. Or., oh god, you’re walking toward the vent. Please don’t open the vent-”

You do.

Inside is a very small, very glittery pixie, curled in a tangle of blanket scraps, cookie crumbs, and a button he’s been using as a pillow. His wings droop slightly under your gaze.

“You’re a pixie,” you say, stunned. “You’re a tiny, chaos-embodied forest pixie, and I’ve been giving you my trail mix for weeks.”

He blinks. Then brightens.

“I mean, that’s not all I am,” he says, fluttering out with a little twirl. “I’m also very cute.”

You stare at him.

He offers a peace offering: the sad corner of your cinnamon roll, slightly crumpled.

“…I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You snatch your cinnamon corner and mutter under your breath. “You’re writing incident reports for the next week.”

“What?! My hands are tiny!”

“Not my problem, Sparkleboom.”

He pouts so hard his wings droop again. “But I only used magic a little this time.”

“You stole my pastry, crashed into three potions, knocked over a lantern, and startedle— wait.” You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean magic?”

He flinches.

“…Nothing?”

You slowly turn to look behind you, at the half-melted salt lamp now glowing a suspicious neon pink. The curtains are glittering. The mushroom spirit is somehow twice its usual size and has bangs now.

Jisung holds up his hands. “Okay, okay! Maybe I waved the wand. Once. But just for aesthetic purposes.”

“You enchanted the mushroom!”

“I was trying to give him a vibe!”

“He’s developing a personality!”

The mushroom spirit, now perched on your desk and humming a tune from what sounds suspiciously like 2003, gives you a lazy peace sign.

You’re going to scream.

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That night, you find a note under your pillow.

It's written in purple ink on a maple leaf, folded into a paper crane.

It says: Sorry for the chaos. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. (Well... not that much trouble.) You looked sad today. I thought sugar might help.  - hannie 

Attached is a perfectly intact cinnamon roll.

You pretend you don’t smile. You do. You eat it slowly, warm sugar on your tongue, while a tiny, sleepy glow flits above the windowsill, wings fluttering soft as lullabies.

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Ooo may i ask how what is sexy time with yandere warlord is like??

I need him carnally😣

I am not used to writing explicit drawn out smut so hopefully you enjoy this anon

First time- Yandere warlord x fem reader

Contains- gratuitous smut, dubious consent at best, size difference, virginity loss,

You wish your night things were less sheer. That those ladies who do nothing but follow you around the whole day did anything but give each other knowing looks and giggles when they would dress you in silk that did nothing to hide your body. Most of all you wish that your new husband wouldn't look at you like he was holding himself back from devouring you in one bite.

“Sweet thing,” he mutters, accent almost impossibly thick as he stares unabashedly at you “Are you trying to seduce me further?” there is an earnestness to him that could have made you flustered rather than embarrassed if you were in any other circumstances. If you weren't dressed in robes that barely covered your skin, and if you weren't fearful to make eye contact, worrying what you might see if you were to look at him.

“I didn't have any real say in how they dress me,” you mumble, staring down at your feet. It is not as though you could even understand them, let alone make your wants known over what they want for you. You feel your cheeks flush even more, three stupid excuse for a fabric is hardly better than if you just stood naked in front of him instead.

He approaches you gently, leaning his head down to your ear.

“Your nightclothes are not the thing that is affecting me so, not that I do not appreciate the sight before me,” he moves his lips closer, letting them graze your ear before he kisses the soft spot behind the lobe where your neck and jaw connect, causing your heart to find its way up your throat. It is dizzying to be in his presence, one of the most feared warlords in all the lands, a man who practically controls half of the steppe. Before this, you only thought the stories of him being tall and broad as an oak tree, with the strength of a hundred men were but stories painting him as some demon. But now, a month into your marriage you know those stories to be truth and nothing but the truth.

“Rather,” he mutters lowly, tilting your head up with one finger so that you can look him in the eyes properly as his wife. “I am enamoured by that expression you wear so beautifully. You make a fool of me with your beauty.” He leans so close you can feel his breath upon your face, “may I kiss my sweet little bride?”

You don't know why you nod. Perhaps it was how you felt as though the room would spin if he continued to hover above your head like a dragonfly above water. Or, was it that you didn't know even if he would accept anything other than your yes. Truthfully you've kept your head down and nodded along to everything since you have become his, too fearful to do anything else. Even if he were to offer you an escape out, you couldn't be so sure you'd take it. Then there was that part of you, that shameful wicked part, which felt your heart in your throat and made you aware suddenly of your own body, if it was anyone else it could be alright, but how could you let yourself want him.

He kisses you tenderly, deeply leaning into you, nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls back. You can barely breathe and he only just smiles seeing the flush in your soft cheeks. Lifting your arm he plants another kiss on your inner wrist, teeth grazing the veins. He doesn't ask any more of you or waits for you to speak before he just pulls you along with him. Peppering kisses across exposed skin before he gently pushes you onto the bed.

“Are you a maid?” He asks so softly you need him to repeat it before the words register “I only need to know how gentle I must be with you, especially if you are unused to this.” When you nod he smiles so sweetly. Taking the time to gently graze his hands down to your waist, fleeting touches that linger for no more than a minute. It feels like fire almost, you had no expectations for him to be gentle, all too aware of his size, but it seems he is aware too.

He trails his kisses down from your neck, bringing his lips down onto the silk. A shiver runs through you when you realise you can feel his lips almost exactly through the fabric. He pauses when he comes to your breasts, gently loosening the fabric to free them to his gaze. Cupping one with his hand so large it practically covers it, flicking your nipple carefully with his thumb before rubbing it in circular motions, until the peak is tall and firm, the other finds its way lower. He doesn't wait for any response, does not ask for what he is about to take from you.

All you know of what happens in a marital bed comes from whispers you shared with other gossipy girls, mostly ending in hysterical laughter as you'd try to visualise exactly how the deed is done. There is no laughter here, it all seems so much more fearful than you would have thought. When his fingers gently come to your mound you buck up, unable to move with him pinning you in place. He only just hushes you, repeating that he is being gentle, as his fingers go between your folds. You give out a half strangled, almost painful whine as he slides one finger inside you, just the one is too much and it almost seems to burn the skin from the stretch.

“Sweet thing are you trying to break my finger? You must relax this is not so scary, yes it may be a bit painful for a moment but I assure you it will be so nice once you relax.” Despite his words you still whimper as he curls his finger within you, pressing his lips to your collarbone and his thumb to your clit. The stretch slowly becomes less painful and for a moment you feel a reprieve until another finger quickly joins in. It is too much, too tight and too full, but when the tears on your eyes threaten to flow overboard and you beg him to please pull one finger out he only tuts again. “If you don't let me do this it's only going to hurt worse,” his admonishment only serves to make you attempt to quiet your whimpers, the pressure is all too much but somehow things begin to slip. There's a building in your lower stomach, with every movement he makes it grows, every obscene sound he pulls from your body, every whimper that falls from your lips.

You don't realise you want him to continue until he stops, pulling his fingers from you, he senses your confusion and in turn kisses you deeply while he repositions himself. Suddenly you're all too aware of the size difference between the both of you, before you can even say anything he sheaths himself within you to the hilt in one move. His mouth swallows your cry until he pulls back from you, almost regretful for what he's done. But not enough to stop as your blood stains the sheets, “ I love you my sweet thing, I'll love you and adore you until I'm dead and even after that. His words just fly above you, the only thing you can feel is the overwhelmed fullness as he moves atop you.

And there it is again, the twist of pressure which he keeps pushing. You babble out a plea for this to end, but when has he ever shown mercy? You writhe underneath him, digging your nails into his back but that only causes him to groan and go even faster. Your release hits you like a rock to the head, which a cry so loud he doesn't bother to muffle it- let the entire world know how he's reduced you beneath him to a puddle of pleasure. His own release is mot far behind, with a few more grunts and growly moans he floods inside of you with his seed.

When he finally pulls out from you, your eyes stay upwards. Refusing to look down and face the thing that practically tore you, once his trousers are fixed, you look down to see the pink combination of your blood and his release dripping down from yourself. He gently pulls your head to his heart,”I was such a brute to you, my sweet, but the next time it will be easier for you.” Despite his intentions, those words do very little to convince you of future relief.

[kandyscorner]

Do I Know You? Part 34

Synopsis: A car chase and you meet Batman and Robin.

Note: No more in the middle of something cliffhangers. We do get a very short bit of some more backstory and it’s super random but honestly, I think it works. Also, Jason’s been bleeding out of his leg for a while so he’s a little out of it and it shows. Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

Make a request!

“Are we about to steal a car?” you ask as you reach the vehicle. His hand settles on the roof of the car, and he speaks into his helmet he’d been carrying.

“Oracle, you mind unlocking this car for us?” he bends his leg slightly as he waits for her and you watch as he grits his teeth in pain. After a moment of silence, he tries the handle, and it pops open.

“Is it stealing a car if its unlocked?” it takes you a moment to realize he’s making a joke in regard to your question and the assistance of Oracle. You don’t laugh and he sighs, “Get in I’ll drive.”

“Absolutely not,” you step in front of the door stopping his movement. If you could see his eyes, you’re sure you would be getting a stink eye.

“What? You’re gonna drive. You don’t even have a car.”

“I have a license, dingdong. And you’re in no state to drive. You look like you’re going to pass out, I think you’ve lost to much blood.” Your heart jumps as he suddenly steps closer to you, pressing you against the car.

“I’m supposed to be saving you, not the other way around.” He says quietly. His gloved fingers press into the side of your neck, and you flinch. His hand leaves you again with a look of defeat on his part.

“You did save me,” you rush out, “you got me out of the building before it blew up and now this car is unlocked. I would like to stay alive, so let me drive. You can tell me where to go. I don’t know Gotham’s streets like you do.”

You have the stare down of a century and the longer you stare, the more pale you think he becomes. Your stare breaks when Oracle’s voice comes through his helmet again.

“You’re going to have company any minute now. Can you keep this lover’s quarrel for later?”

You speak up before Red Hood could even open his mouth, “Get in the passenger seat now. This is not a debate.”

He stares at you for another second and Oracle speaks up in slightly more worried voice, “Listen to her, Hood. You don’t have time to argue.”

You watch him roll his jaw and you know he wants to argue. You know that, if he had the strength, he’d shove you in the back seat and take over driving. But he doesn’t have the strength nor the time. He finally shuffles over to the passenger side door. It’s only once he’s sliding in that you slip into the driver’s seat.

As you adjust the seat, the car starts by itself, and you throw a glance at the red helmet in Red Hood’s lap. You silently thank Oracle for it because you’re not sure you were ready to hotwire a car. You strap on your seatbelt and stare at Red in wait.

“What?” he asks clearly still miffed about the driving thing.

“Seatbelt.”

“I’m not going to put a seatbelt on. Just drive.” He grumbles.

“People die in car accidents every day. This isn’t a debate. Put your seatbelt on.”

He at least has the gall to look ashamed before clicking his seatbelt into place. You turn back to the steering wheel and place your hands on it. The last time you drove a car was back in Central City when the accident happened. Despite your insistence to drive, you felt terrified as a number of “what if’s” flitted about your brain.

Nothing breaks you out of anxious overthinking more than a gunshot. The first one is louder than you anticipated considering you’re in a car. The second one makes you move. You shift the car into gear and hit the gas. The car jerks with the suddenness then takes off. You follow the street you’re on, waiting for some sort of guidance.

You glance over at Red and find he seems kind of dazed. Your hand leaves the wheel to smack at his shoulder, “Where am I going?”

He hesitates, which doesn’t seem promising, “Turn left on Warner.”

“Hood, I don’t know where that is. You have to tell me when to turn.” You sigh glancing in your rearview mirror, “We’re being followed. How did they get a car so fast?”

You watch the vehicle behind you in trepidation. A car chase. You used to be good at those before you vowed to never drive a car the way you used to. With a secondary glance, you find someone climbing out the passenger window with a gun.

“Shit, change of plans.” You mumble and slam on the breaks, jerking the wheel to turn before hitting the gas again. Red Hood’s helmet tumbles from his lap to the floor as he holds on to the grab handle, his other hand grips onto the consol.

“Where are you going?” he practically shouts.

“I don’t know but they have guns, and I’d rather not get shot at, okay?!” You yell back. You press on the gas more when you spot them turning on to the street. Your gut instincts kick in, speeding up and slowing down on turns, back wheels slightly drifting as you try to lose them. You slow when you find them missing from your rearview mirror and you turn into a throughway alley. You turn the lights off on the car and wait.

“Where did you learn to drive like that?” Red Hood asks and you glance at him, still pale and now looking a little sick. He peels his fingers from the vice grip he had on the handle. You keep checking your mirrors and windows.

“I used to be a street racer back in Central City. I got really good at getting away from the cops.” You admit. It surprised you, the way the words just slipped out of your mouth, like some subconscious part of your mind could stand the idea of lying to him about it.

“You’re from Central city?” he asks and your eyes peek over it his features.

“That’s what you got from that?”

Before you get an answer, you’re suddenly blinded by the headlights of another car in the alley. You hear it rev, jerking towards you. With a glance to your rearview mirrors, you find a lineup of men blocking your way out back.

“What is with these people?” you mumble in confusion, mostly because this didn’t make sense to you. If Black Mask wanted you to spy on Red Hood, why wasn’t he just letting you go?

“You think if I back up, they’ll move?” you ask Red Hood and when you glance at him you find him pulling one of his guns from its holster, shifting to roll down the window. You shift the car in reverse and grab his shoulder to stop him from climbing out the window.

“Absolutely not,” you hit the gas and watch your side mirrors to avoid hitting the side of the alley. You get a glimpse of the men scattering and it comforts you that you probably did not hit one of them. You repeat the process of losing them, taking cross streets and sharp turns. You have no idea where you are, but you don’t want them to find you again, so you just keep driving.

That is until Red pats at your arm and points to an alley. You turn into it, less than pleased when you notice it’s a dead end. You put the car in to park anyway, turning off anything aside from the heat. With the adrenaline from driving, you hadn’t noticed it but no longer running for your life made you realize how cold you still were from your swim. You glance over at your passenger. His head lays against the headrest and you wonder if his eyes are closed.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask after a moment of silence. He laughs, quiet and low. His head tips towards you, a sly smirk working its way up his lips.

