#nameless sunday you are growing on me

[lowkeyren]

what if we ate ice cream and daydreamed about sunday leaks together

OH SHIT?!?!!! IT'S TIME FOR THE SUNDAY YAPFEST!!!! :3

[s4nguiine]

"don't call me that ever again."

» summary: your little quarrel with sunday leaves you up at night. but then you hear the piano.

» rating: sfw

» notes: this was not supposed to be 1k words

you toss and turn in the discomfort of your bed. you feel too hot, your legs too jittery, and your blanket feels like it’s suffocating you. that, and your thoughts run rampant, carrying a deep set shame with them. you’ve always been an overthinker. this is worse. this is eating you alive.

sunday joined the express just three days ago, and you’ve noticed how uncomfortable he seems around the other nameless. reasonably so, given the events that unfolded in penacony. they may have said that they’re willing to give him a chance, but that doesn’t mean they are immediately going to be relaxed around him. you, however, have something wrong going on with you. because you do not feel threatened by his presence. you feel that he’s changed. and you’re dead set on making everyone get along.

so, in an attempt to make sunday feel welcome, you decided to give him a nickname, and in your proactiveness you completely forgot to account for the type of person sunday is. of course he wouldn’t like being called sunny. it’s sunday. and it took him chewing you out to realize the mistake you’ve made.

you’re an idiot.

there’s no use trying to sleep. you tell yourself this as you lift the pillow off your head and push yourself up with the intention to get yourself a glass of water. it is when your bare feet make contact with the floor that you pause. you swear you just heard something, and as you stop moving and focus really hard, you realize that someone in the party car below is playing music. not just any music… it’s the piano.

you make your way to the door and when you open it and enter the stairway leading down, the sound grows less muffled, until the somber tune is clear in your ears. a couple more steps down and you pause. there, not too far from the stairs, sits sunday at the piano, seemingly absorbed in playing music.

not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on one of the steps, leaning against the railing and watching him play. though you only get a view of his back, you can clearly imagine the kind of face he’s making right now. his entire body, from his fingertips to his head and his feet, moves with confidence you haven’t seen him display in a while. genuine confidence. and as you continue to listen and your eyelids grow heavy, you think how lovely it would be to listen to this forever.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

you wake up back in your bed. puzzled, you stand up and stretch, then look around yourself. strange. if you’re not on the stairs… was it a dream? were you dreaming of sunday? the thought makes your cheeks turn pink. no, this is to be expected. you were thinking of him while falling asleep, so of course you would also dream of him.

you make your way downstairs once you are dressed, joining the rest of the trailblazers for breakfast. the rest of your day goes as normal, and as you’re not currently on a mission, it is filled with the usual chores around the express. you skillfully avoid sunday, figuring that he probably doesn’t wanna see you anyway. as you complete your chores, however, you can’t not notice the fact that you feel like you’re being watched. every time you take a look around however, everyone seems preoccupied with their own things… including sunday, who’s always nose deep in one of his books.

you decide not to think too much of it.

nighttime arrives and you’re back in your room, back in your bed. sleep escapes you once more, and you find yourself wanting it to. you’re still unsure whether what happened last night was a dream. you’d prefer it not to be. and as you rack your brain for an answer, it comes from outside your door. you sit up and pinch yourself as hard as you can.

not a dream. you’re awake! it really happened! but then - who carried you back?

your hand hovers above the doorknob. what if it was sunday? could you face him right now if you knew it was him? sighing, you finally open the door and step out. it’s not like you’ll join him downstairs. you’ll just listen from high up on the round staircase where he won’t see you.

and that’s what you do. you take a few steps down, then sit down and lean against the cold railing. it’s the same tune as yesterday… melancholic but calming, with a hint of yearning. what does sunday yearn for, you wonder. must be a lot of things now.

you wish to get to know him.

“i was wondering if you would show up,” suddenly comes his voice, piano music uninterrupted.

you flinch, almost hitting your head in the process. “how did you know?”

“the stairs must be uncomfortable. why don’t you get down?” sunday doesn’t answer your question.

you’re petrified. did he notice you last night, too? slowly you get up, making your way downstairs with a racing heart. why do you feel like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar?

sunday’s eyes remain on the piano’s keys, even when you’re standing next to him fiddling with your thumbs. he then lets out an amused huff, and you feel even more like a deer in the headlights. at last, his fingers leave the keys to rest in his lap and his golden eyes find yours.

“i’m sorry,” you suddenly blurt out. “i didn’t mean to intrude.”

sunday raises his eyebrows. “actually, i was going to apologize too. for keeping you up.”

“you didn’t keep me up. well - well, technically you did. but not with the piano…” oh aeons, you’re digging your own grave. your words visibly confuse him. “look, i’m sorry. for calling you that nickname. i didn’t mean it out of malice, quite the opposite actually. but i should have thought about it more.”

sunday’s eyes seem to search every single pore on your face, to the point it’s starting to make you feel very exposed and very embarrassed. then, he turns to the piano once more, fingers stroking the white keys idly.

“is that why you avoided me?”

“m..maybe.”

a small smile graces his features. “you’re overthinking it.”

those words feel like a punch to the face.

he continues, “i don’t hate you for it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

you perk up. “so can i call you sunny?”

“don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“of course.” and you wilt again.

uncomfortable silence follows. something hangs in the air between you two, despite the cleared up misunderstanding.

so you ask, “what were you playing?”

“claire de lune, by johann debussy. i don’t suppose you know it,” he answers.

“i don’t, but ouch.”

he smiles, again, and you wonder if he enjoys watching people squirm. you chase these thoughts away. then, sunday shifts on the chair and pats down the empty space next to him. you take the cue and sit down.

“do you always follow directions like an excited puppy?” he asks, and before you can answer, his hands assume position and start playing again.

you sit next to him, and the soothing melody does nothing to slow your quickly beating heart. and when you glance next to you, you find sunday, unbearably close. so close, in fact, that you notice his long eyelashes, his unusually relaxed face, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

it is then that it dawns on you: you are impossibly attracted to this man.

[lizdive]

Sunday who finds out his older sibling is a trailblazer and later gets to hang out with them more once he joins the Astral Express (^-^)

and the nameless sunday series continues !! i <3 all the older sibling requests people are sending KEEP EM COMING GUYS 🗣️🔥💯‼️ i did this in 90% head canon format because I couldn’t properly brain storm a good fic-esque formatted beginning and I have a lot of ideas for this,,, i’m sosososo sorry,,,, thank yew for the request :3 if you are not satisfied just tell me and i’ll redo it !! <33

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" + "older sibling" used to refer to reader ,, reader as an older sibling ,, platonic relationships ,, this isn’t proofread ,, ignore typos

⭑ I’d like to start this by saying that childhood was probably not the best part of your life. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t the best part of your life story. You had to fend for yourself and your siblings before Gopher Wood came in and adopted you three, and even then he would probably try to manipulate you into his perfect pawn by using your siblings against you.

⭑ For a while you just.. went with it because while you had a dream, you didn’t know how to accomplish it unlike Robin. And so, you and SUNDAY, the perfect dreamless children that you both were, were perfect for Gopher Wood to manipulate and isolate.

⭑ But since you were older and had a bit more life experience, you knew not to trust his every word. You tried to help SUNDAY, you really did, but you also needed to help yourself. There is definitely some older sibling guilt in this.

⭑ It wasn’t until you heard of the Astral Express that you finally realized how to accomplish your dream. Join the express and finally be able to see the cosmos while escaping the grasp of Gopher Wood. To abandon the path of harmony and order and join the trailblaze — that was what you wanted.

⭑ How you managed to join is up to your interpretation.

⭑ You told SUNDAY you were going to accomplish your dream before you left, and you offered him to join you — you almost begged him to join. But he stood firm in his decision to stay and wished you well on your journeys. You knew you couldn’t force him, and so off you were onto the Astral Express without him knowing the means of how you would accomplish your dream.

⭑ You kept in touch with SUNDAY and Robin of course, and you visited Penacony every chance you got. Watching your little brother grow up from afar hurt a bit, and as he matured with the mindset that was forced upon him, you wished you had taken his place. But SUNDAY is a man of his word, and you know the promise he made to you and Robin will not be broken so easily.

⭑ But you always supported him, because at the end of the day he was your little brother. You may or may not have a soft spot for him.

⭑ SUNDAY is smart and perceptive, so when you showed up at the same time the Astral Express did during the Penacony quest, he quickly connected the dots. So that’s how you did it — hopping from planet to planet so easily without struggle and without running out of money.

⭑ Initially, he’s a bit hurt you never told him and you kept such a secret for so long, and he’ll give you silent treatment for some time until you apologize with sweets and a looonggg explanation with detail. It’s like those reddit stories.

⭑ The halovian is a bit protective of his older sibling, so it’s no surprise he began asking you if they were treating you well and that if you ever want to leave them but continue traveling he can give you all the credits need and more.

⭑ He does not question you on switching paths. He would never question his older sibling who has doted on him and cared for him and Robin and who he loves so so much. Also he knows he isn’t innocent, either.

⭑ He appreciates the offer of him joining, but he would never do that. As head of the oak family, he needs to fulfill his duties.

⭑ When Robin’s 'death' occurs, SUNDAY finds himself swarmed with horrible what-ifs. No longer will you be with your Astral Express friends during your stay. Please just stay close with him, he can’t bear the thought of losing you, too.

⭑ And when the Charmony Festival comes and he is forced to fight against you, he tries to take the easy route. Why fight you when you can be put in the order’s dream once more? He knows you and your weakness. He can lull you into slumber once more.

