#need to think about him but i don’t read much SOBBING WE NEED MORE WRITERS IN LIGHTER NATION

[luminique]

Omg omg imagine Bellum as like your adoptive brother figure and he like finds out Lighter likes you and is trying to get you and he becomes shocked and tries to keep him away from you like those old romance stories

OUGHAGSJSHSK i can definitely see that !!

bellum would try to embarrass lighter in front of you by challenging him and then utterly failing. this does give lighter more opportunities to see you in the first place so he doesn’t decline the offer.

it is also a little humorous because despite not interacting much (due to bellum always stopping lighter), he remembers your name and is always looking for you before and after the fights. however, he doesn’t really remember bellum and only vaguely does so because of you. i fear that he is very much into you and bellum takes both mental and physical damage because of it.

at the very least, you’re still caring for bellum as your brother but it does make you question why he’s doing all this over YOUR love life (most typical question i have when it comes to romance plots). you can’t even count how many times he has lost to lighter and it’s pretty obvious that he isn’t on the same level but you do reassure him, not just about his own strength but also yours too.

the last fight he has with lighter ends up being a little longer than usual. he was able to land a few hits but wasn’t able to fully beat him. he ends up lying on the ground before lighter reaches out a hand for him to grab. that one gesture and after all your talk, bellum finally accepts defeat and brings you along with him to properly apologize about the whole situation.

and then everyone lived together happily ever after because this is a cheesy, romantic love story !

[justminawrites]

None of you understand Amber Bennett: She's just a girl, your honour. A review of the show writers' least favourite love story from Invincible season 1.

Now let me just preface this by saying I have 2 points to make. Just two, very long, super rambly points that does have mild spoilers for Invincible season 2. Read at your own risk.

Point 1: Amber isn't "understanding" enough is utter bullshit.

There’s no indication that civilians outside of the ones associated with the GDA have any idea how brutal fights are for superheroes. Amber quite literally has no idea what the hell Mark is going through, even after the superhero reveal. The only thing she has a smidgeon of understanding of is his dad beating his ass on live TV. And even that is a heavy maybe because we don’t know how much of the fight the cameras could cover and how much was broadcast to the general public. 

Point 2: Amber’s dated Losers before.

This is stated explicitly in canon, she's “been down that road." Furthermore, she’s also the daughter of a single-parent household. She used to hang out a community centre as a kid because her mom did late hours. Daddy Issues anyone? She’s got a lot of her own problems that we never get to unpack or linger on because the writing decided she wasn’t going to end up with Mark. 

What if she’d already dated an absolute bastard before Mark? Someone who seemed sweet and genuine at first, but then he started slacking. He’d be late to dates, stop taking an interest in anything she did, and just never show up for her in any way that mattered. Amber would make up excuses with her friends and family, oh he’s busy, he’s studying; he cares, I swear, he just has a strange way of showing it. 

Her friends and family don’t believe her completely but they humor her because she really seems to like him. And the ex-boyfriend isn’t a douchebag the whole time.. he brings gifts to make up for being late, he plies and pacifies her with honeyed words and promises to be better.

But each time the lies get more and more difficult to believe. Traffic and science projects, traffic and science projects, even when he shows up smelling like weed and alcohol. Her friends and family give her tight-lipped smiles when her ex-boyfriend gives her sloppy kisses and proclaims over and over “She’s too good for me, this one.”

She tries to be empathetic, she tries to be understanding when they’re alone, he can tell her what it is that’s wrong. But every-time she brings up giving them some space, he takes it as an indication of her not believing him and he guilts her with one sob story or another— she knows him, he was so gentle and respectful before they started dating, does she really think he’d do this to her if he didn’t have a good reason? Just a masterclass in gaslighting. So she gives him a second chance, third chance, fourth even. 

But then he begins cheating on her. Whenever she confronts him about it, he plays victim and accuses her of being “crazy” even though the entire school knows otherwise. She catches him one fine day, and dumps him on the spot. For a short while, Amber’s very proud of this but as time passes she starts to feel extremely embarrassed that it took that long for her to catch on. 

No one blames her, of course, but they all say something along the lines of “We never liked him anyway” which makes Amber doubt the perception of him she had. She internalises their support as a failing on her part to be vigilant, she didn’t want to end up making the same mistakes as her mom, after all. 

Amber becomes guarded. She doesn’t entertain male attention (from Todd, for example) but then she finds out resident wimp Mark Grayson takes a beating for her and she feels bad. 

So she gives him a chance. Mark was a nonissue, a nobody with no track record of being amazing or awful, just an in-between, normal guy who was maybe a little soft spoken and needed to stand up for himself more. 

But every time they try to hang out, something comes in between them. The excuses are laughably obvious this time and Amber is caught between trying to understand if Mark Grayson is trying to let her down easy because he’s not interested or if he’s just another douchebag taking her for a ride. 

He leaves her alone during their study date for an hour to do something shady and/or potentially related to Eve (I know she overheard him yelling at Cecil in his bedroom); Mark tells her he’s been to Mount Everest, but can’t tell her How he got there, and leaves on a non-specific trip for two weeks, right after their first date, and can’t even tell her Where he’s going or what he did when he was there?

So she does what she’d wished she’d done in her first relationship, she sets her boundaries. Firmly. She gives Mark multiple chances to come clean when she tells him she’s not riding that wave again. It’s been brought up a few times that Amber has lingering relationship-trauma.

During their study date Amber tells him she’s been in relationships with violent potentially abusive guys (“Met plenty of guys who were willing to throw a punch for me.”); or when he stands her up for the Dinner with her mom she tells him that he needs to make a choice because she’s “Been down this road before, and once was enough.”

But he still keeps at it and she starts getting tired of defending him to her friends and her mom. He’s just busy, he’s just studying; he cares, I swear, he just has a strange way of showing it. And this time they shake their heads and lightly imply that she’s stuck in a pattern. Amber can feel them comparing Mark to her old boyfriend and it all becomes a bit too much. 

Either he’s a no good drug dealing prick or he’s just wasting her time, whatever it is, Amber’s had enough of being left in the dark. 

The soup kitchen is the final straw, but then she finds out that he gets run over by a bus. He actually gets hurt, this is the first time Amber’s seen him hurt, and she feels awful because if she hadn’t pushed him to show up for her again and again maybe he would’ve been more careful. 

He doesn’t let her visit him in the hospital. A hit and run on the wrong side of town was the story this time— he can’t even tell her this, the specifics of his accident! Eve was his first point of contact after his parents?! At this point Amber is convinced that he’s involved in something violent or something to do with Eve, or both and she’s not sure she wants to keep going with this. 

Amber is confused and hurt but she also feels responsible for Mark’s injuries. Maybe she Was too paranoid, maybe she Was projecting all her relationship-trauma on him and he would tell her what happened at his own pace. So she backtracks, gives him another chance.

College is really the best of all worlds, Mark makes her promises that this time will be different, and Amber tentatively agrees to college together. (She’s still stressed out about his injuries and on edge the whole time though and asks if he has a concussion). 

This is really important because Amber ends up at Upstate U later. She decided to go to college with him, basically because of Him. This wasn’t any specific plan she had before, this was her making room in her life for this boy and potentially everything their lives could be together. 

Then the Reanimen Incident happens. And she loses her shit. Mark Grayson is not the flakey but well-intentioned boyfriend she thought he was.. Mark Grayson is not even a good person! He LEFT her and William at the drop of a hat to save his own slimy skin, that bastard! Her intuition was right, she never should’ve given him a chance. 

Amber was no longer going to give Mark Grayson the time of day, much less share a bed with the self-serving jerk; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of spinning another tall tale. Or seeing her cry. She closes the door to the shower rooms behind her, and overhears Rick leaving to get them all some beer. Dorm room walls are thin, after all.

Then she hears something else.

“You’re Invincible!” William’s voice carries over excitedly, “And you never told me?”

Here goes the "problematic" bit.

I think Amber was lying when she told Mark she knew he was Invincible weeks ago. Amber didn’t even know who Invincible was until a few minutes after the Reanimen attack. She isn’t acting for anyone around her, she’s genuinely confused when the superhero jets off because she’s never seen him in her life. 

