#confession Sunday

[destinyc1020]

Confession sunday: (If ) when tom and z decide to have kids, they'll have twins right away, (coming from both sides of the family)💫

🤭🤭

Let's pray for Z's womb lol 😅

[aventurineswife]

Do you think you could write about an artist reader who reveals their latest works has had their crush as their muse as a roundabout way of confessing? Idk I had this vivid idea of love at first sight and only painting in the colors of their love, staying up for nights on end practically obsessed with capturing what they feel and see but keeping it hidden till it all bursts out.

Brushstrokes of a Hidden Heart

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Artist!Reader, Love at First Sight, Unrequited Love(?), Secret Admiration, Confession Through Art, Obsessive Love(?), Vulnerability, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff.

Warnings: Mild angst, Self-doubt, Unspoken feelings, Emotional vulnerability, Possible unreciprocated feelings, Intense focus on personal emotions.

A/N: didn't know which fandom you wanted it from, so I did it for HSR 😕

Dan Heng sat in the dimly lit cabin of the Astral Express, the rhythmic hum of the train the only sound that accompanied his solitude. He had always found solace in the quiet, preferring it to the bustling noise of crowds or the endless chatter of others. Yet, tonight was different. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, the artist who had been a silent but ever-present figure in his life since the day he met you.

The first time he laid eyes on you, it was nothing more than a fleeting moment—one he hadn't thought much of at the time. But it was strange, wasn't it? How that moment stayed with him, replaying in his mind like an image he couldn't shake. He had never been one to dwell on emotions, and yet something about you made him want to linger, if only in the shadows, far away from the spotlight.

Dan Heng didn't understand what had changed. He wasn't someone who sought out attention, let alone affection. And yet, as he watched you work from afar, sketching, painting, your every movement seemed to haunt him. His heart would beat just a little faster whenever you were near, though he could never bring himself to speak those words aloud.

He found himself drawn to your art. The way you captured the world around you, the strokes of your brush that seemed to tell stories even without words. There was a certain intensity in your work—an emotional rawness that he couldn't ignore. He often found himself admiring your paintings when you weren’t around, noticing how every canvas seemed to glow with your feelings.

It was late into the night when he stumbled upon your most recent piece. His heart skipped a beat as he studied it, entranced by the use of color—vibrant, soft hues blending together in ways that felt… familiar. It wasn’t just a painting. It was a confession, a revelation.

The subject of the piece was unmistakable. It was him.

You had painted him—his profile, his features, his soul—captured in every brushstroke. But it wasn’t just the image that left him breathless. It was the colors, the warmth that spilled from the canvas. The shades of blue, gold, and soft pinks spoke of longing, of something deeper than simple admiration. It was a language he understood but had never expected to see expressed so vividly.

He didn’t know what to feel. His initial instinct was to run, to distance himself from this vulnerability you had so willingly shared through your art. But something inside him stopped him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the painting, and he certainly couldn’t tear himself away from you.

The confession was out now, laid bare in the colors of your love. The quiet admiration, the unspoken feelings—it was all there, framed on the canvas in front of him.

Dan Heng sighed, a soft exhale of air escaping his lips as he stood before the painting. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel the weight of what he hadn’t dared to acknowledge. And maybe, just maybe, he could find the courage to speak those words too, to paint his own feelings for you.

But for now, he stood still, his gaze locked on the painting of the one person who had quietly captured his heart without him even realizing it.

Sunday sat in the quiet of his room, a flickering candle casting soft shadows across the walls. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, a slight frown on his face as he looked at the painting in front of him. It was a recent creation of yours, the artist he had come to know and admire, even though he had never once admitted it aloud.

It had begun innocently enough—your work, a collection of serene landscapes, abstract expressions of peace and stillness. But as he continued to observe you, there was a shift. Your art had changed, taken on a more personal tone. It wasn’t just about capturing beauty anymore. It was about capturing something much deeper, something you didn’t quite show anyone else. The passion in your strokes had transformed, and Sunday couldn’t ignore it.