⭑ Please fall for it… he just.. he doesn’t want to hurt his family. If you’re a support unit during it all like Robin, please stay far away from the fight.. and most importantly, please don’t hate him.

⭑ During his fall from grace, he expects a gaze of hatred from you. He who has hurt your team and put you all through an endless amount of hardships. He who has deceived not only the crew but you as well. You, who has been nothing but supportive of him.

⭑ But your embrace that follows Robin’s makes him feel all the more horrible. Because you have forgiven him despite him not deserving such a blessing.

"I… think I’ll take you up on that offer…" SUNDAY’s voice is faint as he looks down in embarrassment and shame. His wings subconsciously hide his lower face and his gaze is downcast. For once, he is not the elegant and mysterious SUNDAY that the world knows him as.

Right now, he is SUNDAY, your little brother that you used to share your books with and show him all the various planets you’d visit one day. He is SUNDAY, your little brother who would do the most just to impress you.

March wants to protest, and so does the Trailblazer. But before they can speak, Himeko holds up a hand to keep them silent. This is not their decision to make, it’s yours. Because Himeko knew that you offered him to join many times and she was okay with it — Pompom, too.

Penacony needs him no more. He serves no purpose other than to live now. To exist and find the path he wishes to tread. And if he has decided that the trailblaze is that path, then who are you to deny him of his wish? The one wish that was his.

A step, and then another. You take his gloved hands into yours. He flinches, hesitantly looking at you. Your gaze is tender and welcoming. "You’ll have a lot of fun, I promise."

⭑ I’ve said this in my other nameless SUNDAY posts: The crew would not want to interact to him too much. But I think in this scenario Himeko would be more open, and the crew would be more understanding of why you’re so kind and gentle with him.

⭑ Sleepovers!! SUNDAY will room with you for the first few months nights. He had nightmares of what happened to Robin and he’s very anxious so you being in the same room as him is very comforting. May sleep in the same bed as you, too, if the nightmares get too bad.

⭑ Honestly if you don’t mind this arrangement he’ll probably room with you forever. It doesn’t inconvenience him too much. It all just depends on you.

⭑ Your solo vacations have become duo vacations. He’ll rarely ask you directly to join but he will hint at it. He understands if you don’t want to take him, though.

⭑ If you do, however, take him, it’ll be a very fun time! SUNDAY will make a list of activities so the trip seems much more organized which then leads to less stress and you’ll be able to do everything you want and more!

⭑ Trust that 99% of your time on the Express will be spent with SUNDAY. So much time missed out during childhood,, doing 'childish' activities with SUNDAY !! Coloring with crayons, messing around with stuffies, etc. would be very fun, especially playing with stuffies and dolls because he takes his roles 100% seriously.

⭑ Likes being held in your arms. Not in a weird way, he just likes feeling like a kid again when you used to hold him whenever he’d get upset. Whether it’s cuddling or hugging, SUNDAY just really likes to be held in his older sibling’s embrace and be comforted.

⭑ Likes playing board games with you. Also collects them.

[semuji]

₩arning: Yan? HSR × You?, grammar mistakes, out of character.

Let's say you are a Kaslana in the HSR verse, being the "knight" of Humanity is no joke, even more so that you can't even protect your home.

Your homeland got attacked by the Swarms Disaster hundreds of years ago, and you are the only survivor, eventhough not exactly. The price of that is being trapped inside a doll body, you can feel, can touch and can speak, ... like a normal human. But you have no heart inside your body, just an artificial gem that deemed as your source of living. And with that body, you also often got shrink into a size of a grown man palm. Maybe something can change it, but you don't know how.

Oh, and did I mention that you also have amnesia, you have forgotten completely everything before you got transferred into a doll body. That's why you are on a journey to find it back, but on the way, you accidentally lost into a small box. However, you got saved by a tall and muscular man in the name of Veritas Ratio. He is curious about your origin and how your body shrink, therefore allowing you to follow him around as you vow to repay him for helping you out.

In the process, you met Aventurine, a man with a sinister smile and peculiar eyes, who your savior was talking to when they met at the front of the Dewlight Pavilion, The Oak's base of operation. Aventurine sure does notice you, and did ask about you to Ratio, and he replied with just a saying: "research partner", which made the blonde snickers.

However, later when Aventurine got sent out by the Head of the Oak's family, Sunday, Ratio secretly sent you with him, that the professor said it's for you to keep an eye on him, which you do. Aventurine quickly warmed up to you, eventhough he is in an illusion, he still recognizes you as a real person and allows you to follow him on his shoulder.

Maybe in his way, he encountered some drunken men who purposely causing a problem with him, which makes you angered. And with that, you and him discovered that lips to lips touches can make you grow back in some times. After that, you sure did beat up those people and give them to the Bloodhound.

When the time comes, you turned back to Ratio, but got lost along the way 'cause of your size, which makes you meet the Nameless. Surely they are friendly, and helped you out finding Ratio. When you got back on the professors shoulder, you show him the new discovery you founded without a word (or maybe you just can't talk in that form), which makes Ratio mad. But looking at your dumb smile of happiness of finally being helpful to him, Ratio stopped his lectures that was about to spill out and forgive you.

Maybe in the future, you will learned how to protect humanity again, and learned how to love again with the artificial heart inside you. But to vowed to be the shield of humanity is not a good thing at all. Because the people around you will surely never let you go get a single scratch on your face, let alone that you will sacrifice yourself for a person that you don't even know.

But do they know that you are the strongest Emanator in the whole universe, that can rivals even Aeons?

Or....

It's just my new oc lore that I want to share. I might expand it in the future if I got a chance.

Part 2

(unfinished art, credit belongs to me, please don't take it anywhere)

[thenovelartist]

Order in the Chaos - Chapter 1 - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

Summery: Sunday makes a choice to board a train of dignified traveling warriors, expecting to be treated politely at best and coldly at worst. Instead, he finds himself navigating waterlogged hallways, avoiding coffee, and for the love of everything good, WHAT is their obsession with his halo?

AO3 link or Next Chapter >>

“Seeing as you’ve been so kind to allow me to board the Astral Express,” Sunday spoke, looking over the Nameless who remained his judge and jury even after agreeing to allow him temporary passage aboard. “I promise to aid the functionality of this train as much as I can. Please teach me everything you need me to learn so I can be useful. Use me whenever you require my assistance. Other than that, I will stay out of your way as much as possible. I do not wish to be a hinderance.”

“Pom-pom would appreciate the help,” the little conductor said.

“We’ll be sure to teach you everything you need to know,” the gracious Himeko assured. “And if you don’t understand something, don’t be afraid to ask.”

Sunday nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do so.”

“You are welcome to do whatever you feel most comfortable with,” Mr. Yang added on. “But do not feel like you need to stay out of our way for our sakes. Make yourself comfortable here. You’re going to be here for a while.”

The offer was kind, polite, but Sunday knew better than to take advantage of that. “I will keep that in mind.” In mind, yes, but not in practice. He already was planning to keep to his room most of the time, a task that would be more easily done once he figured out the schedule and duties of this train.

“Well,” Mr. Yang continued. “With that, I suppose the only thing left is to ensure you have a room.”

“He can take mine,” Stelle offered.

“Really?” March flatly questioned. “You just finished decorating it, and you’re going to give it up so quickly?”

“That’s unnecessary,” Sunday was quick to cut in. “Surely there is an unused room, however small, that I can take.”

“Why not?” Stelle continued, ignoring him. “I can go back to sleeping in my box.”

A box? His mind came to a screeching halt as he processed what he thought she’d just said. She’s slept in a box?

No. Surely he was misunderstanding something.

“We threw it away cleaning up your room,” Dan Heng said.

Stelle looked highly offended at that, her hand flying to her chest and eyes going wide. “Why would you do that? It was such a comfortable box.”

“You have an actual bed now.”

“Says the man who sleeps on the floor.”

“A futon is a perfectly respectable bed.”

“It’s only respectable if you make it.”

… Sunday was so very confused. The desperate need to break up whatever this was with… something was growing. “T-There’s no need to give up your bedroom for me,” he loudly cut in.

Thankfully, they stopped.

“I do not require much space,” Sunday continued. “So please, I am fine with whatever is most convenient for you.”

“My room,” Stelle insisted once again.

Sunday felt his hope deflate.

“Where are you going to sleep, then?” March challenged.

“Sleepover?” Stelle asked.

“Yeah right.”

“Then with Dan Heng.” Stelle looped her arm around Dan Heng’s elbow.

He sighed, looking more exhausted with the brazen proclamation than uncomfortable. “Stelle, no. We’ve been over this.”

“We’ve done it before.”

“Stelle.”

Sunday cleared his throat. He seemed to be the only one embarrassed by this turn of events. Even Himeko and Mr. Yang were chuckling by his side.

Before he could speak up or even find the words to say, Stelle reached for his hand. “Come on.”

“W-wait!”

“She’s not going to let up,” March bemoaned, already moving out of the way.

“Best not to fight her,” Dan Heng suggested to Sunday as Stelle dragged him past.

“Neither of your beds are safe from me!” Stelle shouted back behind her.

“As long as you stop sleeping on the parlor couch.” The conductor cut in, trying to look intimidating by placing their little hands on their hips. The steam cloud coming off their head was quite convincing, though.

“No promises.” Stelle stuck her tongue out and shot the conductor a peace sign.

Behind him, Sunday could hear Himeko’s laugh grow.

But this was no laughing matter!

“M-miss Stelle,” he spoke, trying his hardest to force words past the lump in his throat caused by the panic of his flustered heart. “Please, I insist. I cannot take your room.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed. “Just take it while we figure something out for you.”

“Surely that can be determined now instead of later.”

“Meh, too much work.”