I think she overheard William freaking out about it in the dorm room and she pieced together Mark’s absences with his vague excuses and why couldn’t visit him at the hospital. She takes a shower to cool off but sitting and stewing on all of it just makes her angrier and she decides to go to the frat party just to get away from Mark for a while. 

Now why wouldn’t she just tell him she overheard them talking? 

Amber is an assertive independent character with a lot of pride. And that’s not a bad thing. Amber has a lot to be proud of. She has a strong sense of justice, she doesn’t take crap from anyone and she has too much self-worth to put up with liars. 

You can clearly see this in the way she approaches Mark in the beginning. She asks William if he’s dating Eve, and then instead of calling him herself, she gets Todd to give Mark her number so he can call her if he’s interested, despite the fact that she already is. She has too much pride to chase him. It’s one of her fixed flaws, and it’s consistent to her character. 

So finding out that Mark is actually Invincible almost by accident, is kind of embarrassing for Amber. Not only because she yelled at him for disappearing but for all the times he misled her and lied to her only to actually have a good reason for doing it. There’s a lot of mixed emotions there, shame, guilt, concern. Guilt.

Admitting that she overheard he was Invincible would be like admitting she was a stupid, nagging girlfriend who had no right to be a part of his life (the way the fandom perceives her) so she doesn’t. She tries to distract herself with the party, flirts with someone she just met not ten minutes ago, and feels awful because he immediately drops the girlfriend bomb. 

Now she’s forced to confront the fact that she has a boyfriend, and her flakey, well-intentioned superhero boyfriend is sitting and moping in the dorm room because she doesn’t have the guts to tell him she knows. Because telling him she knows would remove the choice he’d need to make when deciding whether or not he was serious about their relationship.

Amber was serious, Amber was going to change her life and potentially open her future to college with him, but was Mark really sure about Them if he couldn’t even tell her of his own accord? 

Telling him would be like giving him another out. And Amber was done giving him an out. 

When he finally confesses he doesn’t see why she’s mad at him, because he doesn’t see her at all. He can’t even begin to imagine what this roller coaster of a weekend has been for her because she’s been serious about him all this time and it took them breaking up completely for Mark to choose her back in the first place and go all in. 

Now it’s true that Mark is entitled to his secrets but Amber is also entitled to being upset that he can’t tell her 1 solid thing about his life. Not one thing does he trust her enough to explain, and at that point why should they even be dating each other? Why should she change the course of her future for a guy who can’t tell her where he was last weekend?

Then Omni-man beats him up on live TV, and now that she knows that he’s Invincible, she finally gets a glimpse into the bloody, gruesome world that is Mark’s. His Dad isn’t a superhero, his Dad is a Monster, and Mark is discovering this the same time as the rest of the world.

So she freaks out because she cares, and she’s so relieved to see him not beat to a bloody pulp like on TV that she kisses him. She likely had no intention of getting back together with him before that, but world-ending fiascos often come with heightened emotions, and they’re just kids at the end of the day. 

She’s not a manipulative, narcissistic villain, she’s just a proud girl, in love with a boy who can’t decided whether or not he loves her back. 

Now do I think Mark is a terrible jerk who doesn’t deserve Amber? No. I watched Invincible the same way it was intended, almost entirely through Mark’s eyes, and it’s hard to assign blame in this case because we see how horrifying and traumatic being a superhero actually is. But that’s the point, we only see one half of the story. 

We see Amber through Mark’s eyes and in his opinion she could afford to be more compassionate to his excuses the moment she finds out he’s a hero, the way Eve can, but that’s not true at all because Amber has no idea what being a hero is like. Eve does, and that’s the difference that Mark is wilfully blind to. 

But Mark also has no idea what Amber’s life is like and it’s easy to get lost in the sea of all the lives lost and villains fought, that he genuinely hasn’t spent any time with his girlfriend as a person beyond his Girlfriend. Amber isn’t a person to him, like William stopped being eventually; they became sort of tethers to Mark’s humanity, a way to distinguish himself from his Dad. A way to ground him. 

Seriously? When was the last time Mark even talked to William, his once Best Friend? They’re not his Mom, they’re concepts to him. They’re civilians, potential victims he could end up losing if he doesn’t police himself and his powers. Mark slowly becomes disillusioned to his own life as a human, the more the leans into the Viltrumite half of his parentage. 

It’s a little tragic but it’s the story we’re seeing. In season 2, when Mark and Amber break up and he gives up his dream for college, these two things are almost explicitly correlated. Mark is coming to terms with the fact that he’s going to outlive everyone he knows, even his new baby brother and that is just the most chaotic example of a slow-burn trauma if I’ve ever seen one. He’s giving up being human, but maybe not giving up his humanity. 

______________________________________________________________

TLDR: None of you understand Amber Bennett because the writers decided that Mark would outlive her before he ever had the chance to see things from her perspective and I am SALTY about it

[milkywaygg]

A Papa's Fears

AN: I’ve finally gotten around to writing again after not being able to sleep (3 hrs before work too rip) but I couldn’t wait around to write this. Mama Cosma in this is VERY different than the one I normally write her as, so you can consider this non-canon to my AU (or not even part of) if you like. I’ve just been going through a huge writer’s block lately, plus my Splatoon addiction doesn’t help lol. But I’ll try to post more often. Anyways, enjoy! Also MPREG is involved in this fanfic as most of my work is, so if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, this isn’t the story for you.

Mr. Cosma sighed a breath of exhaustion as he slunk down on the vibrant, purple couch: the weight of his belly finally overcoming him. Taking off the pink apron that he had sported ever since his wife had left for work that morning, he took a long look around the house, satisfied with his work. Every unused outlet plugged up, the kitchen counters and doors covered with child locks, furniture dusted, floors vacuumed, baby-gates installed. All that was left was for his wife to come home and help him install carbon monoxide detectors and make sure fresh batteries were placed in the smoke detectors.

The longer he sat around and looked however, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing, but he couldn’t remember what it was. The cleaning supplies had been moved from the kitchen sink to his and his wife’s bathroom, the nursery was set up, and he had just about checked every aspect of the house, MULTIPLE times. What could he possibly be missing? As he shuffled around the couch to look over the living room for the hundredth time, he let out a yelp as a glowing, gold light ignited, forcing him off as he watched the couch shrink, becoming miniscule compared to is wand that he left on the couch. Letting out a small squeak, Mr. Cosma launched himself towards the wand and grabbed it, shaking it to stop its magic; the couch no bigger the size of a mint.

How could I be so stupid. We can’t be leaving these around! What if the baby gets a hold of one? What if…oh how could I forget so easily.

“Honey? What happened to our couch?”, his wife asked, closing the front door behind her as she placed down her briefcase, “And what are you doing? I thought I told you to take it easy today.”

“I-I-I I know hun. I just…”, Mr. Cosma stammered, unable to answer his wife. Smiling gently at him, Mrs. Cosma pulled out her wand and pointed it towards their mint-sized couch, turning it back to normal. “I-I’m so sorry darling. It was an accident. I-I was just so lost in thought that I-“

“Babe, sit down. You standing around all stressed out is not good for the baby.”, Mrs. Cosma said softly, placing his hands on her husband’s shoulders, sitting him down gently, “What’s the matter? How did this happen?”

“I-I just…”, Mr. Cosma stuttered some more, before tears started sprouting from his emerald green eyes, staining his reading glassed, “I’m sorry. I-I just wanted to help.”

“Shh…shh…baby it’s ok.”, she said soothingly, hugging him gently as she rubbed his back.

“I ruin everything.”

“No you don’t darling. Why do you think you ruin everything?”

“I-I’m such an idiot. I was trying to make sure our home w-was safe for our baby since he’s almost here and I…I left my wand on the couch and it shrunk..and I almost got hit..and what if that had been our baby”

“Ok babe, breathe for me.”, Mrs. Cosma instructed, grabbing his hands firmly as she demonstrated a proper breath. She let him continue sobbing before he started breathing, his tears finally coming to a halt. “Do you need some water?”

“No dear…”, he sniffed, “I just want our baby to be safe. I-I knew I was forgetting something. I didn’t even think about what would happen if he got a hold of our wands. He can’t use adult magic yet! He’s not ready!”