The latest piece was a reflection of his own face. His figure was painted in muted hues of silver and violet, colors that mirrored the ones that seemed to haunt him in his dreams. But it wasn’t the likeness that struck him the most; it was the emotion woven into every brushstroke. There was love in the way the colors swirled, an emotion so tangible it seemed to bleed from the canvas.

It was as if you had captured every fleeting moment of their encounters—the way he smiled at you with a hint of warmth, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long. You had woven all of it into this painting, turning their quiet moments into something that felt like poetry, like a love song without words.

For a long while, Sunday simply stared at the painting, his thoughts a whirl of confusion. He had always believed in the Sweetdream Paradise, a world where people could escape their pain. But this… this felt different. It felt real, like a dream he didn’t want to escape, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Was this your way of confessing? The idea that someone could love him—the person who had always distanced himself from true connection, who had always preached the merit of a painless, perfect world—seemed impossible. And yet, there it was, in front of him.

The painting was more than just art. It was a message, a way of saying what neither of them had yet dared to speak aloud. You had used your work to tell him what was in your heart, and now, he had to decide if he could find the courage to do the same.

The weight of the moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words. As he reached out to touch the canvas, a sense of longing surged within him—something that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps, in this moment, the dream of escape no longer felt as appealing as the dream of something real. Something tangible. Something he could finally reach for.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine a future where the colors of love—your love—were the only ones he ever saw.

Aventurine sat in his private study, the dim light of the lamps casting shadows on the room’s elegant furnishings. His fingers idly turned a deck of cards as he gazed at the newest painting displayed on the wall—a work of art that had both mesmerized and unsettled him. The colors, the brushstrokes, the way your soul seemed to be embedded in every layer of paint—he had seen many paintings in his time, but none like this.

The subject was unmistakable. It was him.

But this was not a simple portrait. No, this was far more. It was raw. It was a confession wrapped in the hues of the artist’s emotions. His face, framed by dark shades of green and gold, looked almost serene, yet there was something deeply intimate about it. The delicate touches of rose and violet reflected a softness that made his heart beat just a little faster.

He had always prided himself on being able to control everything—every move, every decision, every game he played. Life, to him, was a high-stakes gamble, a game of strategy and manipulation. But here, with this painting, everything felt out of his hands. This wasn’t a game. This was real.

Aventurine had always been surrounded by beauty, charm, and a sense of power, but there was something different about this. It wasn’t the typical adoration or fascination he was used to; no, this was love—true, unfiltered love. And somehow, it was aimed at him.

His gaze lingered on the painting, every brushstroke sending a jolt through his chest. He wondered if this was your way of confessing, of revealing the feelings you had hidden beneath the surface. He hadn’t expected this, not from someone like you, someone who had always remained so distant, so reserved. Yet here it was, in full view—a revelation he could no longer ignore.

He had been careful with his emotions, always keeping them locked away behind a facade of confidence and control. But this… this painting had cracked that facade wide open. He couldn’t deny it any longer. The truth was there, laid bare on the canvas, just as much as his own heart was.

Aventurine smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened his usual playful demeanor. Maybe, just maybe, this was one game he wasn’t so keen on playing alone. Perhaps it was time to place his bet—not with cards, but with his heart.

And when the time came, he would show you that his feelings were not a gamble, but a certainty.

[elvensorceress]

sunday snippet

I meant to have this fic done ages ago but it's now somehow three times as long as it was, I've rewritten it five times, and I'm still working on it 🫠 oh well. have a snippet from snickerdoodles.

@tizniz @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @kejfeblintz @smilingbuckley @sofa-king-lame @chaosandwolves @smilingbuckley @belasmalhotra @bekkachaos @blutterlie @sazanahashi @livinginsunnyhell @epicbuddieficrecs @sparklespiff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @dangerpronebuddie continued from Wednesday

Eddie tries again, but still sounds rough and hollowed out. “I don’t want to drag you down. Okay? You should move on and forget me and— and it’ll be better.”