Rendered speechless, he simply allowed her to drag him through the railcars until they got to a large one that looked like a high-class bar.

“Greetings, Nameless,” a robot called out from behind the bar. “We have a guest, I see. Is he joining the Nameless or just nameless. Get it? Because I do not—”

“Shush,” Stelle cut in, marching right past the robot.

If Sunday were honest, that was about how well he was expecting to be treated by… everyone. They had put on a kind face so far. A faint hope in his heart told him that they’d stay amiable until he disembarked, yet his mind warned him against clinging too tightly to that.

For now, he submitted to being dragged up a set of stairs off to the side of the car, up to a large attic space.

“My room,” Stelle introduced, wearing a proud smile as she propped her hands on her hips. “You can borrow it for now.”

His eyes shot wide as he took in the size of her quarters, one containing not only a bed but a private bath, a gaming corner, a section for knickknacks, and even a kitchen and gathering area. This was practically a small house.

“Are… all the rooms like this?” he found himself asking.

“No. The passenger car has actual rooms, but there’s only four rooms to a car. I was the last to board, so they were all spoken for. They don’t really have another permanent living quarters car at the moment, so we figured something else out until I took over this storage shed.”

He hated to burst her bubble, but this was far more than just a storage shed.

“You can stay here for now.”

“No!” he hastily cut in. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your room.”

“So?” Stelle grabbed a pillow from the bed, then went over to the knickknack corner and grabbed a baseball bat. “I’ll go bug the others.”

“That’s unnecessary—”

“They won’t mind.” She was now rummaging through her closet, pulling out a stack of rumpled clothes. “And I don’t mind sleeping in the parlor car. I did it for a while. I can face Pom-poms wrath.”

Was this girl capable of listening at all. Didn’t she understand this was totally impractical on many levels? Yet, there seemed to be no way of talking her out of it. His gut was in an uncomfortable knot he knew wasn’t going to unravel anytime soon.

“Everything all right up here?” Himeko entered carrying folded fabric that Sunday took too long to realize were bedsheets.

“Oh yeah.” Stelle pointed to the sheets with her bat. “I meant to grab those from the laundry room.”

Himeko swiftly held out one of the sheets to her. A pillow case. “They’ve been in there all morning.”

“Kinda forgot.” Stelle tucked the bat behind her, sitting on the end like a one-legged stool. With her clothes crammed under her other arm, she began shoving the pillow into the case.

… Maybe this was offensive to say, but she was a strange girl. Then again, maybe Sunday was judging her too quickly. Maybe he was judging all of them too quickly. He didn’t know them all that well, and who knew what kind of people they were beyond their professional front.

He didn’t even know that answer of himself. He may not be a strider of the trailblaze path, but even he had self-discoveries he needed to make.

After winning her pillow fight, Stelle took her bat, swung it up on her shoulder, and marched from the room. “I’m gonna dump these in March’s room. I can show him the way.”

“I can take him on a full tour,” Himeko said. “It’s the engineer’s pleasure to show off their work, after all.”

“Roger.” Stelle tapped her forehead with the bat, using it to salute Himeko before bouncing down the stairs.

Himeko turned back to Sunday, holding out the sheets. “Here, you’ll need these.”

He took the sheets from her. “Thank you, but… are you certain it’s okay for me to stay here?”

“Stelle wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”

Well, there was no way around it. He supposed he’d just have to accept her offer.

“We’ll try to be mindful of your privacy,” Himeko said. “However, we do like gathering in the kitchen here. I don’t know how she does it, but Stelle collects the best snacks.”

That made perfect sense. It also made him uncomfortable. This room was not as out of everyone’s way as he had hoped. He’d have to find other ways not to be a nuisance. “She has quite the room.”

“She worked hard to make it happen. I think we’re all a little jealous. But with pros comes cons. Given the location and size, it lacks the privacy individual rooms have. Give and take, I suppose.”

Sunday nodded as he listened. “By the way, the robot downstairs. I didn’t catch its name.”

“Shush.”

“Pardon?”

“Its name is ‘Shush’.” Himeko explained. “And don’t be worried about telling it to do so. It has a tendency to ramble. It also has a tendency to come up and visit here every now and then. I think Stelle was just complaining about it keeping her up last night.”

Suddenly, Stelle handing him the room was beginning to make a bit of sense. “I still feel guilty about taking over her room. Thank her for me. I did not have the opportunity to do it properly.”

“It’s not like you won’t see her again,” Himeko said with an encouraging smile. “Thank her then.”

“I will.”

“Now, you can explore the room later. Allow me to show you around the Express.”

“I would much appreciate it.”

~~~

To My Dearest Sister,

I’ve just boarded the Astral Express. It is a beautiful train, and the Nameless have been kind to me. I wish you could be here with me as well, but I understand well that our paths must diverge for the time being. I will strive to use this time to find the answers I’m looking for. Once I do, I hope to return to your side. Even if that is not the case, then at least I hope to face you with my head held high once again.

Although, there is a good chance I’m saying such things because I’m already homesick.

So much of my life has been on Penacony that I fear the journey ahead. The trailblaze may not be a path I follow, but it is the path I need. I will be brave and face it head on, despite the fact that compared to the others aboard this train, I am a coward. One much more selfish and proud than I have any right to be.

I hope in our time apart that you will be well, that you will have adventures of your own. I would give you all my luck, but I ask for your forgiveness: I need to keep some for my own adventure ahead.

I will write to you whenever I can. I don’t know how much free time I will have, but I have the impression I will have a lot of time to report very little to you. Maybe this is too much to ask for, but please, wish me luck. Only some of it will be necessary. It will be a blessing if it’s coming from you.

Your Loving Brother,

Sunday

~~~

“Why’d it have to be my room?” March bemoaned.

“Because Dan Heng kicked me out,” Stelle flatly answered, already tucking herself into March’s bed.

“No surprise there.”

“I’ll let you read that new detective story off my phone.”

“They don’t update today.”

“Special Side Story.”

“OH! Gimme!”

[outpost51]

The 51 Post

This week sucked a whole lot actually (I started this draft on Tuesday, and I haven't touched it until 5pm Sunday) but I read a lot of pretty good shit so I think it balances.

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed

get on my taglists for WIP updates, 51 post, tag games, and ask events!

BRHP: Chapter 15 posted; Talus is having a Bad Time.

I stabbed Adrien real good

BRHP: Chapter 16 posted; baby's first fight pit, and a family secret is revealed.

Not new, but I dug up Adrift and The Sky, The Stars, and Me so enjoy the spooky space shorts.

See more entries for SSSC 006 below, mine is here: i'll take everything.

Growing Pains: the 6th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; our new Keeper is definitely adjusting so well to her new life.

I'm starting to release chapters of Unlikely Adventures on tumblr now!

This Week's Jams

stargazing || power-haus, solarays [spotify/youtube]

up down || boy epic [spotify/youtube]

gasoline || chymes [spotify/youtube]

dangerous || new medicine [spotify/youtube]

she went that way || missy [spotify/youtube]

illuminated || hurts [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

HI YOU GET TO MEET KADMOS IN CHAPTER 17 AND [SPOILERS] IN CHAPTER 18 I'M REALLY EXCITED

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

zadimus needs to stop it. that is all

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

you know what's fun to write? drug/dream sequences. you know what's even more fun? writing one for a detective in a flashy nightclub with murder on her mind

Stellar Parallax

saren is about to go do a Very Kill and jaen is So Excited About It. also wrex. but mostly violence

Lighthouse in the Fog

7th short will be coming out some time tonight, @thetrashbagswasteland picked some yummy prompt words

In the Works

y'all 🥺💕 thank you i needed a bunch of open-ended prompts to get the brain noodles out so i can hopefully not burn out on the main wips. i've still got the same backlog otherwise lmao

From the Skwad

IMPORTANT @fenrir-kin fell prey to the hellsite shenaniganuke, and is currently @vikingfenharel until it (hopefully) gets sorted.

Surprise Challenge 006 wrapped up with (mine's above): Just Take My Hand by @sparatus, Expanding the Vocabulary by @teamdilf, and The Storm Between Us by @thetrashbagswasteland

@equusgirl is going bananas with Sapphic Summer: i know with me, you'll get a little bit addicted, One Night, and will my hands ever be clean?

@sparatus also dropped chapter 1 & chapter 2 of Make Less the Depth of Grief and were it not for the laws of this land, i would have strangled him (affectionate) but also this tasty oneshot of Nautilea being so hot

@teamdilf HOW. New chapter of Alice's Adventures in Andromeda, another chapter of The In-Laws and the Grandparents, and another chapter in A Man of Many Talents. I'm calling witchcraft

@asher-orion-writes gave us this lovely oneshot set in Cardinal Sins and I'm??? yes

@princess-prawn dropped a new chapter of Next of Kin YESSS

@regalbois is writing his mlm war stories again and i'm vibrating please go read The Earth Abides

@commander-krios wrote more Dash/Leo (thank u for my life) and New Beginnings (thank u for TWO life wow)

Around the 'Blr

Art Claims are still going on for WIP Big Bang!!

@writernopal dropped character profiles for Magdalene and Sartor so this is your hint to get on the taglist for AASOAF 3

@tabswrites posted chapter 3 of Silver Sentinels and gave me life thank you, more please

@vacantgodling wrote this short for Lukewarm Rejection and we have no choice but to stan Trisha

@liv-is blessed writeblr with this snippet from Demigods i am eating it up

@void-botanist gave us this short for Another Ocean's Moon with LORE hidden in the tags hello

have you SEEN The Poster by @artdecosupernova-writing omg

@elshells dropped chapter 12 of Agent Ace YES congrats on the timeline choreography, bud!

wake up babes new Nameless Song short just dropped from @blind-the-winds

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

[taminoarticles]

— Tamino for De Limburger, May 2017 (x) (Original Dutch text)

The new sweetheart of Flanders

ANTWERP BY KIM NOACH

The 20-year-old singer-songwriter Tamino is conquering musical hearts in his homeland Belgium in record time. Performances at Rock Werchter, Pukkelpop and his first EP rocket to the top position of iTunes. The talent can be heard on Sunday at Mama's Pride in Geleen.