“Sweetheart, it’s ok. We’re going to lock them up from now on. It was just a little accident. Don’t beat yourself up. The fact that you’re even worrying this much just proves to me that you don’t ruin everything. I’m sure you’re doing to be the best father in the world to our little Cosmo.”, she said softly, wiping the last of his tears from his cheek, “Think about it. It’s a good thing this happened. If it happened, then you wouldn’t have remembered our wands, right?”

“I-I guess so. Just..”, Mr. Cosma sighed, anxiety still overcoming his body as he looked down at his belly, “I’m sorry darling. I’ve been such a handful lately. I-I’m just ready for him to be born so bad. I’m tired of all these hormones, I’m tired of the vomiting, and I-I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to come home to me looking like a mess. I haven’t even started dinner yet.”

“Then we’ll get something delivered. It’s no big deal. I just want you to rest. We don’t have much time left anyways, but you worrying about everything and stressing yourself out isn’t going to do any good.”, Mrs. Cosma said, “I know you want to give the baby a good home. I do too, and I’m glad you’re taking all the precautions into doing so, but you’ve got to take care of yourself too, especially since we’re due pretty soon.”

“Well..I just…I don’t want anyone to die from an accident. Of course, I’m especially talking about the baby but what if something happens to you or I? What if something happens to me that I can’t take care of my baby. What if an accident like this kills us-“

Mrs. Cosma interrupted her husband by kissing him on the mouth, pulling him close and allowing him to melt into her body, a sense of security and warmth around him.

“Darling, please just trust me. Trust me to provide and take care of his household, and trust yourself that you’re going to do a good job with the baby, ok? No more worrying. Cosmo doesn’t want daddy to worry anymore.”, she smiled at him, “Everything’s going to be ok. I promise you. I love you too much to lie to you.”

“I-I love you too. Thank you.”, Mr. Cosma said softly, sniffing though his tears were finally clearing up, “Honey?”

“Yes dear?”

“Do you know if we have any pickles left? And peanut butter?”

“Yes but don’t spoil your dinner. I’m about to order.”, she laughed softly as she made her way towards the landline phone in the kitchen, “Pizza ok?”

[disgruntledkittenface]

annual* writing self evaluation

thank you @kingsofeverything and @nouies for tagging me!

1. List of works published this year:

I Choose You

when we're finished saying nothing

count me in

too into you

routine surveillance

you wanna be on top?

Suddenly Last Summer

if i'm being honest

it's a holidate

Red

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Suddenly Last Summer. I let myself let go and have fun and write exactly what I wanted, and I love the way it turned out.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I hate this questionnnn

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I love this bit from Red, the fic I wrote for @crinkle-eyed-boo birthday:

When Harry turns his head to bite Louis’ earlobe, Louis buries his face in Harry’s hair, breathing him in. He detects a faint whiff of smoke, and frowns.

“Did you smoke?”

Harry presses his face into Louis’ neck, nodding. 

“Oh, no,” Louis says, rubbing a soothing hand over Harry’s bare back. “I know you hate to smoke without me.”

Louis barely hears the whisper as Harry says, “I’m sorry,” since he doesn’t bother to lift his lips from Louis’ skin. But then Harry says it again, louder, following it with a kiss against Louis’ neck. And then again, over and over, leaving apologies and kisses against Louis’ skin like he wants them to stay, as permanent as the ink of their tattoos. Louis sags against the wall, trusting Harry to hold his weight, as the relief finally hits him. Harry hates apologizing, even when he knows he’s wrong. And Louis can’t even remember who was wrong, and more than that, he doesn’t care. He just wants Harry back. He doesn’t need Harry to beg, and it feels like that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. 

“Baby,” Louis says at last. “Stop, stop it. I’m sorry.”

A tear slips down Louis’ neck, and he wrinkles his brow in confusion. He hasn’t cried in several minutes, a record for him today, if not every day since the breakup. But then a sob wracks Harry’s body, his grip tightening on Louis as his shoulders shake. 

“Oh, baby,” Louis says, petting Harry’s hair. “No, baby, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“I just missed you,” Harry chokes out. When he draws back, it’s Louis’ turn to smooth away his tears. “I missed you so fucking much, Lou.”

“I missed you, too,” Louis says, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “We’ve never been this stupid before, have we?”

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I really loved getting both @kingsofeverything and @allwaswell16 reactions to Suddenly Last Summer! Lauren theorized via voice note and I was glued to my email while Anitra commented as she read, and it all just felt really good!

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I'm not going to lie, writing was not that hard this year. I think I was just picking things I really wanted to write for myself. And it was a good coping mechanism when things were hard in my personal life. But honestly, it kind of feels like dumb luck because I've definitely had my share of writing block.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I don't know where the itch to write dark Harry in routine surveillance came from!! That took me by surprise, and I loved doing it.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think just by writing for myself. I always wish I had different stats on my fics, but I can't write with trying to please people in mind.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I don't know! Keep writing for myself and being the weirdo who likes to do lots of different things.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

I am fortunate to have a lot of support!! This year, I really noticed the lovely comments I was getting from @nouies <3

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Yes! Just about everything that the cat does in if i'm being honest has been done by one of my new cats. It's my love letter to them.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

I don't think I have much new wisdom. I always say pay attention to the writing advice that works for you, and ignore the rest. I think telling a story and making people feel something matters more than the technique, but I also say that as someone who has spent a lot of time on technique so don't listen to me if you don't want to!

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I want to write a girl direction When Harry Met Sally AU and make it VERY GAY and I'm excited about it!!

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)

@neondiamond @homosociallyyours @absoloutenonsense

*All answers should be about works published in 2023

[aquaquadrant]

Deciding to live write (react) (?) this as I'm reading this new chapter (two parts WOW, double the angst) (so part one out of two, hope that's cool). If something happens my therapist WILL be hearing about you.

The title already I'm sobbing /pos

I HATE THE WATCHERS SO MUCH OMMMGGGGG, leave them aLONE

It's very Jimmy to not like crying, I love to see it. I love when fanfic writers don't like him crying, ty.

Tango :( The RANCH, it was THEIRS, my HEART These Watchers ugghhHHHH Jimmy immediately defending Tango, please nothing else happen to them, PLEASE

Every time the watchers speak, my want to punch them grows The explanation paragraph, ugh something about it, how Jimmy doesn't immediately try to blame Tango, or just understands it well. Just bjhebwg

Bdubs being so worried for Tango, please, JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY

JIMMY DEFENDING TANGO NUMBER TWO, hate me them

Watchers ugghhe

HERMITCRAFTING BEING HIS HOME UGH IM JUST POINTING OUT EVERY LITTLE DETAIL BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO

DELIGHTFUL, I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE SO MUCH

Okay, therapy time <3 (yes I did actually read this before my therapy appointment, this was /srs and not /j)

Therapy break over, BACK TO ANGST

Awww, Jimmy not believing Tango is evil. Love to see it.

UH OH, NOT THE TIMMY ALLUSION

Nvm not alright, Watchers need to Watch their mouths

"Pity is a suitor that won’t take a hint, no matter how many times Jimmy turns it away." Is SO good???? Excuse me??? Pity x Jimmy real ship of the htp au?? /j

Maybe I hate the watchers more than I hate Atlas, hm.

I like that they all still keep an air of lighthearted-ness about, even with Tango in such critical condition, they still are friends :)

Jimmy being okay with a scar to the face if it means Tango doesn't have to unnecessarily respawn :( /pos

This description of Tango has me thinking about that kinda old drawing that lunarcrown did of Tango back when he was chained up. Like, it's literally the first post that shows up when clicking on the chronological timeline, yeah that one, it reminds me of that one.

UGGGHHHH THE HAND ON THE CHIN GETTING A RESPONSE, NO, BAD AQUA, BAD. SOMETHINGS ARE BETTER LEFT OFF IN THE ASKS RESPONSES

WATCHERS ARE NOT HELPING (x2)

Still love Jimmy calling for SOS, like yes, smart move. I wish we could've seen what it was like for the other DL to see chat and immediately go "oh shit ???" and then see the SOS and go "OH SHIT ???"