Not so much for Eddie. He’s never let go of anything in his life. It’s all there hiding under the surface, stuffed in cages. But Buck should move on. Buck should survive him. 

Is this their only future? It feels like losing everything. Eddie is losing everything. He’s kidding himself if he thinks he hasn’t already lost Chris. What if Eddie doesn’t survive this time? What will happen to everyone he loves? Everyone who loves him?

Does anyone love him? Does he mean anything to anyone? Has he ever meant anything?

“Forget— I should forget you?” Buck snaps, his anger un-contained fire now, not just a hint of smoldering kindling. Vicious, spitting, sparking, living flames that will turn everything to ashes. 

Maybe they should actually fight and say awful things and then it would be easier to walk away. 

Eddie’s not sure he could even manage that right now. There’s nothing left in him. No fight, no fire. It’s all shattered, scattered pieces. But he would try. If Buck needs that. 

He might need that. He snaps again, “Like you’re a pair of socks that disappeared in the laundry? Or something I meant to pick up at the store and spaced? Like it’s easy? Like you’re nothing? Like this? Us? You and me? Means nothing?”

Okay, when he puts it that way… it sounds dumb. But how else can Eddie stop hurting him? “No,” Eddie says. Not fiery, not loud, not anything. “No. Just. Something that doesn’t—”

“You're my best friend. You— you’re— I’ll let you go. Okay. Whatever. I’ll do that because I know you and I know you need Chris and I get it. I wouldn’t want you to do anything but love him exactly the way you do. But I won’t, will not and can not pretend that you aren’t my best friend and my partner and the person I love more than anything. All right? I’m not going to do that. I’ve spend years—literal— almost a whole decade of years loving you more than anything. I’m not going to just forget that or forget you. I’m not throwing that way. I’m not ever going to lie and say otherwise. This is not a ‘move on and grow out of it’ scenario. I love you more than anything in the world. Okay? You told me I wasn’t expendable and I had to deal with that so you have to deal with this. You mean everything to me and I love you, and that isn’t going to change even when you leave.”

“—hurt you,” Eddie finishes. It doesn’t really sound finished now. He says it because he was already saying it. 

But that the fuck does he say now? 

Eddie doesn’t usually think of himself as small, quiet, or fragile. But he feels like that now. His feeble words sound like it even in his own ears. Small. Inconsequential. Torn apart.

Buck steps back toward him. Not enough that they’re touching, but enough that they’re closer. “Hurt me. Drag me down. I don’t care.”

Eddie recoils. No. No, he hates that idea. He is not doing that. Not intentionally. Not. What the fuck. 

He knows he said the words. He said them because his mother said them and they stuck and haven’t left his head or his heart and it’s all he does. Ruin people he loves. 

Buck shakes his head. “Be in the way. Burden me. Share whatever weight you’re carrying. Be something that stays even if you’re not here. Be part of my life even if it hurts. I don’t care if it hurts, I need you to be something to me. Having nothing of you would be a hundred, thousand, million times worse. I am in this with you. I always have been. Don’t shut me out just to spare me. If you’re facing the fire, I want to be right there with you. Please don’t make me lose everything of you. Please don’t— please. Don’t pretend this is nothing. I can take you leaving, I can’t take this,” he motions between them, “meaning nothing.”

Eddie stares and doesn’t move. And stares harder like it will help him understand. 

He knows he’s breathing still because there’s air. 

Maybe he’s not breathing. But something is making air flow in and out of his body. Like rescue breaths? Supplemental oxygen? It’s not Eddie doing it, he’s not taking in air, but it happens anyway. 

He doesn’t understand. Maybe he never has. Maybe his brain stopped processing information when he stopped breathing because the brain can’t function without oxygen. Something like that. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t. 