My dear, Tamino sings to you in his high falsetto, grant me one last dance…Dear, please, I'm on fire…With these words singer-songwriter Tamino sings in his debut single Habibi (Arabic for sweetheart) directly to the hearts of music lovers in Belgium.

With the song, Tamino's musical career took off in record time last year: sold-out performances in the small hall of pop temple AB Brussels, a prestigious Belgian pop award lands on his mantelpiece and this festival season, performances at Rock Werchter and Pukkelpop will follow, among others. The Netherlands is also about to be conquered. But judge for yourself on Sunday with a first introduction at Mama's Pride in Geleen. The success of the young singer certainly has to do with his special voice. Seemingly effortlessly, he switches from a deep crooner's moan to a towering falsetto. This vocal cord acrobatics earned him the predicate 'the Belgian Jeff Buckley'. But comparisons with Elliott Smith and Radiohead singer Thom Yorke have also been made by pop connoisseurs. Big shoes to fill for an up-and-coming talent of just 20 years old. Tamino remains calm about it. Having just finished a mini-concert in Antwerp, he says - in a Flemish modest way - that he is especially flattered when fans compare him to big names in the music business. But in the end he wants to be Tamino above all. And just sing his songs. What does the public do with that? Well, who is he to say anything about that?

To melt His songs are beautiful listening songs with guitar that Tamino (partly) composed from his Amsterdam room last year. He follows a course at the conservatory in the capital. He has temporarily stopped his studies in order to be able to attend all performances and interviews. “Very strange,” he says when it comes to his ever-growing popularity. “I don't fully understand it yet. It would be nice if I could live off my music at some point. That is not self-evident for every artist.”

To melt With his dark curls, full eyelashes, 'pirate' earring and shy smile, singer-songwriter Tamino is sure to melt many hearts. His looks are the result of his Belgian mother and his Egyptian father. His Belgian mother named her son after Prince Tamino from Mozart's opera Die Zauberflöte.

It is the Arabic roots that also influence him musically, as can be heard in some melody lines on his nameless EP. And at home he not only plucks the guitar, but also the oud, the Arabic lute, and listens to Egyptian music. This in combination with Western music by Thom Yorke, Eels, but also Soundgarden and the Belgian noise band Steak Number Eight. What does he hope for next Sunday? "Come on..." There's a pause.

"That I am able to give everything and people know how to appreciate it."

[insilverbay]

from @lairofmuses:

take a deep breath , you need to calm down . -lairofmuses{from my HSR Azura if that's ok :D}

Upon arriving at the Herta Space Station, he'd be whisked away by the surprising amount scientists who'd be enamored by the halovian's arrival. Would it be because of the rare sight of a man such as himself from Asdana's star system, from Penacony itself? Ah, how interesting it was to him. Though, there were voices in the crowd that he couldn't just ignore. He'd note their thoughts about himself and namely his sister of stardom, narrowing his eyes at the individual as he'd pick out the nameless person from the crowd. These weren't happy thoughts to experience and they certainly made his previously in awe expression sour and now? He'd walk swiftly towards the individual, bumping roughly shoulder to shoulder with the other researchers to reach the other.

"...Care to share with the class?" Sunday narrows his eyes at the individual, placing a hand on their shoulder with a firm grip and grin on his face. One could see his nails starting to grow under his gloves as his anger began to fester, but another's literal voice would interrupt his terrible first impression on the crowd. However, it was obvious he did need to keep face as the Oak Family's figurehead visiting another's system as a guest to discuss diplomatic ideals... A few deep breaths would cause his grip to falter and himself to turn towards the woman, one arm behind his back, and the other on the front of his suit now, "Apologies for my scene, I let my emotions get the best of me; very uncommon. However, I was expecting Madam Herta or another Genius Society Member to greet me rather than her posse." Such a small comment would cause some researchers to get the hint and move on, but others would remain, "I'm uncertain if you know who I am? I'm Sunday of the Oak Family from Penacony."

[dokuixote]

[12:29] | 📓 librarian!wonwoo

“Hey, thought you might like this too. :)”

a boyish handwriting scribbled in a yellow sticky note is taped at a book placed on your favorite spot at the library. again.

it’s the fourth time this month, you recall as you carefully fold the note and store it safely on your pocket. “I think you’ll have fun reading this. :)” “Try this. :)” “This is my favorite author. I think this book is up your alley. :)” you now have a growing collection of book recommendations lacking a name of the sender but always with a signatory in a form of a smiley face.

‘The Miracles of the Namiya General Store’ the cover reads. you scan the room for any sign of the mysterious sender, but to no surprise, everyone within your eyesight is too occupied to care hunched over their papers, books, and laptops. you also flip through the last page and scan the borrower history of the book only to find it empty.

you sadly sigh, wondering when you can meet this person to talk about the story and personally thank them for recommending books you have been genuinely enjoying reading for the past weeks. nameless and faceless, how are you supposed to say that you kept all the sticky notes of annotations in a clear jar at your desk back at home because it makes you smile when you catch a glimpse of it?

defeated albeit eager for a new read, you walk back to the librarian’s desk to officially borrow the book and consume it in the comforts of your own home.

“you again? i’m surprised there are still books here left for you to borrow.” wonwoo teasingly chuckles when he sees you approach with a book and your worn library card at hand.

“oh don’t you worry, i won’t steal your biggest geek world-title.” you roll your eyes at the librarian-turned-friend which earned a laugh from him. from the numerous small talks you had with wonwoo, you discovered he’s few years your senior, likes (and is alike) a cat, prefers mystery over coming-of-age, and he’s on duty during tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays because he attends classes during the rest of the week and sundays are reserved for campaign mode in his newly-installed RPG.

“hmm, interesting choice.” wonwoo comments while he flips through the book for information.

“you read it? is it good? oh and have you noticed anyone hanging out at my spot recently?” you fire away questions, subtly keen on discovering any clue on who’s been leaving books for you.

wonwoo looks up at you and raises his brows at your flushing cheeks and almost sparkling eyes. he puts his fingers up, “1, yes, i have read it. 2, yes it is good. i liked it. and 3, no, i haven’t seen anyone in your so-called spot which, by the way, isn’t just reserved for you even though you’re our secret-favorite customer. why are you asking?”

“nothing, just curious is all.” you clear your throat and pretentiously say with nonchalance, hiding the disappointment from thinking this is the day you finally have somewhere to start on finding your incognito friend.

wonwoo, knowing better, only gives you a pointed look.

“okay fine, it’s just someone’s been leaving all these books for me and i love every single one of it and i appreciate it and i just,” you explain and mumble, “i want to at least take them out for a coffee or something.”

“oh, then i’ll let you know if i notice something.” wonwoo bites back a smile and hands you the book now permitted to leave the premises of the local library. “hope you’ll like it as much as i did.”

you nod and thank him. “alright, i’ll get going now and trust your word. see you in 3 days! don’t miss me too much, wonwoo!” you jest as you exit.

wonwoo quietly laughs and shakes his head at how goofy you looked while giving him a salute through the glass door. once you were beyond his sight, he goes back to his desk and gets ‘Dollar Good Dream Department Store’. he reaches for a nearby yellow sticky note and writes, “Give this a try. :) <3”

maybe he’d give this book in a coffee shop soon.

[syzxu]

Promise?

|| Characters: Belphegor(mention), Beelzebub, NC (Nameless Character)

|| Genre: Angst

|| Warnings: Manipulation (i.e threat of death)

-------------------------------------------------------

A group of men are visiting a small town, all with unusually attractive features. They appear to be looking for somebody yet they won't put up missing posters or ask anyone in the small town. They would come together and relax in a local cafe before splitting up. When the sun fell, only then the group would be seen together and they would vanish. Only to reappear in another local spot.

This routine continued for a week. With the group increasingly becoming anxious, the locals also start becoming suspicious of these men. I mean, who doesn't ask the locals if they have seen someone?

On a Sunday afternoon, one of the men was walking around in peaceful silence. However, nothing in his mind is peaceful. Deep circles were embedded under his eyes and his nails were unruly from how much he chews on them. Questions kept repeating in his head, the outside noise having no way of entering.

He came across a market, where the noise somehow made its way into his ears. The voices of everyone overlapping each other felt chaotic alongside the questions that kept exploding in his head.

The man felt suffocated. His eyes swirling and ears ringing from all the noise. People yelling over each other, a dog barking, children running, the sound of meat being chopped, that ringing in his ear that just won't stop. Everything felt so painful in his ears, like the sound of chalk scraping a board.

And then... Quiet.

Like a silence that's not so silent.

His eyes zoomed on one figure in the crowd of overwhelming madness.

He started running towards this figure, determined to get out of the despair he so hated to be in.

He grabbed onto this figure weakly.

"Beel!" His voice cracked, relieved from finally finding the man he and his group were looking for. He could finally breath from all that suffocating mess.

The other man, Beel, only stared at him and with one simple movement, pulled the man right into the entrance of dark noise.

He shrugged his hand off and continued walking.

"Beel?.." The voice cracked again, out of confusion and anxiety. His feet quickly moved and followed the man, thinking nothing of the previous interaction.