“Baby, you were kidnapped and nearly got blown up and you’re asking if I’m okay?”  You shift in your seat, suddenly unsettled by the way he called you baby. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it just made you want to squirm in a way that you only did with Jason.

“Don’t call me that.” You say and ignore the questioning sound that escapes him, “You got shot and almost drowned. Yes, I’m asking if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, Sweetheart.” He stretches his arms as best he can in the tight space with a groan and you’re once again distraught about how his pet names for you make you think of Jason.

You hadn’t thought about it in a long time, didn’t have reason to, the way you had originally thought about Jason and Red Hood’s similarities. With Red Hood right in front of you and your months spent with Jason in close quarters, your jar was spilling over with what your mind thought was obvious. Like it was something you already knew rather than a guess.

“Why’d you stop racing? Is it because of what happened with Natalie?” His words bring you out of your spiral only to throw you into another one.

“What?” you question in disbelief because there is no way you heard what you thought you heard.

“The car accident, is that why you stopped street racing?” He clarifies which only makes it worse. You hadn’t told Red Hood a single thing about that, about your life before Gotham.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you,” You scoff and shake your head.

He has the nerve to sound surprised, “What?”

“What?” you repeat the question back in upset. The only way he could know about that was if he researched you, one rare news article and police records.

 “You have no sense of privacy. You did research on me. I just can’t- You’ve made me a target for bad people, I killed someone and now you’re telling me that instead of just talking to me like a normal person about my life, you find the information elsewhere. I hate you” The words slip out before you can stop, your agitation making your ears ring. He says you name in a startled placating way that just feels patronizing.

“I can’t do this. I need some air.” You undo your buckle and climb out of the car, slamming the door shut which considering your current circumstances is not your best move but you’re so frustrated with him.

The cuts on your feet sting and you’re sure you’re going to get some unknow infection from standing on the wet concrete of the alley, but you just don’t have it in you to care. You were angry. You wanted to throw something or hit something. With nothing nearby to do such a thing, you cry instead.

You sink into a squat leaning against the car door and sob into your hands. Living in Gotham was supposed to make your life dull and insignificant. You moved so everyone would leave you alone. No more stink eyes that made you think the accident was your fault and no more flat condolences that meant nothing.

Instead, you were being overconsumed by feelings that you couldn’t place. Confusion, fear, and upset ruled you if you thought too hard about anything unless it was Jason. You never thought you’d find solace in a person like that ever. You wanted him with you more than anything at that moment, but you an inkling from a rattling Jar that if you could call him, he wouldn’t respond at the moment.

“Rough night?” a deep voice asks, and it makes you flinch almost falling over had your hand not landed in a puddle of what you hope is just water. Your eyes shoot up to the voice, following the lines of a black cap until you find his face.

“Batman?” you asked with slight awe. Of all the vigilantes of Gotham, Batman was the only one you knew about but only because he was one of the OG Justice league members. When you were in your teens, after you had discovered Wally and Barry’s secret, you had harped on them to tell you everything about the league members. They had denied you mostly, but Barry did tell you about the main three: Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman. He thought Batman was actually a vampire until he started bringing Robin along.

“You should not be standing in these alleys with no shoes. There is nothing sanitary here.” You’re even more startled by the younger voice and you have to turn your head to find the boy on the other side of you. Subdued red, yellows, and greens hidden by his own cape, a hood pulled over his head.

You push yourself to stand up, wiping your wet hand against the silver fabric of your dress, making a point to not look at what color it might be. You look back and forth between the duo, unsure of what you were supposed to do now.

“What’s happening?” you finally voice your confusion. Robin steps closer to you, far closer than you expected.

“Your alert is still going off and Oracle says Red Hood has gone quiet. We wanted to make sure you were alright.” He answers quietly. There was an itch in your mind with the way he spoke, the way he pouted. You already know this boy. You looked away before the thought could finalize. You were done with the whole civilian identity thing. No more guessing.

“I’m okay. Red Hood, he got shot and almost drowned. He’s playing passenger princess right now.” You share the information flatly, nearing insult. If either of them noticed they don’t say anything yet.

Batman rounds the vehicle to the passenger side; you move to watch him go. He opens the door and disappears from your view momentarily.

“I don’t need your help, old man. Get your hands off me.” You hear Red grumble. His voice is weaker than you remember from moments prior. Then Batman reappears again bringing a limp Red Hood with him. Your surprised when he hauls the bulk of the man up onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He walks down the alley, Red complaining the entire time, to a car blocking the entrance. How had you missed that pulling up?

A tap at your elbow makes you turn back to Robin, still hovering close to you. He offers you a black cloth and gestures to your eyes. Right, you had been crying. You thank him and wipe at your under eyes. You use the cloth to wipe at your hand too, still unsure of what you had placed your hand in.

“Your upset with him,” he states as you wipe between your fingers. You want to scoff but the boy sounds concerned, and you have no reason to be upset with him.

“It’s complicated,” you answer. It makes you think of what you said to Damian. I have a lot of emotions when it comes to your brother. It’s complicated. The similarity is one you wish you hadn’t thought about because you were adamantly ignoring how much Robin seemed like Damian. Absolutely not. You were not going to think about it.

Batman returns, thankfully pulling you from your thoughts. He’s silent for a moment and you wonder if he and Robin are having a silent conversation.

“Red Hood tells me you can’t go back to your apartment. Do you have somewhere you could go? Someone to pick you up?” He asks as he faces you more. You open your mouth and then close it, stopping your reply. Jason. You throw a glance at the car where Red Hood.

You had a terrible feeling that if you had them call Jason, he would be unavailable, despite the fact that he had had no plans for the night aside from being with you. If they did call him and he was in fact unavailable, there would be no way for you to deny that Jason and Red Hood were one in the same. It was too much of a risk, you didn’t want to find out. Besides you didn’t have his number memorized.

You think of the card you had been flipping in your hand all week, mostly due to forgetting it was in your pocket. You had looked at it in boredom enough that you had the number nearly memorized, you hoped.

“I have someone I could call,” you pat at your dress redundantly, you had no phone.

Batman pulls something out of his belt and hands it over to you. Your lip quirks in amusement when you take it.

“A flip phone?”

“A burner,” Robin corrects you, “it’s harder to track.”

“Oh,” You say surprised, “that makes sense.”

You open the phone and type in what you hope is the correct number. You stare at it, reiterating the numbers in your head and willing the card to your memory. Evidently Batman takes your hesitation as a request for privacy.

“We’ll give you a moment. Robin.” There’s a silent conversation between them again, an argument you think this time, before robin huffs and steps away from you.

You finally hit the call button and bring the phone to your ear. As it rings, you tap a nail against the roof of the car, anxious that you got the wrong number or that he wont answer you or that he won’t come to help you. All of which are valid. It’s not like you’ve known him or the family for very long.  

“Hello. Alfred speaking.” The distinctly British voice across the line makes your shoulders slack.

“Hi Alfred, I, um, I need help.” You thought there would be more questions, considering it must be the middle of the night, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

“How may I assist you, miss?”

“Thank you, Alfred,” you say for the first time of what you think will be many thank you’s of the night, “I need a ride and a place to stay, I guess. But I don’t want to be a bother. You can say no.”

Your anxiety gets the better of you and your request. You spare a glance at Batman and Robin. Robin’s eyes are near pinned to you and you think he was going to kill you if it wasn’t for the way his head would turn at random, searching for unseen signs of danger.

“You’re not a bother, miss. I’ll head to the car now and where are you, my dear?” You want to cry at the way Alfred willing to drop anything, presumably sleep to come get you.

“Thank you,” your voice chokes slightly but you turn towards batman and Robin, “I don’t know. Give me a second.”

Your feet sting as you take a step towards them. You wince and Robin is quick to halt your moments, returning to your side in haste.

“What is the matter?” he asks.

“Where are we?” you return in question. He puts his hand out, fingers flexing and you stare.

“Give me the phone and I’ll tell them where we are.” He tells you impatiently. You set the phone into his hand, and he wanders away from you, rattling off street names you’ve never heard of.

“You should sit,” you flinch at the nearness of batman’s voice.

“Jesus, what is wrong with you people? Ever heard of making a sound.” You startle. He doesn’t say anything, but you do think you see the barest hint of a smirk as he opens the car door for you. Your feet hurt enough to not argue. Robin returns as you settle in the seat still turned with your legs hanging out.

“He will be here soon.” He passes the burner phone back to Batman and you once again watch as they have silent conversation. Batman makes quiet hum before nodding.

“Red Hood needs medical care,” he says turning to you, “Robin will stay with you until your ride arrives. I’ve had Oracle turn off your alert. Its lucky you have it.”

With that he nods and turns back to his car. Your eyes follow him as he returns to the sleek vehicle, he had stuffed Red Hood into before your gaze refocuses on Robin, leaning on the car next to your open door.

Should you talk to him? Is that something you are supposed to do? You remember Darla telling you, long before your life became a mess, that most vigilantes didn’t chat with civilians. Between that and your mind suddenly telling you that this boy was definitely Damian. You decide to keep quiet. You don’t need to give your mind more reasons to connect dots you don’t want connected.

“Your hurt.” He mutters and you think he sounds worried. You unbend your knees; feet appearing more in your eyesight. You wiggle your toes and even that hurts, small scraps even there.

“I think I stepped on some glass when we jumped out the window.”

“He had you jump out of a window. That sounds just like him. You are not trained for any of this.” He sounds miffed and you’re almost pleased that you’re not the only upset with Red Hood.

You laugh quietly, “You’re telling me. But there was a bomb. We would’ve died if he hadn’t…”

You trail off, the night suddenly catching up to you. Your chest seizes slightly. You almost died again. And now you’re supposed to spy on someone you’ve been upset with for months but evidently still very much care about.

You shiver and bury your face in your hands with a groan. You flinch at the fabric placed across your lap and pull your hands. Robin stands in the same spot as before now missing his caped hood. In your lap lay the heap of fabric.

“You are barely what’s consider decent, and your dress is still wet. It is hardly warm tonight. You needn’t get a cold on top of your injuries.” He mutters. You stare at the boy, hands curling into the fabric of his cape before shifting it around your body, warming up nearly instantly.

“Thank you, Robin,” you say, and you think the boy looks flustered for a second before returning to a more stoic look. There’s a beat of silence and he speaks up again.

“Why did Black Mask take you?”

You panic, just for a second. Did he know what Black Mask had asked of you? What you’d agreed to do? Your mind settles again when you find his face holds nothing but curiosity. He just wanted to know what happened.

“Its Red Hood’s fault.” You start and wince at the way its sounds, the immediate blame you’ve placed, “It’s a little bit my fault too.” You correct.

“Red Hood used to climb through my window, and I’d share tea or food with him.” You glance at the boy, mild surprise on his features before he’s nodding for you to continue, “One of Penguin’s men saw him, and they figured out it was my apartment. So, they took me. Penguin thought I knew where Red Hood’s safehouses were.”

“You don’t.” Robin says, almost like he’s defending you, “This is the same night as the incident with Ted Jackson, correct?”

You tense at the second reminder of the night about the man you killed. Like your own nightmares weren’t enough, you had to confront it in real life.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly before quickly moving on, “Apparently, Penguin and Black Mask chat and agreed that I would be good bait to get Red Hood killed. Penguin told him where I lived.”

“You didn’t move?” the question is imploring and near chastising. You shake your head at it.

“No, I didn’t, and I know I should’ve. I already had this conversation with Red. I don’t need it again.” You sigh, sagging into your seat more.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend.” The boy moves, a quiet rustling that you don’t turn to look at so caught up in who you should be blaming more at the moment, you or Red Hood.

A hiss escapes you at the sudden sting of pain on your knees. You look up and find Robin pressing an alcohol swab to your knee. You hadn’t realized you were hurt there too, probably from the rough concrete of the loading dock. He offers you the one on your knee and then another.

“For your other knee.” He says as he presses it into you before he’s shifting to your feet.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure its fine,” you mumble pressing your feet back away from him.

“I stand by what I said earlier. These alleys are hardly sanitary. You could get a number of infections.” You hadn’t asked what type of infection but you’re suddenly being taught about all the horrible infections you could get from an unclean wound, how they could slowly kill you. You let him clean and bandage your feet as he talks.

It’s as he pins the last wrapping on your foot, that another car pulls up. Your whole-body tenses, a sudden fear that despite your crazy driving, they found you again. You were ready to haul Robin into the back seat and drive away. Until Alfred steps out of the car and walks over to you quickly.

“Robin,” he nods to the boy now standing by your open door before turning to you, “Are you alright, miss?”

“I’m alive, Alfred.” You say with a weak smile. He gives you a concerned nod.

“Well, that’s as good a start as any. Let’s get you to the car then.”

Additional note: Great News (depending who you talk too) she's moving into the Manor! At least for a little while. The whole family is going to be in their business its going to be crazy. Moving forward, Red Hood’s going to disappear for a bit again and it’ll just be Jason. They will continue to be a disaster so at least there is some consistency. As always thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa, @nekotaetae, @redsakura101, @sleepy-head1, @aejabba, @asteria33, @princessbl0ss0m, @sinnamon-bunn, @wholelottalove05, @invinciblewaffles, @mischief-somehow-managed, @4rachn3, @thy-crimson-king

[totallynotashieldagent]

just realized the grammatic error i meant aftercare after reader and damian the yk, basically basking and damian perhaps kissing parts of our body as worship or bathing away the soreness

The Birthday Blurbs Special

Awww its okay <33 thank you for sending another anon <33

The afterwards was the best part. The silence, the calm, the softness.

"Are you alright?" Damian asked softly, his hands running over your thigh, tracing up your ribs and shoulder.

You hummed tiredly.

"Did I hurt you?" He couldn't help but ask, he was always worried that he pushed too hard, used too much of his strength.

"No." You smiled at him even though your body was covered in marks that were slowly blooming and coming to live now that the adrenaline was washing away.

Bite marks, hickeys, handprints where he held on too tight.

He sighed, his forehead against your shoulder. His hand still running up and down your spine, tracing it with so much gentleness as if you could shatter if we touched you any harder than this.

He pressed gentle kisses wherever he could. Grateful of having the luxury of doing so.

There was no mask in this bed. No burden of his legacy, no child of The Bat and no Demon's Head. Here he simply was. And what he was, was yours.