Buck wants something of him even after everything? After all the people who have walked out on him and treated him like he doesn’t matter? Even with how Eddie fails and hurts people who care about him? He means something to Buck? Even though he’s hurting him and abandoning him and losing him? Eddie’s just another person who leaves him. He can’t hurt Buck. He can’t keep doing it. Buck doesn’t deserve this. And Eddie deserves no loyalty, no forgiveness. 

He doesn’t deserve anyone’s love. Not in any form. He shouldn’t have it. He’s never had it. 

“I don’t—” Eddie tries to say. He has to say. He has to make the words come out. “I don’t want to hurt you the way Abby hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” 

Buck shakes his head again and starts to say something.

Eddie beats him to it. “I know it’s not the same. I know I’m not— I know you don’t— It’s different. Still. I know how she hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know how to not do that. I’m leaving you here. In my house. Just like she did when she left you. And I have to—” Do the same fucking thing? Give him up? Walk away? Destroy everything they made together? And maybe the only way to survive is to do what Eddie does best and ruin everything? 

He looks back at Buck and doesn’t mean to say it. He wasn’t going to say anything. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. He should be mean and nasty and he should tell Buck he means nothing, this means nothing, and then Buck can just be justifiably angry and hate Eddie properly. 

And it would spare him. Whatever pain and tragedy that is associated with being near Eddie. It would spare Buck. 

That’s what he should do. 

That would be mercy and kindness. Pick up the weapon and blow this all to hell. 

Eddie can’t breathe. He can’t do this. Any of it. 

He can’t let go. He can’t lose Buck. 

And then he’s suddenly confessing, “I don’t want to do this."

It’s too late. It’s always too late. And what he actually wants has never mattered. He doesn’t matter. He never has. He twists his hands together and has nothing else to hold onto. It’s too late, so none of this matters. Eddie doesn’t matter. But he meets Buck’s lost gaze, stares into his eyes for three seconds, and he can’t keep it in.

“I want to be with Chris. I miss him so much. Every minute of every day. But I don't want to leave here. I don't want this. But it doesn't matter what I want. It never has. The one time I said, 'What about me? Why didn't you think of me?' Chris left. He left because I hurt him. And my dad says, ‘don’t wait thirty years to listen to your son.’ So I listen. I don’t know what the hell else to do. I listen, and I do what all of them ask. Even when it’s the last thing I want and I’ve already said, no, please stop, I need more time, please hear me. They don’t listen to me. I’m still nothing to every single one of them. And I just keep thinking why don’t I ever count? Why don’t I matter even a little bit?

"You think you aren't everything to me, too? Do you think that I don't love you just as much as you love me? But I don’t get to pick you. I don’t get to have anything of you. I hurt everyone I try to love including you and Chris. I’m not enough for anyone, in any way. I can’t love anyone the way they need or the way I’m supposed to. You say you’re defective parts, well I’m fucking broken.

"That’s why you should forget me. I don’t matter. You shouldn’t care. I should mean nothing because I am nothing. I’m not worth this. If I were a better, stronger person, I’d make you hate me. But I can’t even do that. I don’t want to hurt you more. I have to lose you and I don’t know how to lose you. I love you more than anything and it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do but say, you should move on and forget me.”

Eddie turns away and covers his face, tries to hold his head because it’s aching. It’s too much. That was too much. He’s not supposed to be falling apart. Everything is supposed to be getting better. 

Shards of ice crack and fracture and break underneath him. Everything in the cage around his ribs snaps and he’s crying into his hands, trying to keep it together. Trying and failing. Always failing. His face is already wet. He was already broken. A long time ago. So many times. 

Buck is suddenly behind him. Not distant. Close behind him. He touches Eddie’s back gently and then steps around until he’s standing in front of him. He reaches between them and rests his hand on Eddie’s chest. As if he can stop the never-ending bleeding that’s somehow always pouring from Eddie’s heart. “You are enough, Eddie. You’re more than enough."