"You must have been surprised! You were holding groceries after all.. Haha.." The voice laughed weakly in an attempt to lighten the mood, walking beside the man who paid no heed to him. He must be hallucinating, there's no way Beel hasn't greeted him back.

"So.. have you heard about ****? We haven't been able to talk to him.. Since.. you know.." The voice tried to make conversation, his hand making its way to his nape. It's getting cold..

The growing anxiety could not be ignored anymore. The voice didn't come all this way just to be ignored. They suddenly stepped in front of Beel and put their arms out, blocking his path and effectively making him stop.

"Beel. Why won't you answer? Why won't you talk to me!?" The voice looked into Beel's eyes for the first time in forever and his eyes made him shiver.

Why were they so...cold?

"Belphegor." Beel finally spoke, his voice full of disgust and hatred that it gave the voice, no.. Belphegor, goosebumps. Why? Why are you like this?

"Move." Beel demanded, his eyes dangerously dark.

Belphegor fell to the floor, his legs weak from Beel's overwhelming power. Why? Why are you so hostile towards me? I'm your twin..

The tall man swiftly moved around the fallen man, not even caring to help his twin back up. Leaving him in the cold as hours passed. Amidst the tension and overwhelming emotions, only one word kept Belphegor awake.

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

His twin was never seen again. No matter how many days and nights he stayed up, he never found Beelzebub again.

-------------------------------------------------------

Beelzebub arrived back at the home he so cherished, alongside his beloved. He opened the door, finding the usual mess the place is in. It's like someone's still in the middle of moving.

He closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen, ignoring the mess on the floor. He set down the groceries on the only clean spot in the room, the countertop. A pair of eyes eyes him from the kitchen door. This pair of eyes slowly approaches him from behind.

"The market, NC. Didn't I tell you?" Beel zmi

He knows this, of course. What kind of demon would he be if he didn't?

Beel turned around just at the moment the pair of eyes was going to pounce on him. Luckily, he was next to a light switch.

He flips it and the light reveals the pair of eyes were NC. They were in front of him, smiling gently. They had their arms spread out like one would for a hug.

"Beel.. I missed you." A soft voice echoed throughout the otherwiss empty room. They hug their lover tightly, breathing in his scent.

"Sorry for being gone so long.. The market was especially crowded." Beel whispered, returning the hug calmly. They were so small in his arms, how could they ever hurt him?

"Really?.. Don't go out anymore.." NC suggested, looking up at Beel with soft eyes that could melt even the coldest ice in the world. They held his cheek firmly yet the demon knows they are barely holding on.

Fragile, they were. They could not come out of the house so easily without proper safety measures. Poor NC. Beel must protect them from the outside.

"You know I can't, sugar.." Beel grumbled, melting into his lover's hand. He needed this warmth and care. After all, he treated his twin unfairly just earlier.

NC looked into Beel's purply eyes and their gaze became calculating, something Beel did not see. They noticed something was amiss with him.

"..Did you.. meet up with someone?" NC asked slowly, their eyes darkening when they noticed Beel flinching at the question.

"That's..." Beel hesitated, knowing his fragile lover is a very jealous person. He shouldn't have made it so obvious.

"..." Silence overtook the room and the warmth and softness Beel felt from his lover quickly vanished, replacing it with icy anger.

NC pulled away from Beel and moved to turn off the light, making the room even colder. They might think Beel can't see because of how dark it is, but he can. He saw everything.

How NC pulled on their hair.

"Why!? Am I not enough for you!?"

How they smashed everything they could.

"How could you do this to me!!?"

How they ruined the groceries Beel brought.

"I love you but you keep going against my wish!!"

How they screamed in pain, eyeing a certain object.

"I told you over and over, I don't want you meeting other people!!"

How they slowly picked it up and began moving towards Beel.

"Do you even love me back?!"

After a few moments, NC stood in front of them with a knife.

"I'll die, Beel. I'll seriously die without you."

When the moon showered the dark room with its light, Beel could see clearly again. There's no way NC could be so hateful. No. They can't.

What happened just now was distorted. It wasn't real. My NC would never trash things. No, they wouldn't. They're fragile and soft.. They wouldn't hurt a fly. They won't.

"Forgive me, NC. I didn't mean to upset you." Beel cautiously took the knife away from his fragile lover, immediately putting it back into its safety spot before pulling the wriggling human in his arms.

"I won't do it again, pumpkin.. I promise." Beel pecked at NC's head, effectively calming the lover's jealously.

"You'll always love me, right?.. And you won't leave me.. Right!?"" NC asked with anxious eyes, holding on to his arms tightly so that he doesn't leave.

"I'll always love you and I promise I won't leave you. I won't even if my brothers ask me to." His voice finally reassures them, giving out a sigh of relief.

Even though they've made up, their hearts have not. They have completely different thoughts.

I have to protect NC. I can't just leave them like this. I have to do this. I'm the only one that they trust. I won't leave you, NC. I promise.

I love Beel and he loves me. He loves me more than his awful family. I'm the only one for him. We're made for each other. I promise I'll kill you if you ever leave me.

-------------------------------------------------------

This isn't proofread :p i wrote this under an hour..

[neowinestainedress]

DYNASTY ⮚ NCT | epilogue

prev⏐ chapter forty-four ⏐ masterpost

warnings: none for this chapter

genre: fantasy au, royal au, super powers au

word count: 4.086k

summary: The apparent calm that reigns in Neo City breaks into million pieces when some members of the Neos find an outsider laying unconscious in the wood. After that, everything they know stops making sense. Menace from the past come back, while they have to rule on their city knowing that the menace of Simon’s dictatorial power is closer day by day. The past they never dared to face will wash over them like impetuous waves. The present is filled with doubts, regrets and the mystery of the lost memories of the nameless girl. The future is even more uncertain.

Can you break the chain with your past even if it’s running in your bloodstream?

taglist: @saeyeoniee  @shwizhies​​ @chenlejjang​  @pinkyzae | if you want to be added let me know under the masterpost or with a message

The sun was shining in the sky on a beautiful morning in May. The weather was nice and nature seemed to have found its balance with birds singing, rivers flowing and flowers growing, painting the green of rainbow. 

It hadn’t been easy to pull themselves together and go on with their everyday lives trying to not be eaten up with the fears they all shared, but they tried their best. Sticking together was the key to everything. No more running away at the first problem or hiding what they felt behind shields. Or at least, that was what they were trying to do. Because old habits are hard to die. 

One of the new things they came up with was eating lunch all together every Sunday. It was everybody’s free day, no plans, no problems, just them, acting like common people. Sundays were their days of joy, laughs, music and happiness. 

“Will you ever let us cook something?” Liv complained as she passed behind Anika, grabbing a tablecloth to head outside and place it on the table. 

“I like cooking. I used to do this every day, it kind of comes natural,” Anika answered. 

“Share your thrones some days,” Anastasia laughed, grabbing the bowl of bread. 

“As long as you don’t let me close to the stoves, I’m fine,” Soomin said, she was sitting down, or whatever position she was in, at the head of the kitchen table, eating a slice of bread she had just stolen from Anastasia. The curly-haired girl glared at her and then shook her head, walking out to place the bowl at the centre of the table. 

In the end, Soomin decided to stay, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do, anyway. Also, she needed to get her revenge and that was the only place she could at least find answers. 

“I need somebody to taste it and tell me if it’s good,” Anika said taking a small portion of the food in the spoon and turning around. 

Soomin jumped from the chair and shouted, “Here I am.”

“Didn’t you just say you have to stay away from the stoves?” Anastasia teased. 

“To cook,” she mumbled, chewing the food. “Not to eat. It tastes amazing by the way.”

The girl smiled at the compliment and then walked toward the oven to control the other dishes she was preparing. 

“Why are the men nowhere to be found when you need them?” Liv cursed walking back into the kitchen.

“You need a man?” The other three said in unison. 

“Ugh, I hate you,” Liv sighed. “And yes, I needed Sungchan to fix the pergola, he’s tall and will just take less time than us,” she explained, struggling with scissors while she was trying to cut something from a tend she was holding. 

Anika rolled her eyes to the sky and walked toward her. She grabbed the texture and scissors from her hand and cut it. “See, it’s that simple if you don’t freak out.” 

Liv smiled at her and then spoke. “Thanks, but I still need Sungchan to put this on.”

“We never put it, though,” Anastasia noted as she casually eat something from a pot with Soomin, before Anika could notice, glare at them and pull it away from them. 

“I know, but there’s the sun and it’s hot today, so Taeyong suggested putting it on.”

“Then why doesn’t he come and do it himself?” Soomin asked, shrugging. 

“Soomin for Heaven’s sake,” Anika said, rolling her eyes again. 

“What did I say?” 

“I heard you were looking for me!” Sungchan barged into the room with a bright smile on his face, arms open and his bright eyes wandering on them. 

“Yeah, I was looking for you,” Liv said, grabbing his arm and turning him toward the door. “Let’s go, strong man, help me put this on top.”

“Wait, but I want to eat something,” he lamented, trying to pull in the other directiong.

“No,” the brown-skinned girl said. “No more eating in my kitchen. Get out, come on, everybody.” And she pushed all of them out of the kitchen. 

“Hey, I was laying the table,” Anastasia said, looking at her with sweet eyes. 

“Fine, the only one allowed,” 

“I was helping her,” Soomin said. 

Anika glared at her. “You were eating, Soomin. It looks like you’re starving.” 

The black-haired girl rolled her eyes but then gave up and followed Liv and Sungchan outside. 

“You love us, admit it,” Anastasia chuckled while she was counting the fork she needed to bring outside. 