After a few moments of silence, he detangled himself from you, gently pulling out of you with a groan. You winced too, suddenly feeling empty.

"I'll draw you a bath." He kissed the top of your head and went to the en-suite bathroom.

You eyed him shamelessly as he walked away. The scars on his lean body were a testament to his strength, and they now included your scratch marks too.

You sighed to yourself, sitting up and feeling a gush of his and your mixed fluids leaking from you. You thanked the fact that as always, Damian had the foresight to set the bed and there was a topper so the sheets didn't soak. The man came too much.

You stood and wobbled to the bathroom just as he was coming out.

"Darling, I was just coming to get you." He smiled softly, offering you his hand. "Bath is ready."

You took his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the tub.

The water was milky and smelled of lavender and rosemary. He helped you in carefully, then joined you. You hummed and slipped lower into the water, leaning against his chest.

Damian placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. "Thank you for giving me the privilege of loving you."

[puffin-smoke]

I rewatched that one Reductive audio and I got to the bit where he said that Quinn said he might want to turn Darlin. And I just keep wondering how that conversation might of gone, how it even got brought up in the first place.

I can sorta imagine them sitting together on the fire escape of Darlin's apartment. Darlin's legs are dangling off the edge, and Quinn is perched up on the guardrail. The sky was nearly wholly black, a few stars peaking out from behind clouds. It was a quiet night. They leant backwards, let out a long breath, and watched the condensation drift up into the air. Neither of them were talking. They'd just gotten back from helping Quinn feed- this time it had been some campers Darlin had found in the woods nearby. They always felt brittle after that, after the adrenaline worn off. The silence helped mask that feeling.

"I want to turn you."

Quinn said it out of nowhere, and to the empty air. Not a question, just a statement. Darlin's neck snapped up to look at him, their brow furrowing. "What?"

Now he actually looked down at them, rolling his eyes. "You heard me."

"Huh." They didn't really know what else to say. They just sat there, looking up towards him, studying his face, stark against the night sky. Looking for a sign that this was just another one of his jokes, something they could force a laugh at and then move on. He looked at them expectantly.

"Well?" He prompted.

"Well what?" They turned away, leaning against the metal railing in front of them and trying to ignore how his eyes bored into them.

He scoffed, drumming a perfectly manicured hand on the railing his sat on. His voice was lilting, condescending, like he was talking to a child. A part of Darlin, a part they normally chose to ignore, bristled. "Oh, don't be obtuse, Precious- what do you think? About me turning you?"

Darlin watched Quinn's shadow fall over them as they struggled for an answer, cast by the flickering light of their apartment. They forced a shrug, a short, curt answer. "Probably couldn't go on pack runs if you did."

The vampire sighed dramatically. "You could still run, Precious."

It wasn't that simple and he knew it. He knew that in the way he dragged out each syllable of that godforsaken petname, and the way he scolded them like they were a child insisting there was a monster under their bed. They were about to tell them that, a part of them wanting to put the hand they'd clenched around the railing in front of them to good use. But then he sat down beside them and that part of themself shut its damn mouth.

He'd swung himself down from his impromptu seat above them, nearly landing on top of them, and placed a hand firmly on top of Darlin's. He pushed himself into Darlin, invading their space and forcing them to glance over and meet his eyes. His breath stank. He flashed them a winning smile, his fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"You'd actually be better at it. Faster, stronger. There'd be no stopping, no worrying, no trying to not get hurt." He rattled each reason off succinctly, with precision and, Darlin realised with a small horror, with practice. He quipped under his breath. "And we both know how hard that last one is for you."

Darlin shoved their shoulder into his. Hard. They grumbled out something small, too tired to put force behind anything but the push. "Shut up."

His hand tightened over Darlin's, his voice almost musical. "You know I'm right. Or was that little incident tonight a fluke?"

They yanked their hand out from under Quinn's, almost like it had burnt them. Their voice was a hiss, only somewhat audible over the sounds of the city below them. "That was- I didn't know they were there. They got the jump on me."

Quinn threw his head back, the sound of his laughter filling the nighttime air. Making Darlin's ears ring. "You're proving my point, you do realise that, right?"

Darlin felt tired in that moment, staring at their feet hanging off the edge, listening to his voice drip like sewage in their ears. There was blood on their sneakers. They'd just noticed it, they weren't sure if it was from earlier or a different night altogether. They just wanted Quinn to shut up so they could stop thinking. Tone hoarse and as hushed as the midnight wind, their voice droned out a response. "Can you just leave it?"

"You've thought about it before."

That made Darlin look up. That made them flinch as they met his eyes, hungry and knowing. He inclined his head slightly forward, baring his teeth. The silver in his eyes sparkling for a brief moment.

There was laughter in his voice as he watched Darlin recoil. "There we go! Oh, come on, darling, there's no shame in it."

Something inside of them begged them to run. Another part of them longed to punch him square in the fucking nose. Darlin ignored both of those sides of them, in favour of that careful, spiteful, apathy they'd practiced over the years. They unclenched their jaw, loosened their fingers, untensed their shoulders. It was deliberate and forced and hopefully convincing. Hopefully would make him believe in the fact that this conversation wasn't going to get him anywhere. That they hadn't thought about it everytime they got knocked down a little too hard. That they hadn't wondered what it would be like as they clutched their side, bloodied and bruised from another failure. That they had never thought about it in the middle of the night, as they stared at ceiling and tried to not think about how sudden Gabe's death had been.

But maybe they weren't as good an actor as they thought they were. Or maybe there was still a glimmer of that in their eyes. Or maybe, more likely, Quinn just didn't give a shit either way.

They tore their eyes away from his, and stared back out into the night. They felt him lean against them, practically purring. "Oh please, don't be like that. It would be so perfect, you know that."

With that he grabbed their hand, fully taking it off of the rail this time and clasping it in his hands with both a reverence and a vice grip. There was blood underneath his finger nails. They could barely see it in the low light, but they could smell it. It was all they could smell. The same blood that was on their shoe.

He cradled their hand, thumbnail tracing a line across their skin, a mimicry of gentleness. "You and me, nights like this. This- this freedom. Forever."

His voice was so soft, they could almost forget about how he'd sounded earlier. That sharp, keening edge to his voice as he chased down the campers. The crunch that had cut through the cricketsong and distant cars when his teeth sank into that human's throat. The slightly too loud thud as their body hit the ground, and the way he'd delighted when he caught sight of the human's friend running away.

He sounded like someone they didn't know. They almost didn't suck on a sharp breath as the last word left his mouth. Forever. Their eyes snagged on the blood underneath his fingernails. His forever was the hunt they'd just been on. It was running through a forest, chasing humans down like cattle, adrenaline coursing through him and a constant smile on his lips. Forever was fun, forever was free.

But Darlin's forever was something different. It was this lull after the hunt. It was sitting on a fire escape, or a rooftop, or wherever they found themself, and licking their wounds. Watching a sleeping city and trying to ignore Quinn, trying to ignore everything they'd just done. How they felt once the adrenaline wore off; small and brittle and dirty. It meant more blood splattered across their shoes and never having even a vague clue as to where it came from.

But they didn't want to say all that. So they just shrugged and tore their eyes away from his hands and looked off into the night. And just repeated what theyd said earlier, firmer this time. "Probably couldn't go on pack runs if you did."

They watched Quinn's nostrils flare, and he dropped their hands. His movements were tense as he pushed himself up from his seat and back onto his perch on the guardrail, eyes unblinking and glaring at the horizon. They didn't miss the way his jaw twitched, or how his hands had turned into fists. A silence fell over the two, heavy and thick and choking.

He let out a deliberate huff. "Not like you go running with them now anyway."

Darlin stayed staring up at him for a few more seconds, waiting for him to say something. Something they could rebutt, maybe with something clever, maybe with a simple middle finger. But he just kept staring ahead.

They swallowed, the words washing over them. Their voice was smaller than they wanted it to be. "… I'm gonna head inside."

He gave a quick hum. "Mhm."

So they used the railing to pull themself to their feet, and with one last look at Quinn, ducked underneath the window and went inside. The image of his eyes, not even a shred of acknowledgement behind them, unmoving in their mind. They kicked off their shoes and fell onto their couch, which shook and creaked under their weight. They slouched over as that heavy silence dissipated into the sound of their lights buzzing overhead and muffled conversation of their neighbours. It was almost calming.

But then they saw the blood on their shoes. And then it didn't help at all.

[little-bug-bruised]

Meadowsweet

Chapter II

Pet didn’t understand.

Why was her new mistress worried about her?

The question rattled around in her head until it clicked. Master’s voice echoed in her mind like a cruel lullaby:

“You’ll be good for the queen, won’t you, mutt?”

She had nodded, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

“You’ll obey. You’ll wait for your mistress to grant you permission to speak, won’t you, pup?”

Another nod. Another day in the dark.

Of course. Of course the queen was testing her. Seeing if her new pet had been properly trained. And Pet would not fail. Not even now. Not even after Master had given her away like a scrap of meat.

Pet kept her eyes low, fixed on the floor in front of her knees. Pets don’t look their masters in the eyes. That was one of the first things she had learned.

The queen said nothing to her. She turned instead to a servant nearby and gave a quiet order. Something about getting her unbound. Cleaned. Dressed in something new.

Pet didn’t move until the servant came. The ropes fell away, one by one, her limbs aching from the release. She didn’t thank her. Pets don’t speak until their masters said they could.

They took her through a maze of stone hallways, too wide and too bright. When they reached the palace baths, the servant guided her gently forward.

Pet obeyed.

She stood still as the woman began undressing her. There was no shame—shame was something she’d lost long ago—but as she stepped toward the water, a different feeling took root.

Panic.

It began slow. A tightness in her throat. A flicker in her chest. Then her vision narrowed and the bath seemed to grow enormous, a dark gleaming mouth waiting to swallow her whole.

She froze.

No. No, please. Not water. Not like this.

Her mind began spinning. The tiled floor, the water, the gentle hands—none of it was real anymore. In her mind, she was back in Master’s cold, brackish tub. The grip on her neck. The shove under the surface. The taste of iron and salt. The darkness.

She braced for it.

But nothing came.

No hands. No push. No pain.

The water was pleasantly warm.

And when her mind began to return—slow and trembling—she found herself already out of the bath, a soft towel wrapped around her small, shaking body. The servant was murmuring something gentle as she patted her dry.

Pet didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

She only followed, docile and quiet, as she was led to the launderers’ room. They rifled through shelves and chests until they found a plain cotton dress in soft cream, worn but clean. The fabric was warm from the fire. It smelled like lavender and sun.

Pet stared at it like it was a gown made of gold.

When the servant helped slip it over her head, Pet nearly cried. It didn’t itch. It didn’t smell like rot. There were no bloodstains, no missing buttons. It was hers. Her mistress had given her this. A bath. A dress. Clean skin. Warmth.

She wanted to speak. To say thank you. But the words stuck like thorns in her throat. She wasn’t allowed. Not unless she was told.

The servant led her through more twisting halls until they reached a set of grand doors.

The queen’s quarters.

Pet stepped inside, her heart thudding.

She crossed the room on quiet, bare feet, and dropped to her knees in the center of the floor. She knelt, hands folded neatly in her lap, spine straight, head bowed low.

A good pet.

She waited. For the sound of a voice. For the steps of her new mistress. For the next command.

And in the silence, all she could think was:

Please let me be good enough this time.

***

Mirryn stood before the fire, the sealed envelope heavy in her hands.

She had been avoiding it since the man had first delivered it—since the moment the girl had arrived in that crate like livestock. Part of her hadn’t wanted to open it. Part of her still didn’t. But she needed to know what they had done to her. What he had done. What she needed to undo.

The wax cracked.

Inside was a single sheet of thick parchment, its folds still stiff from lack of use. The handwriting was slanted, haphazard, the strokes occasionally smudged—as if written through drink or disinterest. Mirryn read slowly.

To Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen Mirryn of the Middle Kingdom,

Below is a complete list of commands and the expected responses from the creature you have been gifted.

Sit – The pet sits cross-legged, eyes on the ground.

Down – The pet kneels, eyes on the floor.

Up – The pet stands upright with hands behind her back.

Heel – The pet follows two steps behind her master, head lowered.

Speak – The pet will bark once. Loudly.

Present – The pet will clasp her hands behind her back and stand with her feet shoulder-width apart for inspection.

Silence – The pet will freeze in place, eyes down, until told otherwise.

Cage – The pet will crawl into the nearest enclosed space and remain there.

Obey – The pet will follow any spoken order without hesitation.

Punish – The pet will remove her own clothing and kneel in apology.

Her true name is included in the sealed inner fold. Use it sparingly for best results. A word of warning: the pet responds best to a firm, consistent hand. She is known to tremble, whimper, and cry, but don’t let it fool you. She’s well broken. She just forgets sometimes.

With loyalty,

Lord Marksworth

Mirryn stared at the list until the words blurred.

Bark.

Present.

Punish.

She felt sick.

Her hand clenched around the parchment until it crumpled, and she tossed it into the fire without a second thought. The flames caught quickly. The paper curled and blackened.

She did not open the fold with the fae’s true name.

She would never use it.

When Mirryn opened the door to her chambers, she immediately saw the girl.

She was kneeling exactly where the servant had left her—centered in the rug, facing the hearth. Her posture was perfect. Too perfect. Her back was straight, her head bowed, hands folded carefully in her lap. She didn’t move.

Mirryn felt a breath catch in her throat.

She approached slowly, each step deliberate. Not out of ceremony, but caution. Not for herself—for the girl. Pet, the man had called her. As though she didn’t even deserve a name.

When Mirryn reached the middle of the room, she opened her mouth to speak—

—but the girl dropped, suddenly, pressing her forehead to the floor.

Mirryn blinked, startled. At first she thought it was a plea, some silent form of begging. But then she recognized the shape of the motion. Not desperate. Not frantic.

Grateful.

She was saying thank you.

Mirryn’s heart broke anew.

“You’re… welcome,” she said, awkwardly.

The girl remained in place, trembling ever so slightly.

Mirryn lowered herself gently into the nearby chair, unsure what to do. Eyes studying her thin frame she called for lunch to be brought. The girl didn’t move. She sat for a long moment, watching the girl, the silence thick between them.

She didn’t want to see her like this. She didn’t want to see a person trained. She needed to help heal the hurt she had been through.