[kamurocho-confessional]

"They need to bring crow feet back why the fuck do Kiryu and Majima look younger on 7 than they looked back in 3??

Just look at Kashiwagi and Adachi...... we need old men looking like hags"

[disenchanted2006]

Josh O'Connor in Mothering Sunday [2021]

[evilkaeya]

sai i keep thinking abt smitten Welt who is doing everything he can to pretend like hes Normal both for reputation and to not scare off Sunday but hes so lost in the sauce he keeps staring and running into shit. (Himeko knows. its her favorite form of entertainment now. she'll help. eventually. probably)

welt walking by the trio and sunday when tb makes sunday laugh and welt straight up walks into pompom and trips over. they go to a desert shop in belobog (bc march wanted to try the new super cute desert) and welt spends half of the time (not so) discreetly watching sunday enjoy sweets. sunday has to repeat what he says to welt often bc welt is lost staring at him. he thinks welt must have hearing problems? or perhaps he's not getting enough sleep? he must be overworking himself. welt won't be overworking like this if every day was sunday-

the entire crew including pompom knows welt is crushing hard. except sunday who thinks welt is either overworking or has dissociation problem that needs to be checked ("mr. yang I know a doctor, in penacony, you must have met him. he goes by dr. ratio-").

[akai-anna]

shinichi: *takes a deep breath* shinichi: i lo- anyone who has spent five seconds around shinichi ever: yes, you love ran, we know, you love mōri ran so much, she's the light of your life, you love her so much, you just love ran, we KNOW , you love ran you fucking love ran ok we know, we get it, YOU LOVE MŌRI RAN. WE GET IT.

[aunti-christ-ine]

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

several sentences sunday

tagged by @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @wh0re-behavi0r @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley

thanks darlins <3 here's another little snippet of drunk confession fic. will probably be the last one before posting!

Eddie’s torso curves inward a little as he digs into his over easy eggs, his posture so fucking terrible like always, his long fingers curled loosely around his fork, a line of bright yellow yolk running down his chin, eyelashes so fucking long and delicate and almost gold in the amber sunlight spilling in from the window.

He is so fucking beautiful.

So beautiful that it makes Buck ache.

Buck's teeth clench down hard around the shape of it, an attempt to cage in the beast of his want which is forced to travel back down, making his chest strain against the claws raking over his bones and flesh and blood.

He is going to bleed all over Eddie’s kitchen floor if he isn’t careful.

He looks away from Eddie and takes a bite out of the bacon, thankful for the salty richness that spears over his tongue and breaks apart the rough, clenched fist of his desires that always hangs around in the hollows of his cheeks and sticks to the back of his teeth.

tagging @spaceprincessem @shitouttabuck @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @911onabc @diazass @chronicowboy @vampbuckley @gayedmundodiaz @barbiediaz @rewritetheending @devirnis @bvckandeddie @transboybuckley @arthursdent @lemonzestywrites @jesuisici33 @try-set-me-on-fire @butchdiaz @bucks118 @fiona-fififi @sibylsleaves @bekkachaos @captain-hen @lover-of-mine @housewifebuck @puppyboybuckley @exhuastedpigeon and anyone else who wants to share!

[porcelainmortal]

Several Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tags over the past week, @suseagull5914 @thighzp @tailsbeth-writes!

The hangover from posting a long fic is REAL, man. I haven't written much all month despite having more time than ever. (It's a long story but I finally quit my horrible job.) BUT I managed to write a few words today. I'm offering absolutely no context, but please enjoy!

Henry slides off of Alex, trying to remember what the hell he said; when he might have given himself away.  “Forget it,” Alex laughs, sitting up and reaching for the sheet to wipe himself off. “I was kidding anyway.” “No, wait–” Henry reaches for Alex’s arm, pausing his movements. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember saying that.” “It’s cool,” Alex shrugs. “We all say shit in the heat of the moment, right? It’s nothing.” But he won’t meet Henry’s eyes and Henry can see his chin trembling in profile where he’s turned away.  “It’s not nothing, Alex. I–” Henry takes a deep breath of his own, trying to steady his racing heart. “Did you mean it?” Alex’s eyes dart to Henry’s and even in the dim light of the room, he can see how guarded and cautious he’s being. The stiff set of his shoulders and the white-knuckle grip of his hands on the sheet. The way the muscles in Alex’s arm are taut with tension under Henry’s hand where he’s still gripping it.