Anika laughed as she stirred the food in the pan. “I have to admit it, yes. You are impossible to hate,” she smiled. “Also, it reminds me of home, you know. Sundays were even louder, and not only Sundays. I had five years olds running between my legs while cooking while sixteen years olds were blasting music in the living room, this is paradise.”

“Do you miss them?” Anastasia asked, placing the fork in a small basket and starting to count the knives. 

The other girl lowered her head before looking back at her. “Yes, sometimes it feels like I stop breathing. It was so hard, Ana, but I raised them. I know it’s wrong and it shouldn’t be like this, but it really feels like my children were taken away from me.”

“Also, I’m scared because I have no idea how they are and how my father is treating them, you know? He doesn’t know them, at all.”

“I’m sure they learnt from you and are doing just fine,” Anastasia said, walking toward her to place a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you could try to meet them.” 

“But my father...”

“He doesn’t have to know. If you need help I can think of a plan, I’ll distract him and you’ll sneak in to see them.”

Anika laughed. “What if they don’t want to see me?”

“They want to see you. I would kill to see a sister like you again.”

Most of them were already sitting by the table but the lunch didn’t start yet, Anastasia was walking toward her seat when she glimpsed Liv, who was under the arcades sitting on the suspended chair they had bought recently. Nobody was with her and she took advantage of the situation to talk to her. 

“Hey,” she greeted with a small smile on her face. 

Liv raised her head and stared at her. She almost looked surprised, or maybe scared that they were together, alone. 

“Hey,” she said back, waving with her hand. 

“Can I talk to you?” 

Liv gulped. She knew it was coming, sooner or later it had to happen, and it was already too late for what she had first expected. Still, she nodded. 

“About what he said during the fight,” she whispered. “Is it true?”

Liv pressed her lips in a thin line and nodded, not able to say something more. Admitting out loud felt humiliating. 

“I’m sorry,” Anastasia said and Liv’s head snapped up. 

“And for what?” 

“I hurt you, all these years without knowing.” 

“It wasn't your fault, but mine for...falling for you," she admitted, her voice low. It was strange to say those words out loud, after all this time telling her what she felt. 

“You can’t decide who you love,” Anastasia answered, sitting on the floor in front of her. 

“Unfortunately,” Liv mumbled, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“Why you never told me?”

“I was afraid. Afraid of losing you, afraid of being... Different.”

“Well, you should’ve told me, we would’ve had lots of interesting talks on the topic and you would’ve found out you are not the only one.”

“You...?”

Anastasia nodded, pressing her lips in a thin line. 

Liv stuttered, trying to find something to say. “But I loved you. If I couldn’t have you like I pictured in my mind I at least wanted to have you by my side, I was just afraid you would’ve drifted away from me.”

“I probably couldn’t even hate you if you tore every page of my favourite book in front of my eyes,” Anastasia chuckled, making Liv laugh too. 

“Remember what you always used to say to me? Soulmates are not only lovers. A soulmate knows you, probably even before you know yourself. Because they can always look a little bit further and see what’s coming for you. It’s somebody that guides you. A soulmate is that kind of person you can just lay down in silence for hours and let your souls speak,” Anastasia said, her voice soft and calming. “And I knew you were mine since we started crawling side by side. Or when we would run down the aisle with those big ass ball gown dresses we never wanted to wear and then slump to the floor trying to steady our breath while we listened to the Nanny scream our names.” 

“God, we were unmanageable,” Liv laughed, a hand on her face to hide her embarrassment while she remembered what they used to do.  

“We would run around the kitchen table making the cooks curse at us and I understood you were my soulmate when you would steal anything but oysters, pickles and mint chocolate.” 

“If I wanted to eat toothpaste I would just wash my teeth,” she replied.

“See why I love you?” 

“I know, but I really couldn’t even think of being without you, or worst, having you right there but see our relationship completely changed.”

“I just want you to know that nothing will ever change who you are for me and what we have, Liv,” she reassured the ginger. “We survived an entire childhood surrounded by men I think love won’t be the thing that will tear us apart, right?” 

Liv laughed. “Fine, you have a point.” 

“I always do,” she winked. 

“But, what about you? Why you never said anything to me, either?” 

Anastasia looked at her, and took a deep breath. “I never paid much attention, always treated my sexuality simply like something that, is there, you know? I just knew that I felt good in my skin, and being attracted by everybody, but then when Jae and I started dating I felt wrong. Almost as if I was turning my back on my true self. Again, I had other things to worry about but I couldn’t help but wonder if I was... Faking it for all that time. If I wasn’t really bisexual but some kind of impostor. I could see my future with him and as every other person faded in my mind I kept wondering if it was real. If all of my other crUshes towards women and non-binary people were just something I had built up in my mind,” she whispered. “And I didn’t want other people to know, I just kept it to myself.” 

Liv nodded, she felt like that so many times. Thinking that she just wanted to be special and different without really being like that. She totally understood her feelings. “You don’t choose a gender, you simply chose a person. Your person,” she added. Probably by now Anastasia already knew, but she still wanted to make her feel valid. 

Anastasia nodded and then looked at her. “Why do I have to simply choose one person? Why can’t I choose you and him to be my persons?” Sure what she felt for them was different, two different types of love and affection, but she was sure that both of them were her soulmates. 

“Well, I kind of consider you my person too, and this goes beyond what I used to feel romantically,” Liv confessed.

Anastasia smiled and reached out for her to take her hand. Liv did and stood up, stretching from the uncomfortable position and smiled back. 

“Promise you will never hide anything from me again?” 

“I promise.” 

And then they finally hugged, this time with no skeletons in their closets, nothing to hide. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” Anastasia said, pushing Jaehyun lightly. 

“Who said I was staring at you?”

“Ah, I’m right here?”

“Maybe I was staring at Sungchan?” He joked. “He’s really hot.”

Anastasia glared at him and he laughed. 

“Okay, fine. I was staring at you, but you have to admit that Sungchan is hot.”

The girl turned to look at their friend who was busy chatting with Anika and Liv about something she couldn’t get, they were too deep in the heated conversation. 

“Yes, he is.”

“See, I’m always right,” he bragged. 

“Now, are you done? Can we move on from him?”

“Actually at the start, I was thirsting on you and you got mad at me?”

A gasped. “So you were thirsting?”

“No, I was looking at you with heart eyes because I’m whipped but you clearly don’t deserve me so I’ll find somebody else,” he said, turning around, pouting. 

“No, no,” she cooed, lifting his head with two fingers under his chin. “I’m just not used to it. You know it still feels so strange that we’re back together. That everything is fine, for real.”

“Don’t tell me you still suspect I’m a ghost,” he sighed, raising a brow. 

“Oh Lord no, I just can’t believe that after everything we’ve been through we always found each other. It’s absurd if you think about it.”

“That’s why I stare at you so much, to get back all the years I lost.”

Anastasia looked down, chewing the inside of her cheek and then reached for his hands, intertwining their fingers. “How did you do that?”

“What?” He asked, brushing his thumb on the back of her hand.

“Waited for me for so long even if you thought I was gone.”

“I didn’t do anything. My heart only beats for you, nobody else ever came close to you and what you made me feel.” 

“You would’ve waited forever?” She asked in surprise, staring at his face.  

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Why?”

“I always thought you had been a little bit too dramatic but when I lost you, I totally understood what you went through. I knew right at the moment that my heart would’ve never beaten the same for anybody else.” 

He chuckled, caressing her cheek. “Maybe we are dramatic.”

“I like us like that,” she replied, smiling big at him, “It’s not like somebody else has to stand us.”

Jaehyun nodded, then he leaned on the table and grabbed a white flower. He turned around and intertwined it in her curls. 

“That’s the sappiest thing –” she tried to say but was interrupted by his lips crushing against hers. 

“And you are the most beautiful being I have ever seen,” he smiled.

“They are...gross,” Soomin commented, staring at the scene in front of her eyes. “Gross but cute. I like them, they make a great match,” she added with a shrug. 

“Not really into romantic stuff, uh?” Yuta asked, resting his elbow on the table, tearing his gaze from his friends and turning it on the girl next to him. 

“Never had a taste of it, and probably don’t even plan to,” she replied. “And you?”

Yuta froze, he wasn’t expecting that question. He had never thought about love, probably because he had never seen it in his parents and wasn’t creative enough like his friends to go over and build his own fairytale, or maybe because he simply was convinced he couldn’t find somebody like him. 

“Yeah, never looked for it,” he answered, not convinced as he played with some crumbs on the table.

“Plan on looking for it?” She asked, resting her elbow on the wood and then her cheek against her fist. 

“Nah, I don’t need it,” he said. But deep down he felt like he was lying. 

“On one side, I have two who can’t get a room and on the other, two who are allergic to love, why it always has to be me?” Taeil commented with a groan. 

“First of all your not surrounded, we’re on the opposite side,” Yuta replied.

“And second, don’t eavesdrop on conversations.”

“You are right here, next to me!” Taeil defended, hands moving in front of him to show how close they were.

Yuta rolled his eyes. But Soomin laughed. 

“You are always on everybody’s business.”

“To his defense, I heard that too,” Taeyong said. 

“Oh yeah, the devil’s advocate,” Yuta threw his hands up in the air and waved them off. 

Doyoung looked at them with disgust, before he turned around to go back to conversating with Kun about something they were talking about before. 

“Oh my, we’re never kissing each other again if we’re going to create all this chaos,” Jaehyun exclaimed, throwing his head back. 

“Why are they even mad?” Liv chimed in. “I would kiss her every two seconds if I hadn’t seen her for three years.” 

“I’m mad at this man here,” Yuta pointed his finger at Taeil, “for not minding his business. 

“Not my fault I’m always caught in the middle,” Taeil replied, knitting his brow. 