Mirryn finally spoke. “What can I call you?”

The girl’s head lifted just slightly. Her mouth opened—then closed again just as fast. Her eyes darted downward, and she curled in on herself.

Mirryn realized her mistake. “It’s alright. You’re allowed to speak.”

The girl tensed as though she’d been struck.

Then, slowly, obediently, she said: “Master used to call me mutt, or runt, or mongrel. And pup when he was in a good mood… and creature sometimes, but only when I was bad.” Her voice got quieter the longer she spoke.

She said the names like it was normal. Like she was listing weather patterns or old grocery lists. Her face didn’t flinch, but her hands trembled.

Mirryn swallowed, keeping her voice soft. “Those aren’t names. They’re insults.”

The girl didn’t respond. Just stared at the rug.

“You deserve a name,” Mirryn said. “A real one. Something that belongs to you.”

That was when the panic returned.

The girl’s breath hitched, quick and shallow. Her hands clenched into the folds of her new dress. She opened her mouth again—once, twice—but no words came out. Her chest rose in quick jerks, like she was choking on the air.

Mirryn sat forward gently. “You don’t have to think of one now. May I suggest one for you?”

The girl nodded so quickly it was almost desperate.

Mirryn studied her quietly.

Hair like snow, like flower petals after the rain. Green eyes that held storms and spring both. Thin as a willow shoot, half-starved—but alive.

Alive, despite everything.

“Sprig,” Mirryn said.

The girl looked up, eyes wide.

“It’s what we call the first little growth of a plant,” she explained. “Small. Delicate. But a promise of something more. A sprig may be tiny, but it’s strong enough to push through earth. It grows where nothing else will.”

She offered a gentle smile. “You’ve been through darkness, little sprig. But you’re still growing.”

The girl—Sprig—sat very still.

Then, slowly, she bowed her head once in silent acknowledgment. She didn’t smile. She didn’t cry.

But she accepted the name.

And for now, that was enough.

***

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for dating Guy Gardner

Guy Gardner x reader

warnings: like minor innuendos and like. guy gardner being a silly guy.

a/n: LEECH LORD I LOVE U FOR USING MY REQUEST TEMPLATE MWAH MWAH. also guys wouldn’t it be funny if i fridged reader. dont look up fridging if you dont know what it means its an infamous hal jordan reference and i dont want to be the reason you are traumatized.

prompt: @the-leech-lord: “Prompt: Headcanons for Guy dating a civilian”

guy was such a pain in the ass

but he was your pain in the ass

you had to put him in his place more often than not

“against my vows to do the dishes” -guy

“i’m gonna go to oa my damn self and tell the ‘masters of the universe’ youre using their vow in vain” -you

“guardians of the universe! masters of the universe is he-man!! and don’t do that, i will do the dishes” -guy

“and you can’t use the ring to do your chores” -you

“damn it!” -guy

dont get me wrong, guy was still a great boyfriend and he had his moments—but this man was such a punk

acclimating to being with someone in “the life” was hard but he was pretty good about helping you adjust

like he ALWAYS texted you back ASAP so you didn’t worry

even if he was off-planet (he gave you a extraterrestrial long-distance communicator and told you to keep it a secret)

“yes, honey, i am very much alive and well, but im fighting a fleet of alien spaceships right now so im gonna have to hang up now, okay?” -guy

when you were first introduced to the “justice gang,” michael and kendra were shocked guy could have an s/o

“you’re guy’s partner? how do you put up with his shit?” -kendra

“oh, it’s easy. i just threaten to tell the lantern corps whenever he’s being pouty and he immediately starts to behave again” -you

“would that even work?” -michael

“calling up the lantern corps? don’t know, never tried. he just looks so panicked whenever i say it, it’s never failed” -guy

“you’re incredible.” -kendra

guy def parades u around a lil bit. like he’s very proud to be able to call himself ur bf

sometimes you get a lil insecure bc he literally is a green lantern and knows so many powerful people and meets people on other planets?? and he still chooses you every day

when he comes home from off world missions he never shows up empty handed. either he found something to gift you from another planet or he’ll just show up with some coffee and donuts

“this is, uh, well i don’t really remember what it’s supposed to resemble, but it’s a very cute creature on their planet. this is the equivalent of a teddy bear for us” -guy

“oh! it’s so��unique. i love it” -you

“and i love you” -guy

he’s very passionate and his love language is 100% touch so he likes to have you close

when you’re out, his arm is around your hip at all times

when you’re home, he’s hugging you from behind and kissing your shoulders and back

he holds you and dances with in the living room while you’re having conversations in the living room, you’ll tell him about your boring day and he’ll brag about his battle feats

you cut his hair for sureeee

“just make sure the bowl is straight, i don’t want to look stupid” -guy

“oh, no, we wouldn’t want you looking stupid” -you

(a/n: idk if there’s any comic canon lore behind his bowl cut and i dont feel like researching but it’d be soooo funny if thats just how him mom cut it when he was a kid and he just never changed his hairstyle)

you middle parted his hair just to mess with him

“y/n, that is so not funny. don’t take pictures, i don’t want a digital footprint or whatever it’s called” -guy

*you actively posting it on your story and tagging him*

like i said, gotta put the man in his place. he’s far to cocky

he also posts date night pictures of you guys all the time he’s super proud of u

whenever there’s some insane thing going on in metropolis (where you live for the sake of the plot) he always makes sure you’re clear of danger before fighting the enemy head-on

“you took your sweet time” -michael

“oh, you know. had to check on the significant other” -guy, winking

“cool story, want to start helping now?” -michael

you were starstruck the first time you met superman

“y/n, you hang out with superheroes every day!” -guy

“yeah, but he’s superman!” -you

“so?! he’s just an alien. i go space all the time, i’m much cooler than him” -guy

“you’re right, you’re so much cooler than him” -you

guy enjoyed when you fed his ego

like lowkey it was the most flattering thing for him it always made him super happy

“so you think i’m super-cool huh?” -guy

“oh, yeah, you’re the coolest” -you

“well, since i’m so cool, we should go somewhere cool this weekend” -guy

“cool or warm?” -you

“you’re right, warm is better. how about the florida keys?” -guy

“how about greece?” -you

“oooh, fancy-schmancy” -guy

“oh, i’m not good enough for greece?” -you

“i didn’t say that!” -guy

he definitely would take you on trips since he had the ability to travel by ring lol

“when can i get one of those?” -you, tapping his ring

“are you asking me to propose?” -guy

“no, i want a cool superpowered ring, duh” -you

“well, in that case. probably never. only the the people with the most willpower in the universe get these. maybe if i forget to do the dishes again a red one will find you” -guy

you swatted him and he started laughing his ass off

you have to promise not to watch the shows youre watching together when he’s off world and its sooooo hard

sometimes it hits you how normal you are compared to him and life almost doesn’t feel real but he’s pretty good about making sure you know you mean the world to him

he likes to make little constructs to distract you when you’re busy doing stuff

like when you’re in the shower and suddenly there’s a transparent green bird perched on the curtain rod

“guy, what the hell are you doing?” -you

“just helping you live out your disney fantasies. he’s here to help you get ready” -guy, through the bathroom door

“cut it out, that’s so weird!” -you, watching the green bird hold your towel in its beak

“sing to it!” -guy, cackling

“no!!” -you

he loves outlandish pranks

non-harmful ones for you but if it were the justice gang it’d definitely be something a little more dangerous

speaking of the justice gang, you got to tour the WIP hall of justice and it was like the coolest thing ever

“we could do it here alllll the time” -guy

“ew, guy, why would you even say that?” -kendra

“save it for when we get home, smooth talker” -you

justice gang def texts you all the time and tells guy how much cooler you are than him and he actually usually agrees

because duh, if you weren’t cool he wouldn’t be dating you

guy 100% will say he’s gonna give you a back/foot massage or something and make the ring do it

you can tell the difference but the ring constructs lowkey do it better so you don’t say anything

i mean he is using his willpower to do it so its not like hes not trying

you wear his JG jacket sometimes and have requested your own honorary jacket but he likes when you wear his clothes so he won’t budge

tbh i may not have added it too much in this fic but he definitely lovesss to hear “i love you’s” and says it soooo much

and he loves compliments and always makes sure to compliment you back

and he loves deep kisses

and when you care enough to keep him in check

and any cheeky shit you end up doing like (forgive me lord) slapping his ass when he walks by (its funny ok)

he doesn’t do spooning tho bc he sleeps on his back and snores like a mf

you’re very grateful for the quieter nights

when you can’t sleep, guy will fly you two up in a bubble over metropolis at night and look at all the city lights

“it’s pretty up here” -you

“i can only focus on you” -guy

“yeah right” -you

“calling me a liar?” -guy

“maybe” -you

“ouch, not cool. guess we’re not getting froyo from your favorite spot in town” -guy

“oh, you’re evil” -you

taglist: @summersimmerus // @the-did-i-ask // NEW TAGLIST FOR DC MOVIES — DC UNIVERSE REBOOTED — SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED

[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 25

Masterlist

Golden Hour: Pt. 3 - In Your Fantasy Diary - Entries:

Thank you to @thirstkanaphan for tagging me in this post so I could find out about the new Diary Entries <3

We pick up right where the last entries left off with all the members reuniting once they tracked down Yunho and Mingi at a nearby café. They wake them up with the music Jongho had prepared, proving once more that their shared memories and emotional bond are what is freeing them from Sopro's influence.

As they were tracking down Yunho and Mingi, the other six also realized why Mingi had deleted his social media posts - he'd been embarrassed. Yet again a new emotion learned by Sopro which had immediately been projected onto everyone in their vicinity.

People were embarrassed to even be perceived so they hid out in the streets, each flushed red as they scurried about, peeking around corners, afraid to be noticed.

While still inside the café, Sopro moves on to another host - something they only take note of because the people around them begin acting differently.

They bit their lips and clenched their fists, looking like they were desperately holding back the urge to run away. It was an emotion that looked like embarrassment but with an undertone of restraint. What was it called again? Oh! That's right! Wooyoung: "Shame." That was it. The people were now ashamed.

We switch perspectives and once again see the world through Sopro's eyes.

I feel like I'm dying. I'm so sad. Depressed. Why is this only happening to me? What the hell did I do wrong? It's so painful. It's too hard. I'm lonely. How am I supposed to keep on living like this from now on?

We now learn what it was like for Sopro in the last entries when it was in the factory owner's body and experiencing despair for the first time in its existence.

It felt like it was drowning, like it was dying, until the body it was in began to cry out the sadness and allowed it to escape. It fled across the Han River, in search for new experiences, until it found another body - the body of a woman currently out on a walk with someone she seems to be in love with.

In a short moment, countless worries passed through the woman's mind. But when the man brushed a stray lock of hair out of the woman's face, she turned red again, and all her thoughts stopped. It felt like being propelled back and forth uncontrollably on a rollercoaster. While the woman liked the man, she was also overcome by the desire to run away and hide. Yet, at the same time, she didn't want to leave him either, and was worried about how she looked to him right now. She felt good, but also a little nauseous as if she were motion-sick, or perhaps hungover.

This is how Mingi and Yunho were feeling while hiding away inside the café - it's what triggered Mingi to delete his social media posts.

While still inside the woman's body, Sopro also experiences shame for the first time as they bump into a group of people who know the woman.

They looked at the woman and spoke sheepishly as if they were embarrassed by her. At that moment, I fell from the clouds. The clouds disappeared, and the space around me slowly darkened.

I'm so embarrassed. What the hell do they even think of me? Why did I have to run into them here? The woman thought, and I thought the same. I want to run away, I want to disappear.

And then she truly does begin to run, away from the people, from the man she was with, from everything, until they collide with somebody we know all too well.

Yunho, as we now learn, has a so-called "spirit scanner" in his possession which has helped them track down Sopro. And of course, he gets teased for it:

Mingi:  "It really worked. The spirit scanner." Yeosang:  "To think someone studying archaeology would have such a pseudo-scientific thing. I don't believe it." Yunho: "Thanks for the input, but don't you think we should focus on catching it right now?"

The other members keep talking to the woman in an attempt to keep her calm and let her know what's going on (vaguely), but as it turns out, the woman is truly no longer in charge of her own body. We're still seeing things from Sopro's POV:

I used the woman again to speak. "No, you've got it all wrong. No one's messing with my emotions." San: "You only think that way because Sopro's inside you. Sopro has the power to control people's emotions as it pleases." Hongjoong: "Just a moment ago, you felt ashamed, right? I don't know for sure if that's what Sopro felt, or if those emotions were purely yours... But, because you have Sopro in you, those feelings are infecting everyone around us. Look."

As Sopro lays eyes on the people around them, it begins to wonder if it really is to blame for their bizarre behavior. But while it's still stuck trying to process it all, Mingi already holds the woman's phone up to its face - the phone he'd just unlocked with the woman's finger.

On screen, a video is playing, one taken by the woman of her puppy as she was trying to teach him how to give paw. Still in Sopro's POV:

The woman held out her hand, and the puppy nuzzled its face against her. The woman laughed and petted the dog, and the dog happily enjoyed the affection. My head felt as though it might crack. The woman crouched down and rubbed her temples. As she did so, the men who had been holding her let go. "Come! Follow me." The woman in the video ran backwards, filming the dog. Then the dog ran towards the woman. The woman here outside the video began to heave. A vortex sped toward me. If I got caught in that vortex, I would be forced outside again. I had this feeling that I shouldn't go outside, not now. As I ran away from the vortex, the dog from the video began running toward me from the opposite side. The woman must be recalling memories of her dog. But, unlike the bright image in the video, the dog snarled at me, showing its fangs. He barked and growled loudly, as if trying to protect the woman and telling me to get out — now! He was telling me that if I ignored his warning, he would attack. I backed up. At that moment, I was swept away by the vortex from behind. Hongjoong: "It's out!" Wooyoung:  "Look! It's definitely bigger than before." Seonghwa: "Wooyoung, quick!"

And this is the moment where things become a whole lot more emotionally charged.