I love Impulse <3

Ooooo, getting some more cases of this fantasy (racism? Bigotry? Bad stuff) worldbuilding

"I don’t believe that just being from there would automatically make someone evil." Nature vs nurture <3 Maybe all Bravo needed was two minutes with Impulse god DAMN

Sleepy time <3

Okay, don't like the Watchers, but the "Round two!" was funny, I'll give em that

"(You cannot sleep, there are monsters nearby.)" I- I- STOP I CAN'T LAUGH BUT OMFG

Rancher :((((((

HIS RANCHER

Let me at these Watchers, LET ME AT EM

Ugh, disassociation. As someone who's dealt with this during panic attacks, it totally tracks and breaks my heart :(

These Watchers gotTA BACK OFF, LEAVE TANGO ALONE GOD DAMN

No way Tango is tryna pull the "I'm fine" card rn, AFTER ALL THAT LMAO

Jimmy is very pretty TO ME

The collar dampening Tango's fire, metaphorically and literally, is just ugh. What's more is Jimmy likes Tango's fire, he likes the warmth Tango produces physically, and he likes the sparks of creativity and burning passion of Tango's metaphorically. And they took it away! Both ways to Sunday!!!

Na because crying on someone is such an intimate gesture. To let your heart pour out of you, no one does that to just anyone. What makes this even more important is how Jimmy cried on Tango's shoulder last chapter, and now Tango's crying on Jimmy's shoulder this chapter. They are each other's soulmate, they are their each other's ranchers. They are so important to one another and soo ughguew

Not gonna cuss this Watcher out, I'll let this sweet dreams comment slide for now.

Oooo, a peak into how they reacted to everyone joining. AND we get a look at Atlas' full username <3 Love it.

Wait Tyrannicide and Phantonym joined too?? Huh, thought as scientists they would've stayed behind. Cool to know!

I can see now why you needed all those usernames lol.

JOEL THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO LAUGH DAMNIT

Hmmm, love Scar immediately jumping into action. Oop and ofc the two scientists head out first lmao

ATLAS, WHEN I CATCH YOU ATLAS, NOT BIGB NOOOO

ATLAS, WHEN I CATCH YOU ATLAS, NOT PEARL NOOOOO

Actually really funny that ATLAS got the most kills from the Hels cast. Like, damn, pop off???? Man did more work than the ppl hired to actually do the dirty work lmao.

Wonder how difficult it was to keep up with all the names, who died then got back in, who killed who, etc.

Oop, Jimmy also noting Atlas is smarter than the average bear.

This whole paragraph talking about Bravo, yes Jimmy, drag that man. Loving how he immediately is like "dude is just like a hels player" and scoffing at the nerve of Bravo to claim to be his actual soulmate. Yes.

Head in hands, Watchers about to catch these hands.

Tango immediately wanting to get this all over with hurts. Damn, wonder if he just wants to get it over with cause he thinks they all want him gone.

"I mean, everyone knows I’m a vicious monster but I don’t have to look it, right?" UGH, Aqua you're lucky I already did my therapy time BEFORE this part, UGGGHHHHHH. I need to go back rq just to tell her this god DAMN

Welp, on to act two! Thank you so much for the wonderful reading material :)

TLDR: I hate the Watchers with a burning passion.

-🍌

what’s this?? a DETAILED LIVE BLOG of my writing for ME to read??? don’t mind if i do…

ok first off, thank you SO MUCH for taking the time to write down ur thoughts and share them with me. it’s truly one of the greatest joys of being an author, and the closest i can get to experiencing my writing as if i wasn’t the one who wrote it. NOW let’s get into it…

the overarching watcher hate is so justified and hilarious, they really just exist to be the most obnoxious and toxic livestream chat ever. at least, the ones who hang around jimmy are LMAO

AHA i’m glad u liked the part abt jimmy not liking to cry, i’ve been told he’s got a bit of a prideful streak in other series that didn’t come thru as much in his double life run, so that was a little nod to it.

the ranch could not escape its destiny of being tragically burned down 🫡

(omg the therapy appointment interlude. i remember when i’ve had to pause while reading a fic to address real life business and now someone’s doing that for MY writing…. :’))) i hope the appt went well!)

this chapter was a lovely opportunity to really show jimmy stepping up for tango, with both verbal and physical reassurance. he may not know everything abt the hels situation but he knows he loves tango <3

AND YEAH YEAH THAT FIRST ART MEL DID. definitely throwing back to that w tango’s disassociated state and the collar. nice catch ;0

the chin-hand response was another throw back to old mel art, isn’t that fuuuun? ;000

IMPULSE WAS THE MVP OF THIS CHAPTER 💪😤👏

ok the watchers do get their funny moments in here and there HAH

phantonym and tyrannicide did come along! they might be scientists, but they’re as nasty as any hels player (dr l8r_h8r did, in fact, stay home to monitor the portal. he’s kinda over the whole ‘violence’ nonsense.) tango actually targeted them first bc of their lab coats.

and YUP i got a lotta good username ideas from those suggestions. and it WAS very difficult to keep track of them all thru the chat backlog. i don’t know how long i spent going thru each player’s sequence of events, one by one, JUST to make sure i hadn’t forgotten to have someone die for the last time, or show up again without a new join message.

and unfortunately for jimmy he made the classic error of “typo in the group chat.” joel did what he had to 🫡 (buuuut once he saw how serious the situation was, he decided not to push it anymore)

atlas is a clever bastard and i love that yall love to hate him 🙏 he saw a virtual ocean of wolves storming down the hill and was like “ok clearly i’m not dealing with that, so let’s see where my efforts can be better spent.” the hired grunts don’t possess that kind of critical thought 🎻

i’m SO glad you enjoyed it!! thank you again for this lovely feedback <3

[bookinit02]

HAVEN OH MY GOSH THE NEW EPISODE!!!!!! I SCREAMED. I made a bunch of very insane notes and I thought I'd gift them to you. as a treat:

fucking COLD

BABY WILL AND MIKE GOT ME SOBBINGGG

So curious as to what's going on with Will and Vecna, also Will tell your boyfriend!!! Come on!!! crazy together!!! (also MIKE tell your boyfriend actually. y'all need to talk about the messed up Vecna stuff!!! that's the whole idea!!!)

OH FUCK OH NO MAX AND LUCAS. OH NO. OH NO I AM SO SAD. OH NO. I AM CRYING. WHYYYYY

NANCY ROBIN ERICA TEAM UP!!! Erica gets friends and mentors as she SHOULD and I love her

WINGWOMAN NANCY!! Hasn't even been come out to yet and is already the wingwoman of all time. We love to see it. I love her.

RONANCE CRUMBS???????

THAT JANCY BREAKUP WAS THE MOST HEARTBREAKING THING I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME. I AM CRYING. SOBBING. BUT IT WAS SO GOOD

What does Karen Wheeler KNOW

Mike and Holly are the cutest little sibling babies and I love them so much. They are my favourite and Holly is adorable and deserves the world.

NANCY AND MIKE ARE ALSO THE CUTEST SIBLINGS. QUALITY WHEELER FAMILY CONTENT RIGHT HERE. I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH.

OHHH MIKE JUST CAME OUT. OH HONEY. NANCY YOU ARE THE BEST BIG SISTER I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

THE JONATHAN AND WILL MIKE AND NANCY PARALLELS IM-

THE MIKE AND NANCY SCENE AS A WHOLE. THAT IS LITERALLY MY FAVOURITE SCENE SO FAR. THAT WAS SO GOOD. READING THAT IN THE FIC IS GOING TO BREAK MY HEART EVEN MORE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Oh Mike. I love you so much. you and will need to TELL EACH OTHER THINGS. PLEASE.