Is everyone just doing these on Bluesky now?? 😂 I'll keep tagging anyway!! @anincompletelist @anchoredarchangel @blueeyedgrlwrites @bitbybitwrites @cactusdragon517

@caterpills @cricketnationrise @cha-melodius @firenati0n @faketrex

@freyjaexplores @getmehighonmagic @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @kiwiana-writes

@myheartalivewrites @nocoastposts @onthewaytosomewhere @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse

@stellarmeadow @thesleepyskipper @theprinceandagcd @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew and as always, an open tag!

[disasterbuck]

seven several sentence sunday

tagged by @spotsandsocks 🥰

Help! I need motivation to finish this wip 😩

Biting his bottom lip nervously, Buck forced himself to step to the side so that Eddie had an uninterrupted view of everything he'd prepared. He knew the smell must be reaching Eddie by now, too – would he recognise the aroma as one of his favourite foods?

"Um," Eddie said awkwardly, not moving from his place in the doorway. "Did I get the day wrong?"

"What?" Buck asked, staring at him.

"This is a date," Eddie said slowly, gesturing at the room before suddenly looking over his shoulder as though he expected someone else to walk up at any moment. "You have a date! Damn, I'm sorry, let me get out of your hair."

Of all the reactions Buck had imagined Eddie having, this was not one of them. Buck was so surprised by it that Eddie was already halfway down the corridor before his brain kicked back into action and he was able to quickly sprint after him, grabbing his arm.

"Eddie, wait! Don't go," he said, fighting a sudden urge to laugh hysterically. The night had barely even begun and already it wasn't going as planned. "It's for you."

Eddie turned back to look at him, confusion written all over his face. He glanced past Buck to the still open door and then back at Buck again.

"… For me?" he asked tentatively, voice so soft Buck practically had to lipread.

"Will you–" Buck had to pause and clear his throat. "Will you come inside? And I'll explain?"

-

Tags under 👇

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Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

[destinyc1020]

Confession Sunday:

I found very curious and such a big coincidence that both Olivia and Nadia appeared in Tom’s life when he was in the low, he went all the way without thinking too much.

With Olivia he was obviously drunk that day, the girl serving the drinks said that Sam was trying to calm him down, warning him they were in a public space. We know he regretted his behavior.

With Nadia was just after the NY photos of Z & JE, we all know that those photos hit him hard, so he when all the way with her, too quickly too fast, he needed a companion and they had a good time together but he wasn’t in love.

I believe both women knew about his feelings for Zendaya but thought they could make him forget her but they couldn’t.

JE couldn’t either, She was still lurking Tom stuff while she was with him.

We don’t know what the future holds but they are looking more close and committed. The breakup and dating other people, probably helped them to mature and appreciate what they have now even more.

I agree with everything you said Anon. 🥰

I especially agree with your last sentence! 💯

[aventurineswife]

Thanks for answering my ask about comedic nudity!

So I ended up forgetting about the og idea I wanted to send because I didn’t write it down. 🙂‍↕️

But I do have another idea that involves Reader being a freak for art! If you’ve ever played (or watched someone play) Persona 5, Reader is a little bit like Yusuke, they love to draw and paint and all that fun stuff. They’re also a bit of a simp and have pages in their sketchbooks dedicated to drawing people they fancy.

So, not really nudity here, but one day while drinking, Reader gets so drunk off of their ass they finally dare to ask the question that’s been gnawing at the back of their mind:

“Hey, [muse]…D’ya wanna model naked for me?”