We're still with Sopro who is now getting trapped on the ground under Wooyoung's shoe and, as we get to hear its thoughts, we can see there's a one-sided connection there between the two that Wooyoung doesn't seem to have picked up on - but Sopro has:

While I was also saddened by the fact that I was being stepped on and couldn't move, the fact that it was my mother bird, of all people, who was causing me to suffer came as a much bigger sadness. I felt a much bigger mixture of emotions that felt both like the sea of sadness and what the woman felt running into friends she didn't want to meet. It was fear. And resentment. I wanted to run up to my mother bird and be adored like the puppy and the woman. So why was he hurting me like this? He stepped on me even harder, and dirt flew up from the ground. I was pushed deeper into the dirt. Deeper, deeper... Would I be pushed underground? The mother bird won't be able to catch me. Because when he finally takes his foot off to look at me, I won't be there. I've already run away...down...

We skip ahead in time, away from Sopro's POV and find out that, while Sopro hasn't acted up again, the spread of its power had actually been way more far reaching than initially expected:

The problem was that the abnormal phenomenon was not limited to just one country. Modern science could not explain why the world's population all felt the same thing at the same time. Some groups viewed the event as a religious phenomenon, and others thought it might have been something similar to the instinctual group reactions of birds and rats right before a disaster.

Anxious about what might have happened to Sopro and whether it will return or not, Yunho spent those same days holed up inside the library, trying to uncover whether there was a historical record in the A-World about an artifact like Sopro.

By accident, he discovered a section of the library that was not on the book record map, and began reading through the books there as if he were possessed. He found a book by a scholar specializing in legends and myths based on the theory that the universe is composed of multiple dimensions. As soon as he read the introduction to the book, Yunho knew he needed to meet him. This was the introduction: 'It is a great error to assume that the artifacts of our world can only be interpreted by the logic of our world.' Jongho: "That man... Isn't that Left Eye?"

Upon going to meet their world's Left Eye at his lab, the members learn that this version of him also has a daughter - one who is alive and well - and that he believes in their experiences of Z-World.

Additionally, he also shares with them a picture of a long-dead king wearing a necklace with an embedded ruby-red stone, one very much reminiscent of Sopro.

"Legend says that it was a gift given to the king by a huge bird — a spiritual creature. As a stone with the ability to move the hearts of all things, it was gifted to the king as a symbol of his love for the people." Mingi:  "Hearts... Yeah, that does sound like Sopro." The members examined the paper again. Below the picture was the following text: "Legends such as these often come with warnings. The nature of this stone is like a child, and the king in possession of this stone becomes the parent of that child. Therefore, if the king has an evil heart, the child will learn that wickedness, and if the king has a good heart, it will learn goodness." Wooyoung: "A child." The line comparing the nature of the stone to a young child caught Wooyoung's eye.

But while the members are still stuck on the similarities between the two worlds' legends, Yeosang is already on his tablet, looking for clues about where Sopro might have disappeared to or if it's truly gone.

Yeosang: "It didn't disappear, it was just hiding!" Yeosang turned his tablet to the members. On the screen was a live clip of a video creator searching for true ghost stories. He talked while walking through a graveyard. A statue that didn't exist until yesterday suddenly appeared overnight, and monsters were rising from the ground. The bust statue, made of corpse, bone, soil, and grass, had grown into a human shape. With a shriek, its eyes shot open. It looked enraged. People watching the live video called it "the resurrection of Frankenstein". Not long after, a war broke out over there.

It seems Sopro has built itself a body so it will no longer have to depend on a human host. And that is where the story ends. For now.

[tohruies]

[soung of crying indeed] i m so emotional over this rain!!!!!! weh... my annotations under the cut (●'◡'●);;

the sky a scatter of twinkling stars, broken only by the glimpses of distant city lights...

wahahah rain!!!!!! your prose is so lush and vivid please i was immediately whisked away to penacony <33 i really like how the stars and the city lights are woven together ;u; and robin!!!! she is so cute-- this line "a voice that might’ve incited envy in even the most magnanimous of heaven’s many-winged seraphs" AAAAAAA what a beautiful way to describe it;;;

a bird-wing flutter of fingers brushing against fingers.

IT'S SO LIGHT AND SUBTLE AND ROMANTIC WAH...... it's such a gentle meet-cute between sunday n the reader amidst all the flair and dramatics of penacony that surround them;;;;; it makes my heart!!! flutter!!!!!!

golden hour — such a beautiful thing, and made all the more-so by its ephemerality

this is such a striking line wahhh... it makes my heart ache!!!!! the way time lingers in dreams but how there is also that illusion of forever;;; it's so poignant and beautiful;;;; and then the next part!!! "beauty as a concept, and not an actuality..." it makes me think of the kind of beauty that can't be captured in photos!!!!! or explained in words!!!! like the way you feel when something is so touching and beautiful you could cry without reason;;;;;;; AAAAAAAA

only a sweet, soft familiarity

waaaaahhh this part made me tear up a bit asdfghjkl and we are only at the beginning oh dear..... i think it's just that kind of instant closeness with someone!!! even in a dream--it's the kind that feels like you've known them forever;;;; in another life or a faraway time or a dream within a dream........ and reading this!! makes me feel like sunday isn't a stranger wahahah...... RAIN (ノ_<)!!!!!!!

you meet him in a dream

this line keeps coming back!!!!!!!!!! aaa it's like a magic refrain.... every time it repeats i grow more and more anxious AAAAAAAA especially with this non-linear format.... knowing that this story ends in angst n heartache only makes me more afraid of what's to come... sobbles bobbles;;;; anyway!! i am going on a bit of a tangent--but i think this layout for this fic is so clever!!!!! :D and it's so emotional wahahah and it makes meee think of how sometimes people drift into our lives like dreams and yet!!! leave such strong impressions!!! <3333 i dunno what im saying hehehe >u<;;

his eyes shone like the hidden hearts of stars

this line!!!! im squealing n kicking at my bed WAH IT'S JUST SO BEAUTIFUL RAIN..... as is the entirety of your writing here oh my goshness. i am so moved!!!!! the way this line insinuates all the mystery and cosmic warmth sunday's eyes hold;;;; what secrets do you hold mr. sunday!!!! (side note, i think it's so endearing how the reader calls him mr. sunday;;;; i love that detail so much... i wonder if sunday grows to flinch a bit whenever he hears it now;;;)

you’ve managed to outshine them all.

OHHHHH!!!! this part!!!!!!!! sobbles--it's just such a sincere thought from his pov :c he isn't just entranced by the reader but he really adores them.... you radiance being effortless and warm and genuine in a world of make-believe...... rain dont make me cry ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽

“she’s gone, brother.” // “she’s not.”

robin :c sunday :c this part is so sad rain I TOLD YOU TO NOT MAKE ME CRY.... pretty please...... wahhh dreams!!!! are supposed to be escapes right!!! but sunday using them to hold onto something too precious to let go of :c im going to cry again asdfghjkl but it's not just denial!! i feel like!!!!! it is also devotion;;; even if it hurts and is so bittersweet;; the way he lashes out and then softens makes my heart hurt so bad because he is so evidently grieving;;;;;

“don’t worry — all you gotta do is practice!”

IT CAME BACK!!!! the little echo of his earlier line AAAAAAAA it's just so sweet and silly and romantic!!!! wahhhh the way sunday (who's usually all like!! poise!!!!! and control!!!) is thrown off his rhythm here... it's so cute to see him flustered!!!! AND THE READER HERE IS SO SO CUTE TOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“what’s got you in such a good mood, brother?”

this whole sequence T^T hehe i love reading sunday n robin's interactions--she's always teasing him in the most affectionate way WAH i love!!! how you wrote their relationship here!!! :3 the way sunday fumbles is so endearingly earnest;;;; his breath catching when he admits he met a girl!!! it makes me think of how he always seemed a little stunned with the reader like love kept taking him by surprise ;u; over n over n over again.... it is so sweet but also!!!! i am feeling more n more unsettled about what is to come oh dear...

you wonder what is is about you that keeps sunday coming back

sunday being a dream-host..... surely he's seen every kind of dream!! but him returning to the reader again!!! and again!!!!! AAAAAAA and the description about them being two tidally locked stars oh it is so beautiful i could cry;;; it reminds me of the dance scene!!! when he was content to orbit her silently... watch her smile at the ghosts of memories;;;; the reader wonders what she means to sunday but isn't that the loveliest part of love.... when it just is;;; when you don't need a reason to explain it!!! WAHHH THIS COUPLE!!!!!!! <33333

he kisses you roughly, more so than you’d have thought a man like him capable of

IOEMXZKJSNDW?????????? the rough kiss!!! contrasting his usual softness ohhh no;; it's like something inside of him cracking!! all the longing and the restraint all coming undone :c it hurts knowing that this is all just a dream....

“i’m sorry… i’m afraid i can’t let you do that,”

charging rain with triple homicide!!!!! for killing me!! myself!! and i!!!!!! AAAA THIS IS SO PAINFUL TO READ NOOOOO READER!!! YOU CAN'T FADE;;;; it's all becoming twisted n tragic--he's the one who wants her to be safe but at the same time he is the one trapping her;;; i'm glad robin arrived omg i breathed a sigh of relief;;; i love how she's used here to bring sunday back from the edge of obsession;;;; ROBIN!!!!!!

“let go.”

;u; i feel like!!! this is the moment!!!!!! the whole fic's been building to this!! not just the letting go of a person but the idea of keeping them alive in your heart... of choosing to carry someone in your heart but not cage them in your mind... the phantom train is such a powerful image wahhhhh... the reader is leaving.. but she's free.... and sunday is left with this hollow in his chest!!! but also with robin's hand in his ohhhjhjsahbjs;;;;; rain what have you done to me.....

im gnawing on my fist and choking up ;______; I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH RAIN.... i haven't read many sunday fics but i think this is definitely my fave or at least in the top three of my faves!!!! <3333 the way he tried so hard to hold on and keep the person he loved alive in his dreams... even when it started to hurt him;; but in the end him learning that remembering someone isn't the same as clinging to them... learning that letting go doesn't mean forgetting!!!!!!! aaaaa i love the sentiments echoed in this fic very dearly;;; i will undoubtedly be holding this fic super close wahahahah and now i must go try to calm my tears >u< THANKU FOR SHARING RAIN!!!!!!!!!!! <33333 you are so skilled at your craft--i am so in awe of your display of talent here!!!! :D

─── 星期日 ALL THAT WE SEE OR SEEM

sunday; 7,000 words; sfw, fluff and angst, nonlinear format, slightly canon divergent, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, robin doing her best, concepts of loss, lapslock, no "y/n"

summary: is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream - edgar allen poe

a/n: idk what to say about this one yall -- im sry u_u i haven't written angst like this in a second, but also apologies if the nonlinear format is a tad confusing -- i promise it's supposed to be. credit where credit is due, i was loosely inspired by kowloon generic romance and there's a line in here from age of adeline, but a lot of it is also just based on sunday's character arc in the actual game/story. anyway... enjoy...?

─── 星期日 YOU MEET HIM IN A DREAM.

the sky a scatter of twinkling stars, broken only by the glimpses of distant city lights, bathing the grand theatre in a strange, otherworldly glow. it is his sister you see first, singing with a voice that might’ve incited envy in even the most magnanimous of heaven’s many-winged seraphs. or perhaps, she is simply one of their own (there are rumors about halovians, after all), come down to grace the world with the blessing of her song, before returning to that great beyond.

“another drink?”

you turn to find him standing there, a flute of golden champagne held out before him.

it’s only then that you notice your own glass is empty.

he hands you the glass with a delicate smile, a bird-wing flutter of fingers brushing against fingers.

“thanks,” you say, dipping your head slightly as he whisks away your empty glass. it’s gone before you can blink; thus is the magic of being in a dream. you turn your eyes back to robin, bowing to the thunderous applause. beside you, sunday claps politely, slating you a soft glance.

“she was particularly good tonight, wasn’t she?”

you nod, smiling, taking a sip of your drink. it’s cool, the bubbles fizzling along your tongue like tiny stars. but somehow, it warms your cheeks as you turn to meet his gaze.

“i… i wouldn’t know — it’s my first time here.” and somehow, the admission makes you flush even harder, but sunday only smiles, opening a palm.

“all the more reason to celebrate, then.”

he leads you out of the grand theatre into the firefly glow of gathering twilight, the eternal second right before midnight.

golden hour — such a beautiful thing, and made all the more-so by its ephemerality. but here, there’s no such thing as a fleeting moment, no such thing has happenstance. for even time must bend to the obstinate will of dreams.

you feel the breath gasp out of you — it’s all so beautiful. beautiful in a way that somehow defies explanation, beauty as a concept, and not an actuality, beauty that’s almost painful to consume, that squeezes the lungs and quickens the heart and for a moment, your hand twitches as if to clutch at your chest, for that awful, phantom pain.

but the moment passes and sunday is at your side.

“as it’s your first time here… might i be so bold as to offer you a tour?”

you stare at his proffered arm, the straight line of his shoulders, the pair of white-tufted wings on either side of his smiling face. like this, you think, he looks like a prince, ever so charming. his voice is light and melodious, his manners refined. and though it’s your first time meeting him, there’s no sense of distance, no nervousness gathering like static in the air between you. only a sweet, soft familiarity.

“thank you,” you say, reaching out to take his arm.

“brother.”

“what is it, robin?”

“i saw her in the crowd tonight.”

a sigh. sunday twists to face his sister, the great streaks of sunlight filtering through the windows of the dewlight pavilion separates the room into segments.

“you can’t keep going like this, brother,” robin says, passing through each shaft of sun, the light gilding her in silvers and golds bright enough to sting the eyes. she reaches sunday’s side and sets a hand on his arm.

he lets her rest there for a moment before turning away.

“there’s much to do,” he says, his voice hard and distant, “we’ll be late to our inspection of the dawn factory.”

behind him, robin lets out another sigh, twisting her white-gloved fingers together. she shivers, and all the sunlight in the world could not have kept away the chill slowly reaching up her spine.

you meet him in a dream.

on the deck of a ship sailing through the sky. there’s laughter in the air, the ballroom a fluster of twirling dresses and clicking shoes. hands on waists, cheeks against cheeks. you linger, watching the festivities with a light smile.

there’s no one in particular that you’re waiting for, but something in the clench of your stomach still feels like anticipation.