All in all amazing episode, I loved it and it was sad and happy and funny and destroyed me like six times but it's WORTH IT!!!! I'm excited for the chapters of the fic!!!

ok i hope it’s ok that i waited a few days to answer this—i didn’t want to spoil it for anyone!!

first of all YES i was so fucking proud of myself for that line😭 such a banger . i literally left it there for like 2 days without writing anything else bc i was like how tf do i follow that😭😭

MIWIIII💗💗💗😭 BABY MIWIIIIII💗🫶🏻😭

yes!! i am also super excited to develop the will & vecna storyline. and listen they’ve been miscommunicating for like 2 seasons now, ofc they’re gonna keep going (for a little bit at least😉)

yeah honestly i cried writing that scene☹️ they make me so . So.

yes!!! i need some sort of girl power moment in s5 so badly (but Not in that cringy forced way that shows do sometimes if u know what i mean😭)

nancy is The wingwoman of all time actually. she treats it as a matter of life and death. it is a one-woman competition and she is NOT losing.

ronance crumbs… perhaps… hehe :)

yeah listen it broke My heart too and i was SO split on whether to do it or not . but i think it’s the most realistic option and they definitely have things they need to work out!! i’m honestly very very interested to see what the writers do with the love triangle storyline bc this has definitely been the most challenging plot to write so far. but i am enjoying the challenge :)

as for what karen knows… we’ll have to find out👀

I AGREE😭😭💗 HOLLY IS SO UNDERRATED WE NEED MORE OF HER SO BADLY!!!

nancy and mike as well. just more wheeler family dynamics all across the board bc i am Obsessed with them!!

yeah that scene was very emotional to write😭😭 he’s come so far and i’m so proud of him!! (is the one actively writing his character arc)

love me a good parallel🫡🫡

THANK YOU THAT’S ONE OF MY FAVORITE SCENES AS WELL💗💗💗 and yes i’m so excited to write the fic version!!

i’m so glad you liked this episode, thank you SO much for this comment! i don’t get as many comments on my scripts (understandably) as i do on my fic, but i really appreciate when people give me feedback :) i’m so happy that you’re enjoying them!

[januaryembrs]

Hiya, ok so the last time you posted a chapter for your Spencer x Bugsy series I sent a response/ask (I don’t even know how to call it) and you said that you love hearing what are people’s favourite bits from your work so you bet that for the newest part I had to make a list of all my favourite moments (I was quite literally jumping between tumblr and my notes app to make bullet points of all my favourite moments and I still had to cut out a few things because it was getting wayyy too long). So this might be a little long (if it’s too long or annoying just ignore it or tell me to stop for next time) but here are all my favourite moments from the newest part:

* I love how very soon after the explosion we get Hotch’s point of view to see a little bit inside his mind and what he’s thinking. A found-family trope or the father figure storyline is always a favourite of mine so Rossi’s and Bugsy’s relationship in the last part or Aaron’s and Bugs in this part was just ahhhh ✨chefs kiss✨. “but Aaron wasn’t finished, not until he saw her.” “He thinks he said her name, but it might be just a sob.” I really liked that we got to see a little more vulnerable side him. And when he called her sweetheart, I think I just melted. “Stroking gently down her face with the same care he would put Jack to bed with.” “and he saw nothing but his son with a scraped knee in her eyes” the little references to his own son and how he possibly sees Bugs in a similar way (because lets be honest it’s like Morgan once called Hotch and Rossi, mom and dad, and the BAU team are just their children). Honestly, that whole scene between the two of them just melted my heart.

* Bugs panicking about her favourite bra? Honestly, would do the same thing.

* When Spence tells the team at the wedding to not mention anything about her arm or forehead and then he’s cut off by Penelope. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was just imagining all the members just going silent and looking at that interaction and Spence just thinking “well, never mind then…”

* Love Henry calling her Buggy.

* The dance scene between Hotch and Bugsy was amazing.

* After Bugs comes back from London and Spence goes “What are you doing here?” with a confrontational tone. Even I felt offended. Honestly even if Spence and Maeve ended up together I would have been happy for them but after meeting her Spence just behaved like a straight up A-hole to Bugs. I’m sorry but he needs to get his act together.

* And then Spence calling Maeve the most beautiful girl in the world and Bugs just thinking she would never be good enough for him. I cried. I cried a lot at that scene (but then again it was around 5am when I first read it and I was like half delirious but I still cried).

* They both need to realise they’re in love with each other and get together soon.

Ok, so again I apologise for this being so long but I love love love your writing and get so excited every time you post. Also, thank you for the good luck wishes for my exams, tomorrow is my first one so hopefully everything goes well but seeing a new part after waking up definitely made my day a lot lot better so thank you. 💖💖

THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE IS WHAT I LOVE ABOUT YOU GUYS SENDING ME THINGS. I have read this all three times kicking my feet giggling because this is so so so validating and encouraging to read as a writer. The fact bugsy is not just mine anymore to enjoy but everyone else’s literally makes me feel like I’ve sent my child off to school and they’ve come home with gold stars.

Thankyou so so so much for taking even a minute out of your day to message me all of this, it honestly fills me with so much joy that people like my store so much they’d go to such lengths to note down exactly what made them feel something 💗💗💗

It is not annoying at all, completely the opposite actually, feel free to message me whenever you like because I love reading stuff like this 🫶

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

I feel like you deserve a prize or something, cause you’ve just made me literally sob in 2 chapters now and that’s not something that happens a lot, especially because I don’t really like reading angst (now I feel like you deserve another one just for making me read it). But you just write everything so well that I can’t help but read everything you write.

And now speaking about the story, I started completely pissed off with Changbin, but I eventually understood where he was coming from, I don’t necessarily agree, but I understand. I mean, I know that actions speak louder than words but I feel like its important for us to say, things like ‘I love you’ every now and then cause it’s like a combo, if that makes sense. Cause like it or not it does change things when you tell the other person you love them, and it’s also reassuring. But yeah, I’m glad everything worked out in the end, and thank god for Hyunjin, cause if it weren’t for him, I think they would’ve taken much longer to sort things out, given that they’re both very stubborn.

Anyways, thanks for the update, it was amazing. I’m already waiting for the next one, but write it on your own pace, don’t need to feel rushed in any way, we are patient ❤️❤️❤️

P.S.: I’m sorry for the literal essay I’ve just written 😭😭

First off-never EVER apologize for coming into my inbox or coming on my page and word vomiting feedback or what you’re feeling or what you’re excited about. 💜 I love it. All of it.

And okay. Here’s the thing-I knew, I KNEW, writing that installment was gonna ruffle some feathers and make people angry with changbin, and like, for good reason! He handled the situation badly and was kind of an ass and I get that. BUT. I also do not like reading or writing about characters that don’t have flaws. They’re human, they make mistakes, they’re not perfect. It makes it more realistic and relatable.

Like yeah, should changbin have checked in on reader after she came home obviously upset and scared? Absolutely. But we also don’t get to see his side of the story right? Like maybe he thought he’d only make it worse, she obviously wasn’t in the mood to deal with his shit in the moment, or maybe he was worried he’d handle it badly and fuck it all up like the moment that started the fight.

Characters are flat and one toned if they don’t evolve and grow and change and that’s just boring shit to read. So sometimes, as a writer and reader, I have to let them fuck up, even if it’s just for the growth and the ability to see ourselves in them just a little bit more easily.

Life is angst a lot of the time honestly, for most of us, but then we pick ourselves back up and learn and figure shit out, and the comfort usually doesn’t feel as good without the struggle to reach it.

Thanks for letting me have a soap box and take y’all with me into the nerdy workings of my mind, if only for a minute. 😘

I love ya. 💜

[themetaphorgirl]

OMG THAT LAST CHAPTER ??

I hate the fact that I predicted something for Alex 😭😭 I wanna cry and think about other fact for her and James. Please let the squad do a thing because I’m so sure that the thing is not competent and just a big incentive. I have so bad feelings about it. That make me things about some protective prompt so à thank you I guess ??

Again, I really need to put commentaries on that fic but right now it’s pure excitement because yeah ?? The chapter was amazing. I want to all hug them. And just say “You’ll still together in the future, and you do all the job you really wanted”

Alex, please we know you need to loose up a bit. But don’t lose everything and just URRRH I’m mad and not mad because I will probably be just like her. But of course he’s HIM?? For all of them you said yes to HIM!!l?? (Yes I have beef and I hold grunges against that SOB)

James my boy please speak up. You’ll deserve all the happiness and to share it with Alex. I do love his nickname. Like Mini, except he’s not that short ? It’s like 178cm ? I do believe he’s tall, not like Hotch but a bit smaller than Hotch. So big guy, big heart. Be Alex’s shiny white knight as clichée as it is.

Spencer. Be delusional. You have all the right to pretend. You’re munchkin, also need to learn how to trust and speak about your nightmare. I know it’s scary but they literally adopted you.

For JJ, please, the buttheading won’t let you happy. You wanna dance ? So go dance, cry,scream every inch of breath in your lungs. You deserve it.