“Not my fault you have nobody to kiss,” Jaehyun said, high-fiving Yuta. 

Anika slapped a hand on her forehead, every single lunch was the same. It was incredible how they could always find something to argue about. 

“Okay, everybody,” Sungchan stood up, clapping his hands once to gain their attention. “I have a big question for you.” 

Liv looked at him with a furrow. “Please, don’t start another drama.” 

“Are tomatoes vegetables or fruits?” 

“Oh shit, here we are again,” Anika whispered as she watched the chaos unfold.

“Happy now?” Jaehyun asked, leaning back on the chair to look at his friend. 

“At least they can elaborate, the other argument was dry. This one’s going to be funny,” Sungchan smirked. “Do we wanna bet?” 

“Sungchan no!” Liv, Anika and Anastasia screamed, already knowing that this wasn’t going to end well. 

The sun was low in the sky and painted the town golden. Fireflies were flying on the flowers and grass of the garden and firelights were lit up at the corners of the pergola. The breeze was blowing softly, making the hot heat more bearable. Instrumental music was playing from the speakers and filled the atmosphere as a nice background to their chatting. 

Nobody seemed tired, even if they had spent the whole day playing around, just like they used to do when they were kids.

Jaehyun never stopped being his competitive self while playing football. Kun never stopped tricking Yuta. Maybe Taeyong stopped worrying so much, but just a little bit less, and only because Anastasia convinced him to play and let himself go. Sungchan was too tall for Doyoung’s liking, who simply spent the whole time complaining about how unfair it was that the other team had him and Johnny. Taeil gave up mid-game, saying that he was too old for that and went to sit next to Anika, who was enjoying the show. Jungwoo was way too good at dribbling and Mark wasn’t really a good striker since he kept laughing at the smallest thing and always missed the ball.  

Somehow they still found the strength to argue about stupid things. Anastasia chuckled as she watched Sungchan, somehow it was always him, discussed with Doyoung and Jungwoo. 

Anastasia let her head fall against Jaehyun’ shoulder and breathed in the summer air. He didn’t pay her attention, too focus on talking with Liv and Anika about something, and simply wrapped an arm around her without shifting his attention. 

Her eyes wandered around and a strange sense of joy filled her heart. It all looked like a dream to her. Never in the last three years of her life, she would’ve imagined her here. To be honest, she simply couldn’t even imagine herself being alive, and yet, she was there. Alive. With her memories. Surrounded by the people she loved the most. 

And in that very moment, all the others fears she had about what was about to come next, grew thinner. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t. She was breathing. She was loved. She was alive. She was happy. 

When she arrived there she could only feel pain, and the road ahead seemed terrifying, uncertain and ... lonely. She had been played so much for her whole life that happiness simply didn’t feel like a sentiment that belonged to her. But she was proven wrong. 

The future was uncertain, and not easy, but it wasn’t scary anymore. She wasn’t going to go back. Never hiding again. Never running away. Never sleeping in the darkness of demons she didn’t want to face. The future was in front of her and she had to look at it proudly with her head high. 

She looked at all of them, her eyes studying them one by one. They were the most beautiful souls life could ever gift her, in all of their broken pieces and mistakes, they were true, every scar a piece of glass reflecting light and making them shine. Now she was sure they weren’t the kids they used to be, and only now she understood that she was happy they weren’t those kids anymore. Their past selves were hurt, used, betrayed, and shattered. But now, in front of her were standing new people, a little broken, but ready to heal and blossom. 

Anastasia was sure that she didn’t want to be anywhere else now that she had found her home, her family. It was them, it had always been them. Nobody was able to take them away from her, because they were marked on her skin, on her heart, deep in her soul. They were the marks that made her who she was, not the scars Simon and their parents left on her body, not the wounds she carried with her, not the bruises on her skin. She wasn’t that. She wasn’t defined by her pain, by the man that used to haunt her in the middle of the night, by the blood that was running in her veins. 

She was what she loved. 

She closed her eyes, and in her mind flashed happy moments of them together. The memories were bright, golden, and made her feel safe. 

Anastasia opened her eyes again, and let herself be lulled by Jaehyun’s scent. Her gaze met Taeyong’s who was looking at her with curios eyes, she smiled, and mouthed ‘I’m happy’. A sincere smile crept on the older’s face as his gaze turned sweeter than it was before. She had missed it so much, looking at Taeyong and feeling like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her on the coldest day of December, the kind of comfort only he could give. 

She then reached for Jaehyun’s hand and intertwined their fingers, he briefly looked over her with a questioning gaze but at her nod, he turned around again. Six months ago she would have never imagined holding hands with her lover. She didn’t even see love in her future, both because she felt unlovable and also because she thought she would have too many things to think about, leaving no time for it. But love was right there, and it was shiny and golden. It was comfort, laughs, and gentle touches. It was something that seemed painful for so long, just to turn into the safest feeling she ever felt. 

And it was nice. It was nice that she could finally breathe, that she could let her heart and mind rest. 

No more fear, she had promised to herself. She was leaving the past behind, and with it all the pain, the blood, the fire and the darkness. No more looking back. No more holding onto things that weren’t there anymore. It was time to let go. It was time to jump and dive into the sun, with the heart beating loud in the chest, waiting for a future that she wasn’t going to face by herself. 

And as the sun sunk further and further in the sky, the voices of her friends began to lower down, and tiredness was starting to take over everybody, she realized. 

The chain with the past was broken. 

And it was time to step into the future. 

She wasn’t alone anymore. She wasn’t scared anymore. Because she knew she would’ve found an answer to all her questions if she had the people she loved around her. 

It was time to let the darkness of the night behind and step into the daylight. 

From then on, she would’ve let her light shine through her.  

a/n: so this is the end (thank god). i'm sorry if this was disappointing but i had in mind to deal with some things in the sequel (that won't exist) so this is it. thanks for reading to the four people that stuck til the end! it would be nice to know what you think about it because even if i wasn't so confident about this anymore i put a lot of energy into writing it so if you want let me know your opinion.

+ it may come out a special chapter because i had started writing the sequel and there's a scene i wrote that i love too much and i wouldn't want to let it go to waste, but i need to see if it's understandable even without the sequel AND without having read this first.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

Here’s a free preview:

Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

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[hansolmates]

shiver | 08

banner done by the lovely @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut w/c; 874 a/n; AHH i really have no words rn. enjoy! [shiver masterpost]

“You’re going to let Jungkook penetrate you,” Sana echoes around your apartment, making you freeze up in the middle of your smoothie making. 

“I know.” 

“You told me you never wanted to speak to him ever again.” 

“I know,” you unpeel a banana, chopping it with your knife by using more force than necessary. 

“And you’re still going to let him breach you—” 

“Ohmygod—Sana!” you slam your blade down, stalking over the couch where Sana’s folding your laundry. 

Sana’s eyes widen comically, her face breaking into a smile as she watches you with excitement. It takes a lot for you to break yourself down, to wear away at the mask you’ve so carefully curated over the years. Turns out Jeon Jungkook is one of those weaknesses. 

“It’s just that y’know,” Sana resumes her previous activity, folding your laundry. She isn’t really folding it, just pushing it together it like a piece of paper and throwing it in the plastic light blue basket. She holds up a baby pink slip, the flimsy negligee glistening like ice in the light, “ah, so that’s why you messaged me about your underwear order? You’ve been planning this!” 

“No, I haven’t!” you jab your finger into the blender button, watching as the strawberries and bananas blitz. 

“As much as I love to see you grow because it makes me feel like a proud mother—” Sana pointedly ignores the childish snort you let out, “doesn’t it make you no better than Jungkook? I mean, he used you and now you’re about to use him.” 

“It’s fine, Sana,” you pour the finished concoction into two portable cups. When you realize that you made a little extra, you throw the excess smoothie into a glass mug. You hear a knock on your door, and you move towards the front with your mug in hand. “Besides, it’s just sex.” 

“Bold of you to say ‘it’s just sex’ when you’re a virgin.”  

You open the door, thinking it’s probably an old neighbor asking for sugar or something. The one in 3B always asks for some random ingredient, they’re always in late-night baking stupors. But to your chagrin it’s Jungkook, looking very disgruntled. He’s sockless, wearing a large hoodie and sweatpants. His hair is soft and tousled, looking shiny like it was washed just last night. 

“Bunny, it’s 7AM and you’re so loud,” his voice is gravely, rough around the edges. He clamps his hand on the doorhenge, leaning in to twiddle his fingers in front of your friend, “hey Sana.”  

“Hi, Kookie!” 

You arch your body so you block Sana’s, leveling Jungkook with a stare, “Sorry, we’re just about to leave.” 

“I would also appreciate if you don’t share our potential sex lives,” you feel your body shrivel up, mouth dry as you regard Jungkook’s sleepy gaze. “Any questions you have about what we’re doing together, you should be asking me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you lower your head, the gesture automatic. 

“I’m not mad,” Jungkook bends his knees, pressing the pad of his finger to your chin so you’ll tilt up, “is it making you nervous? Your yelling scared the heck out of me, are you getting cold feet?” 

“No. I don’t know. I mean, it’ll only be fifteen minutes—” 

“Whoa. We’re taking things slow,” Jungkook makes a face, and you can’t help but twist in response, “what do you think sex is? A hurdle?” 

“But, I don’t want you sleeping with other girls while we’re also doing it.” 

“I’m not going to be sleeping with other girls,” he replies, “and if it makes you feel better, I’ll get tested.” 

“It does make me feel better,” you feel impossibly small, unable to look at him in the eye. 

“You’re making it sound like I don’t care about you.” 