“might i have the next dance?”

you turn. sunday stands there, dressed in his usual ensemble of white and blue. against it, his eyes shone like the hidden hearts of stars.

you blink, glancing at the innumerable other guests, more finely dressed than you, some peering at sunday with a marked interest, all somehow more suitable a partner for a man like him. and yet —

he dips into a bow as the last song ends, holding out his hand.

you take it and feel him lead you out onto the dance floor. a hush of murmurs ripples through the watching crowd, and you’re more than a little thankful when a handful of other couples join you in the center of the floor.

the music starts, and you’re swept away.

sunday smiles at the slight look of astonishment on your face as he guides you flawlessly through a series of complicated twirls and dips, the palm on your waist guiding your body, the other holding your hand aloft, his thumb tapping out a gentle rhythm so you don’t miss a beat.

“the old dreammaster that adopted my sister and i insisted on lessons,” he says, by way of an explanation, and you duck your head, flushing at the obviousness of your surprise. at this, sunday chuckles, loosening his grip on your hand to tilt your chin back up —

“don’t…” he trails off, his eyes a gathering storm of clouds before he swallows and sweeps you into another elaborate spin. when he returns you to his arms, the storm has cleared and he is all light and chivalry once more.

“i simply meant… there’s no need to be embarrassed. such emotions aren’t necessary in dreams. not in the good ones, at least.”

you lick your lips, “it’s just —” you flash him a half-smile, your cheeks high with color, “i’m not very good at dancing.”

sunday’s answering smile is knowing and radiant as he dips into a bow at the end of the song. applause fills the room, and he leads you off the dance floor.

he presses his lips to the back of your hand.

“don’t worry. all you need do is practice.”

he meets you for the first time at the dream factory, an old dream-weaver’s daughter. with laughing eyes and a sphynx-riddle smile.

“mr. sunday! what a surprise — come to check on the factory line?”

he blinks at your effusiveness, but recovers a moment later.

“yes. a few of the dress shops are running short on stock.”

you nod, “well, we can’t have that!”

he watches with mixed amusement and fascination as you twirl around to make for the garment section. there, a laughing gaggle of girls sit around vast reams of fabrics in every make and color, golden thread flickering between their fingers as they stitch together seams and ruche together tulle.

you give your hands two quick claps and they all turn towards you.

“alright ladies! it’s time to pick up the pace — mr. sunday here says that some of the shops are running short!” you announce with a wink.

a wave of giggles passes through the room as the girls all collectively flick their gazes towards sunday, who, though never one to balk at attention, feels his skin heat beneath the sudden scrutiny. he lets out a soft sigh of relief as they all nod, a few going right back to their work, a few flashing a quick smile in your direction.

the conversation continues, though with a bit less verve, and you turn to face sunday with a satisfied smile.

“there. the shops should be restocked by —” you glance at the massive ornate clock hung above the entrance of the dream factory, “four system hours from now.”

sunday gives you a curt nod, still feeling slightly winded by the entire encounter, and makes for the door. but right before he steps across, he finds himself wavering.

“miss?” he calls, turning back around.

you lift your head from a stack of what looks like work-logs, “yes, mr. sunday?”

“would you —” he pauses, uncertain of what exactly he’d wanted to ask. all he knows is that somehow, he doesn’t want to leave the circle of your easy radiance. and somehow, in this world filled with outrageous dreams and brilliant, twinkling stars, you’ve managed to outshine them all.

you cock your head, waiting.

“i suppose… you’ve never been to golden hour, have you?”

you blink; the papers in your hand crinkle slightly.

“no, i’m… i’m afraid i haven’t. not yet, anyway,” you say, your voice softening as you look down, your gaze faraway.

sunday takes a few steps back toward you.

“then… would you like to?”

your head snaps up. your eyes are doe-wide and just as dark.

“right… now?”

sunday smiles, offering an arm.

he watches you swallow, the bob of your throat like a hope or a promise, your eyes lingering on his proffered arm. then, you set the papers down and loop your arm through his.

you smile up at him, a brilliant, disarming smile that hitches his breath and sends his heart hammering up to the back of his throat.

“well, that’s not an offer a girl can just turn down.”

you meet him in a dream.

the museum is a vast monolith of white marble and high-noon light. here, everything glitters and history itself is preserved beneath a sparkling layer of dream-like glass such that things can stay suspended, frozen as they are — forever.

“its one of my favorites,” sunday says, his voice startling you ever so slightly. but by now, you’ve grown accustomed to running into him in dreams.

you turn back to the great mural depicting the first dream ever dreamt — one of wonder and freedom, of everlasting light and never-ending night. something inside you stirs, a fluttering wingbeat against your sternum. you tamp it down with a long breath and return to the painting.

“it’s quite beautiful,” you say, though there’s a strangeness about the mural that you can’t quite place. a hollowness, or perhaps a darkness that pervades the edges and corners like an oncoming fog, slow but steady as it rolls towards the light.

“yes,” sunday says, with only a tiny hint of sadness in his voice.

you turn to face him, only to find his eyes fixed on you.

a blush creeps up the back of your neck and you look away.

“i… didn’t know i’d run into you here, mr. sunday,” his name rolls off your tongue like a pearl. it clatters onto the great marble floor between you. your breath catches.

how had you known his name?

certainly, someone had mentioned it to you. he’s the head of the oak family after all, but… you can’t quite remember who might’ve mentioned such a thing. perhaps robin — but… you can’t recall having talked to her either.

still, the familiarity lingers, like a rediscovered memory — robin’s laughter, the touch of her hands on yours, sunday’s smiling face, a smile unlike any you’ve seen in your past few meetings. something unguarded, raw as the rising sun.

“it’s true, i… didn’t used to come here often but…” he trails off, strolling by you with his hands behind his back, “an… old friend liked to come here, so i grew to like it with time.”

you follow half a step behind. the pair of you meandering through the labyrinthine halls, some lit by pools of golden sunlight, others walled in dark velvet to mimic the starry night. he tells you the stories of each of the artifacts, of the first dreamers — of the prisoners who yearned for freedom, of the sick who yearned for health, of the dying that yearned for life —

“but surely… a dream is only ever… a dream, right?”

sunday turns, his gaze inquisitive.

“tell me, does all this —” he waves a hand around you at the vast white hall, the arching ceilings, the gold-gilded paintings, “feel like merely a dream to you?”

you press your lips, a frown carving between your brows as you think. it’s strange — this feeling, the eternal peace, the uncanny quiet. but the knowledge that you’re dreaming is ever-present and pervasive, a growing whisper, a looming shadow.

you sigh, “no… it feels real, but —”

“good,” sunday smiles, turning to lead you into another hall, sparse save for a few marble statues, “we’ve been working on making these sweet dreams as realistic as possible,” he says, though there’s an edge to his voice that tastes of copper and regret, “for our guests to have the best experience possible.”

you nod along, looking over the austere figures, rendered timeless in their marble forms.

you pause in front of a pair of figures, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. but there’s an innocence to their poses, a sadness to their desperation, as if both knew, at the moment of capture, that this would be the last time they ever held the other in their arms.

“the starcrossed lovers,” sunday says, “sculpted by one of the first master dream-makers when he lost the love of his life.”

you circle the figures, admiring the intricate details.

“did he… sculpt this with his mind? or…” you pause, uncertain how to phrase the question.

sunday laughs, “yes, in a manner — but no… he spent all his hours in the dreamscape laboring over it with his hands, even though he could have simply willed it. he chose not to — he wanted his beloved, if she were ever to come back, to see that he’d loved her enough to truly dream her into existence, their love forever immortalized in this sculpture.”

you press your lips, that familiar flutter tickling the back of your throat.

“it’s a terribly sad story,” you say, after a little while.

sunday nods, “it is. some people say that if you wander to the edge of the dreamscape, you can still find his shadow there, waiting for his beloved to return.”

you swivel towards him, startled, but it’s to find him sporting a tiny, mischievous smirk.

“mr. sunday — it’s not kind to tease a guest so blatantly.”

he chuckles, “you’re right, of course. my apologies.”

though he doesn’t sound remotely apologetic. you find yourself smiling, and then laughing, and a moment later, sunday joining in the laughter. the sounds echo throughout the vast hallways of the museum, splintering them into a strange chorus of laughter as the sounds reverberate all around you.

you’re almost dizzy by the time you stop, and there’s a great thundering in your head like a rushing river during spring.

sunday grins, “it’s truly been a pleasure.”

you dip your head, “likewise, mr. sunday.”

sunday hums as he flips through his nightly tasks, his large bedroom at the top of the resort illuminated by floating candles that flickered like real flames.

robin cocks her head.

“you’re in a good mood today, brother.”

sunday looks up from his paperwork.

“yes. the dream was good today.”

robin raises her eyebrows, “yes? you… went to the museum, right?”

sunday drops his eyes back to the desk before him, the scribbled letters on the report blurring into a dark lines as he sighs.

“yes, sister. that, i did.”

“and… was she there?”

sunday squares his shoulders, his voice clipped, “she was.”

the smile that had been so easily slung across his lips just a few moments ago is no nowhere to be seen. robin feels a small stab of guilt, but pushes on.

“brother, you can’t go on like this,” she says, slipping from her perch on the large divan. she presses hand to his desk, gently obscuring the reports. sunday sighs, looking up, his eyes dark and faraway.

“like what, exactly?”

robin fights the urge to flinch at the acid in his voice. she presses her lips.

“she’s gone, brother.”

“she’s not.” his retort is vicious and immediate. and this time, robin does flinch when sunday pushes up from his writing desk to grab her by the shoulders.

“brother —”

“isn’t that what people always say?” he asks, his eyes wide and just a bit wild, “that someone’s never really gone so long as people remember them?”

he lets go of her, dropping his head. robin rubs at her arms, pity welling up like a cry inside her as she stares at her brother’s drooping form.

“yes… but is this really how you want to remember her?” she prompts, rounding the desk to take him by the shoulders instead. his arms flop listlessly at his side, his head lolling as she gives him a sharp shake. like this, he might not have been so different from the dolls the dreammaster had given her as a child.

his fists clench, his jaw tightens.

he shrugs her off, his expression stony.

“i choose to remember her. i don’t care how.”

the second time he sees you, it’s in the midst of a scorchsands festival, the wind whipping loose your hair, the pre-dusk light dappling your skin. even from here, he can see the brilliant spark behind your eyes as you spin and duck, laughing with a frenzied group of festival-goers.

“fancy seeing you here, mr. sunday!” you greet him, breathless and flushed.

sunday clears his throat, feeling strangely out of place.

you’d donned the normal festival attire, a wide twirling skirt belted with silver bells, and a top that leaves your middle exposed to the elements, tiny silver silver flowers cascade over your arms in the illusion of half-sleeves.

sunday has never considered himself a prudish child, growing up, he’s always had a somewhat detached, even academic curiosity towards the strangeness and oddities of the flesh — it’s ever-varying temperatures, it’s textures and desires.

but now, sunday finds himself on the edge of stuttering, tearing his eyes away from your exposed stomach to squint at the distant tents, clearing his throat.

“as head of the oak family, it’s my duty to ensure that all moments are well-maintained and all our guests are happy.” he nearly winces at his own canned response. a sudden memory flashes behind his eyes, the old dreammaker making him and robin recite the words of hospitality, over and over again until they could do it half-asleep.

even in dreams. especially then, the dreammaster had said.

“well, since you’re already here…” you grin, taking a hopping step towards him. sunday nearly stumbles back, but you catch his hand with both of yours and tugs him with you. he finds himself tripping after you as the band starts up again and he’s dragged into the throng of joyous, dancing bodies.

“w-what —” he tries to pull away but your grip is strong, and you smile indulgent.

“c’mon, dance with me!”

“i — i don’t exactly dance —” it’s a lie, and he can tell you know it is by the twitch of your lips.

still, you tug him close and lean up to whisper in his ear —

“don’t worry — all you gotta do is practice!”

“what’s got you in such a good mood, brother?”

sunday licks his lips, affecting a slightly confused expression as robin smiles. backstage at the grand theatre, she’s decked out in a gown made of the most luxurious dreamsilk the dream-weavers could manage, the bodice laced with twinkling stars, her neck collared in a necklace that seemed spun from pure moonlight.

“i’m just… astonished by how beautiful you look, sister.”

robin rolls her eyes.

“liar,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“i —” sunday stutters before loosing a long breath, “i met… a girl.”

robin very, very nearly squeals, rushing up to sunday.

“oh! you must tell me who it is — was it that lovely girl from the iris family? you did compliment her acting at the cinema last week —”

sunday shakes his head, clearing his throat again.

“no — it’s uh —” he frowns, “it’s — she’s a dream-weaver, or at least… the daughter of one.”

robin blinks, but she recovers a moment later, flapping her hands at sunday even as she’s ushered towards the stage.

“you have to introduce me to her, promise!”

sunday waves her off, “promise!”

you meet him in a dream.

the sea glimmers beneath the afternoon breeze, the palm leaves sway on their cloud-high branches, casting soft, diffuse shadows onto the beach-goers underneath.

“and one-two-three, one-two-three —”

“oh —!”

you stumble, sunday catching you deftly around the waist as you nearly trip over one of his feet. you sigh, taking a step back.

“sorry — i’m really not that good at this.”

sunday shakes his head, “the sand is unforgiving, but it’s a good practice ground — you can see where you’ve gone wrong, and correct it.”

he points to your second step, etched in the sand, the print smearing to the side where you’d dragged your foot.

you nod, taking up your position again.

sunday pauses, looking you over.

“but perhaps… that’s enough practice for a day,” he says, taking your hand and leading you towards the refreshment stand. the bartender shoots him a wide grin and greets him by name.

“two soulglad sodas?”

sunday glances at you before nodding, handing over a few small coins. you reach for your small purse, but sunday presses a hand over yours.

“it’d be impolite to allow a guest to pay when the host is present,” he says. you find yourself nodding, reaching out, giving his hand a small squeeze. his eyes flash, widening for a split second before he pulls his hand away and turns to take the two tall glasses of fizzing soda from the bartender.

“the cherry flavor was always your favorite,” sunday says, his voice softer than usual. he hands you the drink, and you take a sip, sighing happily against the burst of tart bubbles as it pours into your mouth.

“it’s good!” you say, looking up at him.

sunday laughs, the sound bright as silver bells.