Penny, she was just an adorable self. She’s totally a rainbow disguise in humans. I really like her friendship with Hotch and the one she starts with Hayley. Love her the best gal. She needs to be one of the people who have you know the really long speech during mariage ? That’s her and if they’ve bet on when Hotch and Hayley will finally be together, she won. I just know it

Emily caring about her cakes is so relatable when you grew up without really roots. The only constant is the food. So yeah I hope she has her three slices and even a fourth. And her, with Alex, the one who just encourage some chaos, but she gets really good point about livin’ the Vida loca (even if we could have avoid the things with that)

Derek’s pov is really cool too. I hope he stays in his first career choice! By the way, did he succeed to sleep through Spencer nightmares ? Because if not, that poor boy don’t have good enough sleep too

Dave having writer block, and just letting his family deciding for him about his career. He’s like super sad and somehow a bit ironic/funny. But bet, he’ll surpass himself for that assignment and he will let the other read his stuff. Did he have a Wattpad or AO3 account ??

Hotch, you also can be delusional. I KNOW YOU WERE ON THE VERGE OF TEARS BECAUSE OF CHARLIE INTENTION AND KINDNESS. He can’t deny it. He will. But he’s body language betrayed him >:). Poor boy, he was like “yeah theatre = more time with Hayley” to “Oh no I need to do actual theatre things, like singing and dancing”.

Haley darlin’ please please please HARPER THAT B’TCH NOT YOUR FRIEND!!! Let her go you don’t have to be with her. Cut of her bad vibes and toxicity 💀

I’m glad the B’s nicknames siblings could at least count on Ned and Charlie. Thank you to be really good parents and general grown up.

(Please tell me when Hotch and Haley will get married they’ll redo that scene but w/ the actual kiss)

I might rant a bit, but yeah that was a really fresh review.

I’m so glad and happy to read about your writing. I really hope that you’re somehow fine and happy. 🧡🧡

YES YES YES THESE ARE MY FAVORITE KINDS OF REVIEWS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!

[desertfangs]

“honestly if DA hadn’t sent me an anon about one of them I was ready to pull it and call it a loss”

DON’T YOU DARE 🤧 but also imma cry that fic is so special and sexy and bittersweet and I can’t recommend it enough! You go in expecting smutty goodness (which you WILL find) and end up openly sobbing five paragraphs in. Seriously if you’re a bookverse Armand/Daniel fan and haven’t read this one, what have you even been doing with your life!? Mandatory Devil’s Minion reading imho 📖

This current trend of passively consuming media is slowly killing fandoms and fandom content creators. I’ll never not do my part but it’s so disheartening to see so many incredible fics with such depth and understanding of individual characters and dynamics with like… less than 10 comments on ao3. That shit kills the spirit fr xoxo DA ❤️

PS Daniel sitting out the entirety of BC2 because he was too busy playing The Last of Us is laying me tf out and I’ll be thinking about it often 💭

DA!! Thank you so much!! You are honestly a treasure and a gift to this fandom and I know we all appreciate your messages so much! 💖💖

None of us thinks we're owed ANYTHING but like... I came up in fandom in the 90s and 2000s, where people were sharing stuff in newsgroups and on forums and then livejournal. It was a community and everyone interacted with each other and shared their thoughts and commented on fics! Fics launched whole discussions and more fics about similar topics. Now it feels like fandom is so isolated, and people put creators in some separate box where they will consume what they create but not dare interact. And it's weird! We're all just part of fandom, flailing around and trying to have to fun.

Now there's this social media like button culture where people (not just in fandom) will leave a like and move on and that's fine except it doesn't feel as personal and creates this lonely atomosphere. It's so passive, as you said, and as someone who's spending a lot of their free time and brain power crafting fics because I'm excited about the characters or an idea and I want to share, putting it out there and getting nothing back is so demoralizing.

And then of course there's the insecurity. Most writers have it in spades so when we post something and the response is... lackluster... the first thought is often "Well, apparently this one sucks." It creates all kinds of doubt! And then if you're me, sometimes you feel stupid for posting at all and wonder if you should take it down. (I talk myself out of this and then more comments come in and I feel better - although lately comments are hard to come by after the first couple of days a fic is live!)

But I digress. It's just this whole thing and it's weird because no one owes anyone comments or compliments, but creating into a void is depressing and unsatisfying and it's going to lead to people not bothering to share what they make. And that's a bummer, because fandom is all about sharing and conversing and having fun as a group. Otherwise I can just tell my headcanons to my cats, who are always happy to listen.

But you always do your part!! I love your messages and they always make me feel like I've succeeded. So thank you so much again for your kind words! I really am proud of that fic and I hope people will start to realize that a quick comment is worth so much to fic writers. It doesn't need to be elaborate!

And LOL yes, I love the idea of Daniel being so busy battling digital zombies that he's just.. not involved in the last book. Armand calls from time to time and Daniel talks him off a ledge and then fights his way through another zombie-infested building. 😂😂😂 This is my current theory and I'm sticking to it.

[blankinsidecards]

Steddie fic rec list

Absolutely nobody asked for this but here we go! These are my top 5 favorites, meaning they live in my brain 24/7 and I want them tattooed on my eyelids. Edit: this has been updated!

oh, happy dagger on sunshine bones by inallthingsgoodorbad

Rating: M • Edit: Complete!

Eddie Munson is stuck in the Upside Down. Barely alive. Steve Harrington is trying to sleep and failing at it, miserably. What a strange thing it is, to save the world alongside friends and come away from it with nightmares and loneliness.

A fix-it fic to a heart wrenching degree. Deals with the trauma and ptsd of each character in really careful detail, and plots out a bright future for them in the same breath. Lots of gorgeous, if messy, original poetry that fit with Eddie’s emotions throughout the fic in really beautiful ways. This fic is criminally underappreciated, but it’s an absolute masterpiece. Highlights include: the nickname of ‘Angel’, bedsharing, a fluffy lumax subplot that made me sob with joy, a wonderful appreciation for our dear Uncle Wayne Munson, and food as a love language. Slooowww burn with so much pining.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by @greatunironic

Rating: E • Complete

Sixteen years after the world didn't end for the last time, Max Mayfield showed up on Steve’s doorstep and said, “You gonna walk me down the aisle in May or what?”

Or, it’s 2002 and Steve Harrington attends a wedding, a funeral, and a birth.

As the writer says in the notes of the first chapter, it’s a love letter to “Steve Harrington, father figures, + metalheads everywhere” which I think says more about the feel of it than I can convey here. The way that everyone is written, specifically Joyce and Hopper’s relationships with Steve, as so firmly family is something I didn’t know I needed so bad. I don’t reread fics very often, but I’ve read this one all the way through three times, and have listened to the podfic twice as well. (I’ve never been able to get into podfics but @itty-bitty-blondie did such a beautiful job with it) It will have you ugly crying through every chapter, I guarantee. And as fucking sad as it will make you, it also the softest, most comforting thing I’ve ever read in my life.

You’re Divine by OonionChiver

Rating: E • Edit: Complete!

‘Blood?’ Eddie says again.

Eyes black but for the slice of iridescent white in the centre. His teeth are sharp, his hands are weapons and Steve thinks maybe he’s made a mistake doing this without telling Eddie first. Eddie’s focus lowers, it moves to his left hand which is…

Oh fuck.

It’s dripping blood onto the floor.

‘Shit,’ Steve says, takes a single step back, swallows. ‘Eddie, I’m so sorry, fuck.’

Eddie can’t seem to look away, can’t bring his ethereal gaze back up where it belongs. Steve thinks he should run, he should flee. A tiny part of him knows Eddie will chase him. Eddie will catch him, outrun him easily.

It's more than a little fucked up how that thrills him.