It’s so much easier to overlook the two decade lifespan you’ve spent with Jungkook, especially without the backdrop of Sunday mornings and Youth Group. Here, an hour away from your tiny hometown, you’re nameless and faceless. You can go wherever you want to go with no repercussions, and your friends aren’t dictated by your worship or theirs. 

Jungkook is someone you can’t bypass. You can hide all you want with Sana, because you’ve only recently met. You can tell her what you want to tell her. Jungkook knows it all, from when Jimin had to tie your waist with his cardigan when you got your first period to when you accidentally ate all of Auntie Nessa’s ginger cookies for the choir. 

Even if it’s by mere obligation, proximity of being near each other for so long, Jungkook cares about you. It would be an insult for you to assume that this transaction would be minute. 

“Let’s have dinner this Wednesday,” Jungkook looks like he wants to say more, but refrains when he remembers you still have a guest in the room. He snatches the glass from your hands instead, your extra smoothie going to him. “Thanks for breakfast,” he winks, turning away to go back into his apartment. 

As soon as you slam the door shut, you give Sana a pointed look. “Don’t say a word.” 

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” and because Sana can’t help herself, she blurts, “your dirty little secret’s safe with me, Bunny.”  

[roach-works]

here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted:   Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.   They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees.   “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Wednesday Morning

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Frankie x reader oneshot (cishet FM, one nameless kid, established relationship)

Rating: M. Talk of sex but mostly just fluff and Domestic!Frankie.

Summary: Some mornings are just really, really nice. Frankie is nice. Your kid is nice. Life is nice. <3

Part of my Mornings With Frankie series

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday

The early morning light courses in through the kitchen windows and makes the white of the morning paper even brighter. Frankie squints a little and looks up to rest his eyes from the illumination, just as you walk in.

“Morning,” you mumble as you head straight for the coffeemaker, where Frankie has providently placed your big mug. Standing by the counter, you fill the mug with black, aromatic coffee and take the first, heavenly sip. Your hair is in a messy bun, you’re wearing an old tank top and capri-length pj pants and your bare feet are washed white in the sun. Looking at you, Frankie feels the sudden urge to sweep you off your feet and take you back upstairs, back to bed. Not only for sex but also for that precious time to just be together in a state of limbo where no duties are demanding your attention, no clocks are reminding you that time is short, where nothing exists but Frankie and you, bathing in morning light and tangled sheets.

He smiles ruefully to himself, knowing that an indulgence of that kind is impossible today, on a normal Wednesday morning, and barely attainable in the weekends what with a house and a child that require your attention. But that still doesn’t stop him from indulging in at least touching you.

He gets up and walks up behind you, softly sliding one hand around your waist, the other stroking down your bare arm. He presses a warm, loving kiss to your neck and rests his face there, inhaling your scent.

“You’re so awesome, baby,” he mumbles, knowing it’s inadequate but not knowing what else to say. Still, he knows you well enough to know that you, in turn, know him well enough to know what he means.

Your free hand slides over Frankie’s as you sip a little more coffee.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you note in a voice soft and a little rough from having not been used yet today. You tilt your head a little more to the side and Frankie obediently places a few more kisses on your neck.

“Any guy would be if he got to see you first thing in the morning,” he offers and you reward his compliment by leaning back a little against him.

“Ohh, that’s smooth...”

“You know me...”

Gently, but with a growing pressure, he holds you to him and kisses your neck again, carefully rubbing his raspy chin against the skin that he knows is so sensitive. You sigh in pleasure and turn your head, reaching your lips to his for a kiss. You have morning breath mixed with the taste of coffee but he doesn’t mind; your morning kisses are so soft, so succumbing. It's like you want to melt into him, one little kiss at a time.

Slowly, he presses his groin to your ass, directing you against the counter. You sigh again, a hint of a moan increasing the volume of the dainty sound, and he can feel you yield to him. He slides one hand up your side and over to your front, finding one breast and cupping it. The nipple rises to his touch immediately and you hold your breath for a second before releasing it in the form of a small gasp. Your neck is suddenly covered in goosebumps but only for a second.

One hand on your breast, Frankie lets the other hand roam down to the waistline of your pants but just as he’s about to slip his hand inside, he hears the tell-tale sounds of your four-year-old daughter slowly coming down the stairs, dragging her feet.

He can tell you heard it, too; you're suddenly tensing up and the next sigh that comes from you is one of frustration, not desire. Frankie puts both hands on your hips and makes you turn around to face him.

“Tonight, when that kid’s asleep, I want you in this exact spot, in this exact position,” he tells you in a low voice that makes you yearn for nightfall. You smile, a little dazed by his previous ministrations, and kiss him just as your daughter comes into the kitchen, looking sleepy but ready to start a new day. Frankie, self-conscious with his semi-erection, lets you take the girl but gives her a kiss on the cheek when she’s in your arms.

“You’re up early, sweetie.”

“The sun waked me,” the girl yawns. Her room, just like Frankie and yours, and the kitchen, faces east and the sun serves as a wonderful, albeit a little early, wake up call in the mornings.

“Wasn’t that a lovely way to wake up, though?” you ask and kiss the halo of wispy soft hair surrounding your daughter’s head. The girl mumbles something affirmative and rests her head on your shoulder, and Frankie gestures for you to sit down while he starts to prepare breakfast for you. You sit down on what has become your place at the table and let your child slumber against your chest while you yourself close your eyes against the bright morning light. The weight of your baby girl in your arms and the sounds of Frankie fixing breakfast serves as a mindfulness exercise and you realize that in this moment you are happy in the simplest possible way.

Frankie watches you bask in the sun while he's toasting bread and mixing nuts and dried fruit into a bowl of yoghurt. You’re so beautiful, both of you! The frustration he felt at the lost opportunity of a quickie is gone and replaced with an overwhelming sense of pride and love. When he serves his family breakfast he knows exactly why he's alive despite his many years in active service, and what his mission is now. There is nothing he loves more than to be of service to the two loves of his life.

He takes the girl from you, kisses her cheek and inhales the sweet, full scent of sleepy, warm child before setting her down on her own chair. He pushes the paper to the side and butters up toast for her and when she wants him to cut the crust off for her, he does it immediately despite your unspoken protest. You all enjoy an unusually peaceful breakfast, the kid being on her sunniest and best behavior which is a blessing any day of the week. When she's eaten, you send her upstairs to get dressed, promising the be there to help her shortly. But before that, you slide into Frankie's lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for breakfast, my love,” you smile, losing your fingers in his slightly overgrown mop of hair.

"You are very welcome." Frankie's smiling back, his brown eyes softening at the sight of you. "I love you, baby."

"And I you." You dip down to taste his lips with almost shy little nips before he pushes his mouth to yours with a low, impatient hum. His arms go around your waist to pull you closer as his tongue slides in between your teeth and dances around your tongue. You feel a familiar tingle run down your spine to the base of your pelvis but before you can - very unwillingly - push Frankie away from you, your darling daughter calls out for you from upstairs.

"Mmm. Cock-blocked again," you grin against Frankie's lips.

"We don't have time anyway," he sighs regretfully. "But remember what I said about that exact spot by the counter tonight...

"It's a date, Mr. Morales." You smiles wickedly and give him one final, quick peck on the lips before getting up from his lap and going upstairs to cater to your daughter's needs. Frankie wistfully stares after your ass before adjusting his pants and starting to clear the kitchen table.

[sexydeathparty]

Halle Berry Is Heartbroken Her Oscars Win 20 Years Ago 'Didn't Open The Door'

Halle Berry is crushed that she’s still the only Black recipient of the Best Actress award at the Oscars.

“It didn’t open the door,” lamented Halle, who took home the coveted title 20 years ago for her role in “Monster’s Ball,” in an interview with The New York Times published on Thursday. “The fact that there’s no one standing next to me is heartbreaking.”

At the time, Halle said, she never expected to win. Footage of the moment at the 2002 Oscars shows her in total disbelief, repeating: “Oh my God, oh my God.”

On the stage, clutching her golden statue and openly sobbing, she said: “This moment is so much bigger than me.”

She dedicated her win to Dorothy Dandridge, Diahann Carroll, Angela Bassett and other Black women who had been nominated before her.

“It’s for every nameless, faceless woman of colour that now has a chance because this door tonight has been opened,” she said.

That same night, Denzel Washington became the second Black man to win Best Actor. In the two decades since, two more Black men, Jamie Foxx and Forest Whitaker, have won the Academy Award for Best Actor, but Halle remains the only Black woman to have won the top acting award for women.

Eight years passed before another Black woman was even nominated in the category, and it’s happened just six more times since.

No Black women are nominated for the Best Actress award this year.

Diversity and representation at the Oscars have slowly begun to improve in recent years following public pressure and outcry. In 2015, activist April Reign created the #OscarsSoWhite hashtag when zero of the 20 acting nominees were people of colour. The same thing happened in 2016.

Last year, a record nine actors of colour were nominated for Oscars. The 2022 lineup features four.

Halle said the lack of another Best Actress win by a woman of colour does not detract from the wonderful work being done by her contemporaries.

“We can’t always judge success or progress by how many awards we have,” she said.

“Awards are the icing on the cake — they’re your peers saying you were exceptionally excellent this year — but does that mean that if we don’t get the exceptionally excellent nod, that we were not great, and we’re not successful, and we’re not changing the world with our art, and our opportunities aren’t growing?”

The 94th Academy Awards will take place on Sunday.

READ MORE:

23 Oscars Highs And Lows From Past Years That Defined The Academy Awards

Benedict Cumberbatch, Dame Judi Dench And Olivia Colman Lead British Nominees At The Oscars

14 Biggest Snubs And Surprises From This Year's Oscar Nominations

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