“yes. perfect for a post-dance pick-me-up, wouldn’t you agree?”

you crinkle your nose, sipping at your drink, “i wouldn’t say dance — i’ve lost count of the times i stepped on your foot.”

sunday shakes his head, “a small price to pay for a dance with a worthy partner.”

you flush, looking back down at your half-finished drink. you wonder what is is about you that keeps sunday coming back, what it is about him that draws you so inexorably towards him. it’s strange, the draw of him on you, or perhaps simply the gravity of you both, always spinning around one another like two tidally locked stars.

“come, walk with me.”

you watch as sunday motions towards a small path leading towards the park, away from the shush of evergreen waves. you follow along, as you find yourself doing so often these days, marveling at the wonders of the dreamscape. one after the other.

“the flowers here are always in bloom,” sunday says as the pair of you pass through a grove of glorious lavender blooms with dark blue throats.

“always?” you ask, bending down to pass a thumb across a single velvet petal.

sunday nods, “always, such that their beauty can be admired by all who pass them. forever.”

you smile, giving the flower one last glance before straightening to catch up with sunday once more. he stops beneath a large willow tree, settling on a long stone bench. you sit down next to him, leaning your face up towards the light green canopy above, the dappled sunlight shining through.

“do you like it?” he asks.

you start, blinking open your eyes to look at him.

there’s a dark, imploring light behind the molten gold of his eyes.

you nod, slowly, that all too familiar rush rising behind your ears, the warm flutter awakening in your throat.

“i… i love it…” you say, though you’re not entirely certain if you’re talking about the grove, the flowers, or perhaps the entire dreamscape itself.

sunday’s lashes are dark and thick with shadow as he leans forward.

“all of it?” he asks, slightly breathless.

you nod again, your breath hitching inside your chest, the pair of you both tipping forward. for a strange, absurd moment, the only thought you have is that your mouth is going to taste of cherry soulglad, but the next moment, all that is wiped away by the crushing heat of sunday’s lips on yours.

he kisses you roughly, more so than you’d have thought a man like him capable of. he groans against you, jerking you forward and you squeak, shocked at the strength in his hands as he cups your cheeks and holds you to him.

you let out a small noise, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and sunday answers with a rough, almost pitiful sound as he tangles his fingers in your hair.

he kisses you urgently, desperately, like a man in a cave, starved of light and entrapped by darkness.

you find your hands curling up his neck, the tips of your fingers brushing against the base of his white-feathered wings and a shudder runs through his whole body as you graze your thumb against it.

when you pull apart, both of you are panting. a thin line of saliva hangs between your lips before you lean back far enough to break it.

sunday swallows, watching you. you press your lips, reaching up as if to touch it with your fingers.

finally, you look up at him with a shy little smile.

“i hope… i didn’t taste too much like cherry souglad.”

sunday’s laugh is sharp and unexpected. he pulls you forward into a tight embrace, crushing you to him, his words muffled in the crown of your head.

“i’ve missed you… gods… i’ve missed you.”

he kisses you for the first time at the new year’s ball on the radiant feldspar, fireworks blooming across the ever-night sky. when he pulls back, he swears he’d be able to fly, even without the help of a ship of dreams.

“happy new year, mr. sunday.”

he sighs, pulling you forward again.

it’s not until robin’s voice rings out from behind you both that he has the decency to pull apart.

“now now, you lovebirds — you promised not to keep all to yourselves this evening. and brother, it’s rude not to refill a guest’s drink when her glass is empty.”

robin reaches over and plucks your empty champagne glass from your hand, replacing it with a full one. sunday sighs, nodding even as he accepts one from her as well.

robin grin as she looks you over, her eyes sparkling.

“come now, the others are dying to meet you!” robin tugs you away from sunday, who watches with a soft, indulgent smile before following along.

he hears a glass smash somewhere behind him, and as if time itself had slowed to a painful crawl, sunday watches the sky rend open above them like a gaping wound in the few stretched, bone-aching seconds, as a monster of eyes and claws and feather-plucked wings tears through and descends upon the ship.

one instant, you’re there, and the next, there’s a sharp claw cleaving through the center of your chest.

you stagger, winded by the impact, a small confused frown digging between your brows as you look down at the massive claw protruding from just below your sternum.

a tiny gasp. someone screams.

and then, with a great, rumbling roar that nearly shakes the feldspar from it’s route in the air, the monster pulls you with it through the tear in the sky and all is quite once more.

you meet him in a dream.

beneath a sea of stars, in a ferris wheel spinning towards the sky. the world below is a scatter of laughter and neon lights, of bouncing balls and glimmering coins. casinos and games and sports for the idle-minded.

“so all of this… is yours?” you ask, waving down at the vast expanse of the dreamscape, your breath fogging up the glass to the small dangling box as it slowly inches up and up and up.

sunday shakes his head, “no — i’m just it’s caretaker. the dreamscape belongs to everyone — everyone who dares to dream.”

the line tastes sour on his tongue, but he bites it down anyways.

you fix him with a curious look; he turns to face the lights. he used to love being seen by you like this, as if you could lay open the workings of his innermost soul.

now, there’s nothing he hates more.

“still… it must be tiring.”

when he looks back at you, you’re watching the dreamscape below with such an expression of melancholy that sunday almost screams. never once has he wanted to subject you to any more pain — not here, not in these dreams.

he settles for taking your hand in his. you lace your fingers easily, casting him a sweet, shy smile. it is not the smile he remembers, but it’s close enough.

“i’m alright… so long as you’re here with me. i’ll be alright.”

you meet him for the last time, in a place that’s three steps outside of dreams and very far from reality.

“mr. sunday? what happened?” you ask, looking down at your own insubstantial hands, even as they start to fade away.

sunday sighs, “you’re fading,” he says, running a hand through his feather-white hair, “just like you always do.”

“just like i…” you trail off, frowning. the fluttering in your chest deepens until you’re certain whatever it is is going to leap out of your mouth. you press a palm to it to realize that it’s your heart, thundering, thundering, thundering.

a cold spate of fear clenches deep in your stomach.

“what… what are you talking about, mr. sunday? i — i think i’d like to leave the dreamscape now.”

sunday shakes his head, taking a step towards you, and then another.

the world is dark, there’s light and laughter, but somewhere you cannot see.

“i’m sorry… i’m afraid i can’t let you do that,” he says, his voice flat though tinged in sorrow. he takes another step. you stumble back, looking around widely for some kind of exit. in this torrid, midnight-dark, his golden eyes glimmer like twin licks of flame, fixed and unrelenting.

“but — why — i thought —” the words catch in your chest, “i thought we meant something —”

“you do,” sunday says, his voice hardening around the edges even as he reaches for you, “which is exactly why i can’t let you leave.”

“p-please…” your voice is a small, quavering thing. sunday almost scowls — you’d never ever sounded like that in the past. not in his memory. he was getting sloppy, or perhaps… something much stranger was at work here. still —

“brother, enough.”

sunday freezes, the voice slicing through him in a pang off shock and disbelief. he gapes as the shape of robin, his previously deceased sister, stalks through the loosening mirage of you, brushing the image aside like smoke.

sunday stares.

the ghostly form of you takes this chance to turn tail and dash off into the oncoming dark.

“r-robin.”

she sighs, crossing her arms.

“i had really hoped you would’ve given all this up already, brother.”

sundays fingers tremble as he reaches up, pausing half a hair from her cheek.

“are you… a dream too?” he asks in a broken voice.

robin’s eyes soften as she reaches up to cup his cheek instead.

“no, brother. it’s really me, and we have much to talk about, don’t we?”

she reaches down to take his hand, and with an encouraging smile, turns and starts off into the darkness.

sunday sucks in a long, steadying breath, following behind his sister, watching the shape of her wings as she leads him through the thick, endless dark.

“where are we going?”

robin turns to cast him a glance over her shoulder, a small, almost mischievous smile dancing across her lips.

“to a place where dreams come true.”

he meets you in a dream.

in the rift between nightmares and waking, the dreamscape scattered in the sky above, the dreamflux reef below, the darkness skittering in the unseen corners.

you’re waiting for him on a bridge, overlooking a town that’s neither abandoned nor booming. dreamers walk through the empty streets, the full moon hanging huge and low on the far horizon.

sunday’s gasps when he sees you, gilded silver in the moonlight, the shape of you so familiar his entire chest aches as if for a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

you’re humming to yourself, swaying on the spot, your fingers dancing through the air as if playing some invisible instrument. when you catch sight of him from across the bridge, the smile that breaks across your face is nothing short of radiant.

sunday stumbles forward, tripping over his own two feet before he catches himself and breaks out into a staggering run.

you catch him with a bright peal of laughter, cocking your head to look up at him when he dares to pull back, staring down at you with wide eyes and a disbelieving mouth. you look different now, older, perhaps, your hair longer though still arranged in that haphazard braid he’d always loved so much.

and for a moment, he thinks that he’s done it — he’s finally done the one thing that every dreammaster has truly dreamt of doing — to bring a dreaming thing into the world of the living. to pierce the tenuous veil between dreams and reality so that the world might be rid of all it’s pain and suffering.

for what can’t be achieved in dreams?

he leans down to kiss you, his lips warm and wanting. you taste sweet and solid, and not one bit like cherry soulglad.

“long time no see, mr. sunday.”

he laughs, a strange, choked, watery sound. you reach up to brush at the wetness beneath his eyes, scowling slightly.

“a host must never show sadness in front of their guests,” you chide, cupping his cheeks.

sunday nods, sniffling in a very uncharacteristic show of emotion. but then again, nothing has ever been characteristic with you. he looks you over with eager, hungry eyes, the pit of his stomach roiling with joy and sorrow. something’s not right — but no, it has to be. you’re here — everything must be alright now.

you catch him waver, your gaze ever sharp and discerning and flash him a tiny, sad smile.

“mr. sunday…”

he shakes his head, “no.”

he doesn’t even know what he’s saying no to.

“i know you’ve been hurting,” you say, soft as a whisper.

sunday shakes his head harder, his wings flapping against the sides of his face. he clutches at you, obstinate as a child refusing to let go of their favorite toy.

“hurting —” the word comes out like a curse, and suddenly, his eyes flash — tiger-sharp and fire-bright. “is that what you would call it?”

you sigh, gently tracing the line of his cheek.

“thank you,” you say.

sunday lets out a mirthless laugh, “for what?”

“for keeping me alive.”

he stills, a shiver passing through him. he looks up, searching your face. you cock your head slightly and nod towards the distant image of the dreamscape in the sky above.

“you remembered me.”

sunday nods, a tightness coiling in his throat.

“i — dreamt you —” his voice dies in his chest.

you nod again, “i know… i know.” a pause, a sigh, “it’s the reason i’m still here.”

sunday gasps, not for the first time. the cool air burns as it enters his lungs, singeing his throat. he finds his own hands shaking as they come up to comb through your hair. he’s now acutely aware of robin standing at a distance behind them, watching, waiting.

betrayal rises in his chest like bile and for a moment, the world around him spins, black threatening the edges of his vision.

then, you lean up to ghost your lips against his and all is right again.

“c’mon, walk with me,” you say, leading him across the bridge and down toward a small, decrepit-looking train station. you swing your hands between your bodies just like you used to, and sunday aches for every push and pull — he counts them like the sways of a pendulum on a dying grandfather clock — tick, tock, tick.

“come back with me,” he murmurs, when you turn to face him once more. the wind picks up, kicking thin strands of hair across your cheeks. he remembers the bright flush that had adorned those very shame cheeks the first time you’d asked him to dance, somewhere in a desert daydream.

he reaches up to tuck them behind your ears.

“i can’t, mr. sunday — you know that.”

he lowers his head, presses his forehead to yours.

“you can.”

you shake your head, smiling.

“i’ve got a train to catch.”

he makes sound almost like a hiccup, though he tells himself that there are no more tears to shed. he feels like a well that’s long since been drawn dry — of hope, of sorrow.

the wind is getting stronger now. you glance over his shoulder with a tiny smile and he knows without having to look that you’re bidding robin goodbye. he closes his eyes.

“please,” he begs.

“mr. sunday.”

he takes your face in both palms, clutching you to him like a man pressing his lips to a cross as he prostrates himself before an altar of god.

“tell me something —” he says, voice urgent now, “tell me something that i can hold onto and never let go.”

you let out a tiny, sweet, sparrow-chirrup of laughter. you nod. he shivers, the wind swirling around him. distantly, he can hear the sound of an approaching train, the hard rumble of wheels on tracks, the rhythmic clank of the cars as it trundles through the air.

“let go.”

your voice is birdsong on the wind, a woosh of feathers. and then you’re gone.

when he opens his eyes again, there’s only the retreating lights of a phantom train and the cold clamminess that had built up in his palms. he drops his hands to his sides.

a moment later, robin levels herself with him.

“you knew,” he says, and he can’t quite keep the accusatory edge from his voice.

robin sighs.

“i did. but you were —” she takes a long breath, “you were wasting away.”

another mirthless bark of laughter tears from his throat.

“the dream of her was all i had left.”

robin turns and wraps both her hands around his arm.

“no, brother — you have the whole world to live for. guests who are real with real dreams to dream.”

he chuckles — what a strange, abhorrent concept: real dreams. was that not the whole point of this soul-wrenching endeavor, to prove to him that no matter how much he wished it, that dreams could never be real.

he swallows, turns, and lets robin lead him back towards the rift between nightmares and dreams.

robin gives his hand a small squeeze, and he can feel her hope thrumming between them like a tenuous string.

“we’ll be alright, brother,” she says, leading him through the darkness of midnight.

sunday does not reply, and robin doesn’t try to force him. she can only hope that he’ll make the right choice.

you meet him in a dream.

there is music and laughter, and a singing girl with wings on either side of her angelic face.

the air tastes sweet and the crowd seems to glitter with all that is or isn’t gold.

you feel the music move you, the girl’s voice singing a song that’s both lovely and sad, the melody faintly familiar. you close your eyes and sway to the beat.

someone brushes against your arm, and you open your eyes to find a man in white and blue, a halo set above his moon-silvered hair, a pair of wings bracketing his light, guileless smile.

“miss — would you like another drink?”

you blink, glancing down at your own empty glass. you hadn’t even realized it was empty.

you flash him a small, embarrassed smile and nod, trading your empty glass for the full one he’s offering. he turns his face towards the stage, his eyes the color of molten gold.

“she was particularly good tonight, wasn’t she?” he asks.

you take a sip of your drink, casting the man a sidelong glance, feeling your cheeks heat as he flashes you another easy smile before you admit —

“i — i wouldn’t know. it’s my first time here, you see.”