So far, this is definitely my favorite Vampire!Eddie fic I’ve read so far. I’m going to come right out and say it: I’ve read my fair share of toe-curling smut in my time, and this is the only fic that while I was reading it, I felt like I got a ‘New Kink Discovered’ alert. If you like your ships to be co-dependent in the most fucked up ways possible, this is for you. I cannot stress enough how absolutely drunk on this fic I was at the end of the first chapter. Good lord, PLEASE check the tags yourself before reading, it is A Lot. Apart from how hot it is, the author has put a huge amount of detail into the technicalities of Eddie’s vampirism and, I’m not sure if this is accurate due to my own lack of knowledge, but it seems like a lot of it is directly drawn from D&D mechanics and Kas lore. I may be wrong here, but it’s impressive either way. Another big highlight is that they take a sledgehammer to the Mr. & Mrs. Harrington’s shit in a beautifully cathartic way. Don’t be put off by the fact that there’s so few chapters, each chapter is really long and covers several days. It took my two an half hours to read the latest chapter (and I only had to put my phone down to scream into my pillow like, six or seven times)

the lathe by @palmviolet

Rating: M • Complete

"This time, do it right. This time Eddie won’t bleed out in his arms, in anyone’s arms. This time, Steve will do it right."

— or, Steve relives the day they try to kill Vecna over and over, and Eddie just can't seem to stop dying. Steve finds this totally unacceptable.

It’s a time loop fic. It’s a Steve-centric time loop fic. It has more themes and symbolism than Chekhov could shoot a gun at. It peels Eddie’s character apart like an onion. It’s the ultimate put-your-blorbo-in-a-glass-jar-and-study-him-like-a-bug for EITHER of them. It had me waiting like a war widow for each update. I was more anxious over the ending of this fic than I was of the actual s4 vol2. Again, check the tags and individual chapter warnings for yourself because, as the author warns, it really does get so much worse before it gets better- but it gets better. I think this may be one of my favorite fanfics of all time, of any fandom, and that’s really saying something.

a bottle of rouge (just me and you) by @anniebibananie and @galmance

Rating: E • Edit: Complete! • AU

Eddie was sure 1988 was going to be his fucking year. Harringley had finally made it big enough for their first national tour, and, sure, they might all get sick of each other on the bus and kill their livers over the course of several months, but this was his fucking dream. None of that other shit could wreck it.

But Eddie Munson’s life has always been a dumpster fire of massive proportions, so really he should have expected it: Steve Harrington ruining his fucking life.

[Over the course of Harringley’s first national tour, band rules are made, broken, and might just cause feelings that leave them on the precipice of destroying everything they’ve built.]

Eddie-centric band fic where the Fruity Four is a band and everyone is too fucking hot for their own good. Classic friends-with-benefits setup with delightfully fast realizations of Actual Feelings. I’m talking a -‘no fucking bandmates’ rule at the beginning of chapter one, and a blowjob by the end of chapter one- kind of pace. I haven’t seen a lot of bi/pan Eddie fics yet, and this one does a good job describing how he feels attraction. (I’m NOT saying it’s ‘good bi/pan rep’. The man is a SLUT and it’s FUN) I also love how they’ve written Nancy as this hardcore drummer while somehow keeping her completely in character. Highlights include Jonathan Byers being Steve’s ex-boyfriend, Argyle being the band’s beloved bus driver, and several absolutely electric concert scenes. There’s also not a SHRED of ‘period-typical homophobia’ if that’s something you, like me, have a hard time reading.

Edit: the sequel come right inside (welcome to my new life) just began and it’s from Steve’s pov five years later. Where Side A was the epitome of Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll; Side B is already addressing the recovery the characters have needed from that destructive lifestyle, and I’m so down for it. Edit: also now complete and with a very sweet happy ending!

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. i seriously cannot get over how RS tried to make Apollo and Artemis being Zeus' children be a shock

like how was that surprising

how was that a twist

was she running out of ideas for more "drama" or something

2. This is more of a rant about all modern retellings of the taking of Persephone, but LO is the most egregious example to me. I despise how much the story has been warped and twisted to make Hades seem like a good guy and Demeter as a bad guy. Persephone’s story was meant to represent the strong bond between mothers and daughters, and the grief of a mother when her daughter is married off and separated from her. It always pisses me off when it’s portrayed as a love story, which unfortunately, is how it’s always shown nowadays. The way Demeter is treated by the LO fanbase and RS herself angers me to no end. It’s so disheartening to see misogyny win yet again with the modern demonization of Persephone’s grieving mother. 

3. What really bothers me is that new born infant Persephone has full done eye brows and teeth. Like holy fuck babies don't look like that did RS just really draw P's normal adult face on baby her???

4. I don't think Rachel is even reading the mythology right. It's not supposed to be a morality tale with clearly defined villains and heroes Even Zeus could be outsmarted, knocked down, and made to reflect on his bad choices, and he's the Top God. Rachel instead boiling down mythology to "good vs bad" with no shades of grey and needing the good guys to always be right with the bad guys always being wrong is just bad from a writing and interpretation standpoint. Even Disney gave them more nuance.

5. The de-twinkification of Thanatos and Eros should forever be a crime 

6. I love when LO fans realize Amphitrite is also a nymph and they realize the world building makes no sense because surely if every other nymph is hated shouldn't she be too? Or is she just one of the "good ones"? Truly give it up for a white woman to think the gods needed divine racism to seem more ~real~, with their racism being framed as a good thing because all the marginalized nymphs are all bad and uppity save for the few "I have a nymph friend" excuses.

7. I just find it so creepy Hades' first look of Persephone is her being humiliated and then him lusting after her body before even glancing at her face. Like what is that telling us exactly? 99% of the time we only get his POV too. We get Hades' POV looking at her, his internal dialogue, his thoughts, his memories, more focus on his life and relationships, meanwhile the only time we ever got her POV was her being r//ped and murdering a village. She seems like an afterthought most of the time.

8. What I find frustrating is RS has removed any sort of meaning or symbolism in P's design. The red eyes used to symbolize her inner darkness, only to now show up at random and go away just as fast. the long hair used to be tied to her strong emotions but now come up whenever it fitS better with her outfit, and now claiming her pink tone is from "a million perfect roses" is a laughable attempt to make her unique when the flower nymphs are the same color. She can't even keep her own lore in line.

9. IDK how we're supposed to buy Persephone has any guilt or even cares about her nymph "sisters" when she purposely ran away from the law instead of turning herself in, tried to sob story her way out of punishment, and tried to distract from her crimes with Elysium plans, and more so never once showed she remembered the nymphs or even tried to see them in the Underworld despite working and living there for weeks and having direct access with the King of the Dead. She's all talk and no reflection.

10. What I don't get with so many HxP retellings (and LO is the most egregious example) is they think the romance can ONLY come about with the destruction of Demeter and Persephone's relationship to prop her relationship up with Hades, which seems so reductive to me. A half-way decent writer should allow for Persephone to love them both, yet no one seems to even try. Their idea of the "reclaimed" myth is that Persephone's world starts and ends at Hades, and Demeter is to be vilified.

[lonely-lost-soul]

First Lady of the Court

Part 3: Ghostbur (C!Wilbur Soot x reader)

A worn journal was opened, the pages faded and yellowing, a pen was placed on the parchment and the owner began to write. The sun rose over the horizon, and the wind nipped at the writer's skin, but they didn’t feel it. They didn’t feel many of life's sensations anymore, sometimes he felt warmth but it was always fleeting. He titled the page:

"Things I Remember", by Ghostbur

-The smell of bread

- L'Manberg

- The Revolution

- Bullying Tommy (he's a child)

- Sparring with Techno as a kid

- The wind

- Being president

- People cheering for me

- Fundy growing up

- Niki

- (Y/N) becoming my first lady

- The van

- Tubbo building everything

- Phil protecting me

- Sally the salmon

- (Y/N) the new love of my life

- (Y/N) adoring Fundy and treating him as her own

- Philza stabbing me to death with a sword

- A large explosion

-(Y/N) crying for me, I don’t like when she’s sad

- The taste of salt

- Air in my lungs

- Winning the election

- A ravine

- Techno's armory

- Books

- Tunnels

- Arrows

- ./..

-

- I don't know

The ghost’s head snapped up to attention, up until a few months ago he was lost in a void of darkness. Pieces were coming back together for him, he was once Wilbur Soot the president of the country he fought and died for, but now he didn’t have a purpose. He wanted to find Fundy, Tommy and Phil let them know he was here and alright, well alright for a ghost. But most importantly he wanted to find (Y/N), her cries wouldn’t leave his head. It was bad, a bad, bad memory, he’d taken to holding pieces of blue to make him feel better, but even that didn’t help his mood.