Bonus points if they’re trying to ask it to their muse in question, but they’re so drunk they don’t realize they’re facing someone else entirely.

Like, their muse could be Sunday and they’re trying to ask Sunday to model naked for them, but they’re facing Robin.

It can also be other combos!

Like, Muse:the person Reader is actually facing

So—

Gepard:Serval

Blade:Firefly

Dan Heng:Sushang

Lingsha:Yunli

Jing Yuan:Yanqing

These are just examples off the top of my head but basically pick any one or think of another pair yourself and make it as chaotic as you possible can. 🤣

If you make the title “Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls” istg—

Portraits of Desire

Tags: Sunday x Reader x Robin, Aventurine x Reader x Topaz, Artist!Reader, Fluff and Humor, Alcohol-Induced Shenanigans, Artistic Obsession, Mild Suggestive Themes, Confessions in Chaos, Playful Banter.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and intoxication, Light innuendo, Embarrassing humorous situations.

A/N: sadly i already named a previous fic that, so I can't name this one the same title 😕💔

(Credits to @kakyoriya on Twitter/X)

The Charmony Festival's afterparty had always been a lively affair, filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You, an artist swept into the chaos of Penacony’s surreal world, found yourself seated at a circular table with Sunday and Robin. Despite your initial plans to observe the Halovian pair discreetly, the generous flow of Halovian wine had turned those plans into a swirling mess.

Your sketchbook lay open on the table, pages flipping as a gust of laughter erupted around you. The pages showcased the delicate strokes of your pencil—portraits of Sunday, Robin, and various festival moments. They were all expertly rendered, but your fascination with Sunday was painfully obvious. His eyes seemed to pierce through the pages, and even his halo was meticulously detailed.

Robin chuckled softly, her hair shimmering under the festival lights. “You’ve truly captured his essence.” she remarked, pointing at one of your sketches.

You hiccupped, the wine adding a rosy hue to your cheeks. “Well, it’s ‘cause he’s so damn… inspiring!” you slurred.

Sunday, ever dignified, raised a brow but allowed a faint smile to curl his lips. “I see. I suppose I should thank you for the flattery.”

The room swayed as you turned, your intoxicated mind suddenly consumed by a thought you’d never dared voice. You reached out, grabbing Sunday’s gloved hand—or at least you thought it was Sunday’s.

“Hey… hey, you!” you stammered, squinting up at Robin instead. She tilted her head, bemused.

“Yes?” Robin replied, her voice lilting like a melody.

“I’ve been… thinking,” you began, leaning closer to her. “You’re… perfect. Your symmetry, your aura—it’s breathtaking!”

Robin’s brows knitted in surprise, her cheeks flushing faintly. Sunday, watching from across the table, cleared his throat. “They mean to ask me, Robin. I’ve noticed their fixation.”

But you, oblivious and unbothered, barreled forward. “Model for me. Naked. Just once!”

Robin sputtered, her elegance momentarily faltering. “I beg your pardon?”

Sunday, his eyes narrowing slightly, stepped in to steady you. “I believe you’re mistaking your audience.” he said, his tone carrying both humor and restraint.

You blinked, your intoxicated brain struggling to process the situation. Then, your gaze shifted, landing on Sunday’s halo. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You! I meant you!”

Robin burst into laughter, her melodic voice echoing through the room. “Oh, this is priceless.”

Sunday, maintaining his composure, leaned down to meet your gaze. “While I appreciate your artistic passion,” he said smoothly, “I fear your request might be better suited for sober conversation.”

The IPC gala was a hub of high-stakes networking, dazzling lights, and endless champagne. You, an artist with an eye for detail, found yourself amidst the extravagance, clutching your sketchbook like a lifeline. Aventurine and Topaz had invited you along, each promising you’d find inspiration among the elite.

You had taken them at their word, sketching furiously as your muses moved through the crowd. Aventurine, with his flamboyant overcoat and peacock feather earring, exuded charisma that demanded attention. Topaz, on the other hand, carried herself with a composed confidence, her hair catching the gala’s light.