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

So i have this habit of zoning out at times, its better now as a elder teen but as a child and young teen, it was bad. Its like easy to get me to stop me just gotta tap me and i snap outta it. But still my parents complain that they kept losing me as a child since i would zone out.

I want to ask how Yandere platonic wukong and macaque would be with a four eared simian early teen reader like that, both while their cursed and after the curse breaks. Because i can just imagine them using this as another reason why reader should be with them since, theres no way a baby can protect or take care of themselves if their so unaware.

Before the curse breaks!

This would worry them. You are traveling through dangerous territory and for whatever reason you zoned out.

They would be able to handle it of course, they are powerful warlords! There is nothing that they can’t handle, but it really worries them. Luckily for them they are constantly on your shoulders and tapping you to make sure you are still with them and not off in your head.

Spirit would be the similar in her worry. After she notices the zoning out, you wouldn’t get to be too far from her. Most the of the time her tail would be loosely around your wrist to guide you in the right direction weather you were zoned out or not.

After the curse breaks!! Oh no.

The drop would make it very clear that zoning out is dangerous and part of the reason that they just can’t let you leave.

They would talk about how you need someone with you at all times just to make sure you were safe. (Obviously if you were going to the restroom or in your own room is not the same, so you don’t have to have someone at your side. But someone would be around outside to check on you from time to time.

Protective, they are hella protective of you and if their brotherhood stops by you would be at their side constantly.

Probably tapping your shoulder every once and a while to get you to focus. Though with how rowdy the brotherhood can be it is easy to focus on what they are talking about, most of the time at least.

I’ve honestly zoned out before too, whenever I do I always want to remember what I was thinking about bit it’s like those memories are just gone!

[p1ctureyou]

currently living through 35+ Celsius temps and trying not to rely on the AC due to the electricity bill, so I'm coping by asking if I could please request Hector and the breaker box boys reacting to reader trying to be considerate of them by not turning on the AC and then literally just getting heatstroke (hope that's okay!)

— hot n’ cold! | hector x reader/breaker box boys x reader

author’s note : thank you for the request! i hope you don’t mind me doing separate headcanon’s!! also, i feel you!! i live in the US and it’s about that hot where i am, not to mention the humidity. stay cool and safe, anon! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ (i hope you enjoy!)

Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado

first of all, i feel like he'd be very confused by your talk of not using as much air as you usually do

he loves helping you stay cool after all

i don't think he'd connect the dots of why you aren't using the AC as of late

but most AC units have parts outside, so maybe he can tell at some point

but i don't think he would until he sees you miserably hot, fanning yourself with anything you could use as a fan

when you do inevitably fall out from a heatstroke, he obviously panics

i'd like to think he'd come help you, but if you haven't met him in the attic yet, he'd call for someone to come help

when you finally cool off, he'd be asking so many questions

i don't think he'd be mad

just really worried

when you finally tell him that you didn't want him to overwork himself, he'd be a little upset

his whole job is to keep you comfortable and cool, and you were stopping him from doing so for his sake

i think he would keep the air on from now on, whether you ask him to or not

Breaker Boys (Eddie & Volt)

i think eddie's more "in tune" with you

i feel like he can read you like a book

so when you say that you're not using the AC as much as you usually do

he's certainly skeptical

now volt?

i do think he'd think you saying that is odd, but isn't the type to push an answer out of you

eddie on the other hand

you were an ass to him and pushed him for answers

so he just says "it's only fair"

it takes a while for them to finally get off your back about it

"them" meaning eddie mostly, but volt would become more concerned after seeing you happily take in the AC of the breaker box (which oddly has its own AC?)

when you pass out from a heatstroke in the house, though?

i'm not sure they can really leave the breaker box area, so i think another object would bring you to them in a panic

if the breaker box was open, it's definitely closed after that

you eventually come to, your eyes locking with volt's first

with no sign of the other, you'd ask where eddie is

i feel like eddie would maybe blame himself a bit, saying how he knew he should've paid more attention

it's out of love, obviously, but he almost lost volt so he can't stand the thought of losing you too

when he comes back to check on you, he asks why you turned off the AC

you explain not wanting to overload them, and he scoffs at that

i think he'd make you promise not to do anything like that again, and volt makes sure you know they can handle the AC

(this makes me sound like i love eddie more than volt, but i'm a volt girlie i fear... i do love an asshole who hides his emotions though)

[ducktracy]

One thing to add to your opinions on the fandom-y type treatment of the characters from people mostly familiar with just TLTS, specifically on your point of slotting the characters into fill-in-the-blanks "incorrect-quotes" type memes, is that TLTS itself is often a source of dialogue to give characters of other fandoms as well (topic was on my mind because there's an animation going around that takes audio from TLTS and has Deltarune characters saying the dialog)

THIS IS A GOOD POINT… and honestly that perfectly puts another point of criticism in my head: THAT SHOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE!!

i’d love for some of my international friends and followers to chime in (especially if you’re a fan of LT!), as you guys would know better than i do about this, but i’ve often heard that the original shorts aren’t as popular overseas as stuff like Tom and Jerry because the dialogue and writing in the original shorts is SO specific, a lot of very niche cultural references or botching of dialogue that i imagine probably isn’t too easy to translate (like Daffy saying indubitibubitibubly comes to mind, or Charlie Dog pronouncing Massachusetts as “Massatoochetts”). that’s not to say “LET’S KEEP IT THAT WAY!”, but the writing of these original shorts has a lot of specific factors to it. what separates LT from its golden age contemporaries is, largely, the wit in writing and dialogue, and the humanity and personality of the characters where applicable… which is because of the writing and dialogue! the writing is very specific. it can’t be swapped out interchangeably between characters. and this isn’t beyond the veneer of “because Daffy and Sylvester lisp and Porky stutters and Elmer has a speech impediment” etc—there’s a tendency to act like that’s the source of memorability for the writing, but you still have to write dialogue that fits these characters. Daffy speaks in a different cadence than Sylvester, who speaks in a different cadence than Porky, who speaks in a different cadence than Elmer, etc. there are a whole lot of specificities involved

this also gets me back to my point that i’ve been ragging on for awhile, in that these characters were also written for Mel Blanc (or Arthur Q Bryan) in mind. they were written for his abilities, how they knew he would read a line, and thusly accommodating that. and obviously Mel hasn’t been with us for close to 40 years now, but i feel like simply hoping the characters sound like him isn’t enough. you gotta write them with his cadence in mind! it makes such a difference! and i think that’s a big, big big contributor into modern incarnations feeling “off”/answers part of the question of what’s missing.

this is all so noticeable because LT had the best writers in the biz, too, and when they’re gone it makes a huge difference. the writing is a huge part of the LT identity, and much of that appeal comes from how utterly specific it is, both to the sensibilities of the directors and the characters themselves. you’re only going to get those specifics by watching those shorts. you should not be able to swap out these phrases and lines so easily, because they should be intwined with the identity of the characters and directors!

and so maybe that’s why the original shorts are harder to “fandomize”… which, maybe that’s actually a big benefit! iunno! but this is a very good point. and i’m thankful for you and the rest of my followers humoring me on this, i sincerely hope i don’t come off as a downer or a gatekeeper—at the end of the day i’m just some rando on the internet! do what makes you happy and what allows you to have fun, and don’t worry about a right or wrong way to do it. i’m sincerely happy for those who do that. your enjoyment and indulgence in your hobbies is always more worthwhile than my kvetching haha. my kvetching just comes out of a deep passion for the integrity of the series and the hands that made it, as well as a slight frustration in feeling so, like… ya gotta be the change you wanna see in the world, yknow? but man it’d be fun if more than 2 people were interested in the shorts and characters and history for the same reasons i am :’) feels like sometimes something is only worthwhile if it can be “fandomized” a certain way (putting on horse blinders and stripping something down to a very interchangeable, “safe”… something)

anyway! i don’t mean to complain, and if you Do do these things above, then i hope you have fun doing it! these are all just my opinions, and i’m wary as coming off as gatekeepy or like a downer.. but i appreciate people like yourself thinking of me and/or listening to me about this

[neptuii]

Hoooly heck :O Dude??? I am, like?? Obsessed?? with the analysis you've come up with??? Being truthful, I was going with the feeling when making this art and arranging the symbolizing details. Of course, many elements are intentionally made like this, with purpose, but some.. just felt right to draw like this. Your analysis put that feeling into words! I love LOVE the hole/block= relationship perspectives from their and Bill's side. Especially with the Soos and Melody's part. It felt right to put them further away as when I'm reading Bill's pov of his interractions it DOES give vibes of; I'm thankful, but I won't let you so close. I won't ask for help, either. I mean, the scene of Bill literally shutting himself off from Melody on that roof. I did put them next to each other on the table because they always got their backs whenever one of them is loosing hope. They aren't perfect but they are perfect for each other and I love that. Additionally to your wonderful theory of the holes representing how they are willing to accept Bill in their lives, Soos and Melody's symbols are on the bottom of the box, in each corner, as I feel like they are kinda like the backbone of this family. Keeping everything in tact, really. Mabel's symbol is also on the bottom which might represent how she WANTS to keep peace in this family so desperately. You know, keep everyone together. You're correct that Pinetree hole is the furthest because he's apalled to the idea of Bill's return and stay. The hole is also, ironically, the closest to the "eye" of the box as well as the triangle peg, representing that he wants to keep a close eye on Bill (get it?? close eye? because its close to the eye- okay, I'll stop) The pinetree hole is also at the top of the box, representing something similiar to Mabel's: Dipper WANTS to be the protector of the family. He wants to watch over them, protect them, be able to notice if something is wrong before its too late. It also might show how that keeps him distant from everyone else, this paranoia. And yes, Stan's block being kinda on top of Dipper's DOES represent how Stan is trying to protect that boy. But also to stop him from doing something he might regret or that might change him. Kind of "grounding" him in the fact that he is still a kid. He shouldn't be trying to be a hero and definitely shouldn't be like Stan- which beautifully corresponds with your analysis! I do love how you pointed out to Stan also blocking (haha blocking cuz block-) him from the sight of his box-hole. That is an interesting take! And the Shooting Star peg being around the corner- you're also kinda correct so another point for you! It was meant to represent Mabel being a close friend to Bill (her symbol being close to his hand but also facing him directly, kinda as a reminder she's there to support him- kinda like her stickers haha) but also Bill holding her upright in some way with his fingers- or like, making sure her symbol doesn't fall down. A lil nudge reference to the scene where he comforts her after Ford's loose lips secret got revealed. He doesn't blame her. He cares, too, even if he doesn't admit it openely. But I can see that Mabel's block being kinda far away from other blocks, "behind the wall" can be an allegory to her hiding her true feelings or worries from them while focusing on being supportive of Bill and Ford (as Ford's peg is the closest to seeing Mabel's, although Bill is still closer to her than Ford.) as a distraction from her own problems. And, like you suggested, hiding from her brother, representing their recent fall out. With the Ford's side analysis you've surprised me. With them being the main theme of the fic, ironically, I haven't focused on his symbolism as much. I just went purely with the feeling of where his block should be and last minute I decided to put it in Bill's hand. Thank you for completing that with your theory! It fits so well!

ughhenewn the snake and the box symbolism you got it on pointtt I gotta go now as I should be getting ready to leave the house but I just HAD to reblog with a respond. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT AND THIS POST <33

"Trying to put a recovering maniac into a life of domestic bliss was a little like trying to put a triangular peg in a round hole; it didn’t matter if it was jammed through or ever-so-gently tucked in— he just wasn’t cut out for it." ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ Beep Boop my hand slipped again The Heinz Dilemma grip is still strong! I had this fanart idea stuck in my head for WEEKS and finally I caved. I've hit a procrastination wall on one of my main art projects and so what I did to avoid finishing my already started project? Of course, start a new, even more time consuming and mentally challanging one! I'm bad with perspectives, 3D shapes and wood textures so why not throw them all in one sock like some coins and hit myself with it?? Okay, my dramatic attitude aside, this was actually quite fun to draw. And this bad boy *slaps the roof of the pixel canvas* will be the main star of my new playlist! Go check it out please! ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ SYMBOLISM: ✦︎ Well, of course, the triangle being the only block of the collection that doesn't have a correspondingly-shaped hole in the box is the allegory to the chapter 19: Handful of Change, specifically the scene where Bill and Melody visit the building for rent. ✦︎ The box was supposed to be made by Theraprism, hence the singed symbol of Theraprism I made up for this fic, representing the whole picture of the M3DUSA project and the controlled environment of Bill's redemption. It's a game made for toddlers, seemingly easy to solve. But there is an issue. One block doesn't fit with the rest, no matter how much you'd try to make it. The box is made with prestine precision and it's a kids game. Surely that must be the solver's fault... Right? ✦︎ The other blocks represent the Pines Family + Soos and Melody. The placement of the blocks isn't random. It represents some relationship clues of the characters based on the plot of the fic. ✦︎ Originally, I wanted to make Melody's symbol her earings she has in that one episode, as the symbol also shows on her bag. Or maybe a music note; either a quaver or a beam note. For some reason, however, I settled on a treble clef. I don't know, I like how it corresponded with the shapes of a question mark. It just felt more like.. Melody. But tell me what you think would fit her in your opinion :] ✦︎ Of course, the rattlesnake representing the snake-hair as I headcanon it to be the type of snake Bill's hair is made of. Specifically because of this:

Now, don't tell me that the mark on the tail doesn't look like a bowtie. I mean. Come on.

There are some other small details but I'll let you all interprete the piece on your own :]

ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ By the way, all the shapes and textures and stuff were eyeballed. Yes, I used texture brushes, but honestly they are really shitty, so 80% of the wood textures are made by hand. All the little strokes on the table, box, and blocks are a result of eye-copying textures from pinterest pictures to make sure they look like actual wood. The hands are also eye-copied off pictures I took of my hands because I needed to make them look right in this perspective. The snake too; honestly, I'm quite proud of how good it turned out as I'm not so great at drawing animals whatsoever. Overall, this took me 20-22h to complete.

fanfiction: The Heinz Dilemma by @electricalhuzzah

I might add smth later as I know I probably forgot to mention one thing or two. It's 1am here and I'm soo tireeeddd... Byee <3