Hours later, you were drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed—drunk. Your sketchbook was open to a page filled with Aventurine’s smirk and Topaz’s sharp gaze. The champagne had loosened your inhibitions, and you found yourself staring at Aventurine’s eyes.

“You’re like… a painting.” you slurred, pointing at him.

Aventurine, ever the gambler, leaned forward with an amused grin. “Am I now? Flatter me more.”

Topaz rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. “They’re drunk. Don’t encourage them.”

But you were already gesturing wildly. “I gotta ask. It’s important. Life-changing, even!” You turned—or at least thought you turned—to Aventurine, but your gaze locked on Topaz instead.

“Will you model naked for me?” you blurted.

Topaz choked on her drink, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?!”

Aventurine burst into laughter, clapping a hand to his chest. “Oh, this is rich. I think they meant me, darling.”

You blinked, confused, before swiveling toward Aventurine. “Wait, yeah! You! You’re, like… perfection. I need to capture it!”

Topaz shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

Aventurine leaned closer, tilting your chin up with a gloved finger. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he purred. “But we’ll discuss terms when you’re sober.”

Topaz snorted. “You’re both ridiculous.”

And in your drunken haze, you could only laugh, thrilled by the chaotic charm of your muses.

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

There is no unselfish reason to stay. Gu Yiran was never going to belong here in Halan; he’d only been kidding himself all this time that things were changing.  Zheng Bei is still standing there, silent, three steps in past the door. His head and shoulders silhouetted by the square yellow light of the front windows. Gu Yiran looks past him, out through the windows at the empty air above the apartment courtyard and says, “Yes, I think I’ll only stay until the case closes,” and feels the unfamiliarity of the word until in his mouth. He hasn’t been able to see an ending coming for years.

anyway, i've decided i really want to lean into the imminent tension of the case closing and gyr potentially leaving since in canon we glossed over this completely via gu yiran's phone call skills. also, i have become obsessed with zheng bei's yellow front windows apparently, this is the second, maybe third bit i've written this week that involves those yellow windows.

[repressedqueen]

(a little more than) Seven Sentence Sunday

tagged by the beautiful @spotsandsocks <3

This is from part 1 from my Turning Page (aka the prequel). It's the first Buddie fic I started writing in March believe it or not, after a two-year gap. I've missed writing about them and I craved a good old love confession fic. It will be posted next week! Chronologically placed right after 5x10.

"Maybe you should go back to your girlfriend." he finally says, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. Buck scoffs softly, gaze back on the wooden floor "I don't have a girlfriend anymore." Eddie ignores the rush of enthusiasm bursting inside him the moment Buck’s words register and turns to face him, brows furrowed in confusion "She broke up with you?" Buck’s vulnerability somehow fades, his response comes steady and fierce "I broke up with her.” Maybe it’s the rising percentage of alcohol in his blood, maybe it's the sleep deprivation Eddie is fighting as well, or maybe it’s something else entirely. No matter the reason, Eddie can physically feel the atmosphere in the room changing. It’s like everything suddenly happens in slow motion. "I thought you liked her." "I thought so too. But things changed for me too." Buck admits. "What changed?" "You got shot." Buck replies, as if stating the obvious.

Why does Eddie feel like he’s going to throw up all of a sudden? His body is reacting in ways his mind is unable to catch up with. "But—that happened months ago." "Let's just say I'm slow."

Honestly cannot wait to post this 7000+ word story, it's sooooo soft (and angsty I should add)! tagging a few people whose writing I love and admire. @bewilderedbuckley @the-likesofus @coal15 @bidisasterevankinard @gayhoediaz Let me know if you want to be removed of course!

[beatheprincess]

I LOVEE when my hair smells good🥺🥺😩✊🏽💗💖🎀💟 and feels refreshed!!💟🎀💗💖💜🙈😆😊