Eventually, Wilbur had found Fundy, who wasn’t that thrilled to see him, much to his disappointment. When he found Tommy he was slightly more thrilled and Phil seemed to be relieved yet mournful, Wilbur didn’t understand why, he did a good thing. However he had yet to find her, Phil seemed to be the only one who knew but he was giving him nothing. He didn’t know why was it because you didn’t want to see him? The thought made him want to cover himself in blue and beg for forgiveness. He managed to find a brand new buddy in his mourning, a blue sheep he had dubbed Friend. You would love her, (Y/N) adored sheep she would love Friend, she could be a forgiveness gift. Yet, nobody would tell the ghost where you were no matter how much he begged and pleaded, he watched as his once-prosperous country got rebuilt. Tubbo was doing a fantastic job as president, everyone seemed happy and Ghostbur accepted that fact.

A few days ago, Ghostbur sensed something was wrong. Phil was acting weirdly distant and even though Tubbo was trying to dodge his questions, he couldn’t fathom what was going on, until he saw you. You had come in wearing Alivebur’s old jacket and Ghostbur immediately froze, your hair was slightly messy and you looked tired. You were still you, same gorgeous, beautiful you, if his heart was still beating it would’ve skipped a beat. The only difference he could find was that your eyes looked deader than his own, and he was a ghost, it made him ache terribly. He wanted to float towards you, to welcome you with open arms but for some reason, he hesitated. He watched as Phil made his way over to you, he wrapped you in a hug and you hugged him back, the two made some small talk before Phil rubbed the back of his neck. Your brow furrowed and he watched you blink in surprise, you looked over Phil’s shoulder and right through Wilbur. The ghost would’ve flushed if he had blood, instead he settled on fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater before holding up a hand in a wave. You stumbled back away from him looking over at Phil who gave a little nod, Wilbur watched you shake your head and his heart sunk. His father reached out to you and your face scrunched up, you were hissing at him, clearly pissed off. Phil whacked you on the back of his head and you glared at the older man, Wilbur felt a small nudge on his arm, it was Friend. He took a shaky breath and ran his fingers through her wool, at least she had his back, when he looked up again you were marching over to him.

God, you were hot when you were mad.

“(Y/n)! Darling! It’s good to see you-”

“You son of a bitch!” You spat at him, eyes suddenly blazing with life and fire, Ghostbur felt himself falter and shrink into himself. “You think you can just come back here after what you did to us! How you treated us, how you treated me!” Ghostbur’s face fell, he didn’t remember hurting you, he refused to remember that memory, but the way he clutched his blue said enough. “I loved you! I wanted to marry you!” You choked out suddenly deflating as tears began to well in your eyes, you cursed and covered your face with your sleeve. “I cannot believe I’m crying right now.”

“You need some blue?” Wilbur said in a soft, tender voice different than you last remembered. You looked out over your sleeve finally taking in his ghostly appearance, he was wearing his big, round glasses, eyes a soft grey. Blue seemed to be pooling in the edges almost like tears, he had a shaky smile on his features, the yellow sweater he wore was one you’ve never seen before, a large red gash sat on his chest. He watched you swallow thickly and take a step back from him, “I don’t remember what happened to make you hate me so dear.” His voice quivered and he heard you whimper, “But I am so sorry...you can call me Ghostbur, I want to be different from Alivebur. Though his love for you still lives in me.”

Ghostbur watched you let out a heart-wrenching sob as you fell to your knees in front of him. You were clutching the L’manburg pin on your lapel, knuckles white, hands shaking in petrification. He floated beside you and wrapped you up in his arms, the hug wasn’t unwelcome but it was cold, Wilbur knew you’d feel no warmth from it but he hoped it’d bring you some form of comfort.

“I missed you. So much,” You admitted with a sniff, and Ghostbur couldn’t help but smile sadly.

“I missed you too,” He ran a hand through your hair and you leaned into the apparition's ghostly touch. Ghostbur glanced up at Phil who had a tense smile on his face as he nodded slightly at the ghost, it read don’t hurt her again, and Wilbur nodded. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you, you need to meet Friend!” His eyes lit up a little as he looked around for his blue sheep, “You’ll love her!”

“I’ve been living with Fundy,” You answered his question and his brows furrowed, but Fundy had told him he had no idea where you lived. “We’ve been taking care of one another, just like I promised you we would,” You responded flatly, your voice had a flat affect and Wilbur shuffled uncomfortably in the air.

Where was your spark? Your lust for life and the good things? Was this his fault?

No. No, it couldn’t have been, he refused to accept that outcome.

Alivebur loved you just as much as Ghostbur did, he felt that love so deep in his being it was almost suffocating. So, he’d never hurt you, you don’t hurt the people you love and that’s a fact. So why were you so sad?

“That’s weird. Fundy said he couldn’t find you!” Ghostbur huffed, shaking his head at his son's actions, “My silly, little champion.”

“Ghostbur don’t call him that, he doesn’t like it.” You stated gruffly crossing your arms and his frown only deepened,

“What do you mean he doesn’t like it? Of course, he likes it, he loves it!”

“No Wil he doesn’t. Stop it.” You hissed and he flinched, your face fell a little and you turned away from him. You shoved your hands in the pockets of the jacket, “I need a smoke.” You muttered and his jaw dropped,

“That’s bad for you! You know that!”

“So what? It makes me fucking feel better. You’re not my Wilbur. Stop pretending you give a shit about me.”

“I do care! I love you!” He argued desperately, “I know I’m not him. I can never be him but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. His love transferred to me, please...give me a chance.” You looked at him up and down and he’s never felt more terrified in his entire existence, he needed your hope, he could fix you.

“You don’t understand how much he hurt me.” You whispered completely vulnerable, “he went crazy, blew up a nation, and left me alone.”

He. Meaning Alivebur, Ghostbur was glad he was distinguishing the difference between the both of them. He didn’t remember doing that to you, after all, Ghostbur didn’t do that to you.

“I’ll never leave you alone. I can promise you that, with my whole heart I swear it.” He took your hands within his own, he knew you could barely feel his touch. You closed your eyes for a minute before reopening them,

“I’ll give you one chance. One. So help me god, if you ruin that chance I will never speak to you again. That’s a promise.”

Ghostbur swallowed thickly, nerves prickling at his entire being, “I won’t waste that chance, my dear.” You gave a stern nod and rubbed the back of your neck with a tired sigh,

“So...Friend?”

Ghostbur’s entire demeanor changed as he introduced you to the blue sheep that had taken a rather strong liking to him. The sheep nuzzled at your chest sniffing at your clothing choice, you hesitated a little before running your fingers through her wool.

“She’s very soft.”

“I know right!” he chimed wrapping his arms tight around his sheepy buddy, he buried his face in her wool. Ghostbur saw a weary smile spread across your face which made him smile back at you in return.

Maybe this could still work out for the both of you.

Months went by and you had set up residence outside of New L’manburg, everyone understood why you couldn’t make a permanent home out of the new country after everything that occurred there. In between watching over an exiled Tommy, Ghostbur would come by and visit you, even though you hated to admit it the ghost of your former lover had won you over. He was just so innocent so unlike the man who blew up his own country, so much like the goofball you had originally fallen in love with, you were enraptured. When New L’manburg blew up you weren’t surprised, there was a dull ache in your heart when you heard the news from a sobbing Ghostbur but you couldn’t feel sympathy. What you did feel sympathy about though was Phil’s uncaring attitude towards Friend, it was the first time you heard Ghostbur get legitimately angry.

It scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Even so, you confronted your former lover; he didn’t like sadness and tried to push the feeling away. You tried to comfort him the best way you could but he insisted he was fine opting to take his blue and forget his sadness. That was another thing, his quote on quote blue, it never did sit right with you. Hurt, sadness, and pain are hard emotions to face but they create character and depth and ultimately shouldn’t just be forgotten so easily, after all, how will you ever learn from your mistakes if you don’t experience sadness. Ghostbur didn’t want to hear your reasoning and still took towards using the blue, you eventually gave up trying to convince him otherwise.

You were sitting outside on your porch, rocking on your porch swing a cup of cocoa in your hand. Ghostbur was sitting beside you, head on your shoulder humming a soft tune to himself,

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Ghostbur had asked so innocently it made your heart leap into your throat. Thoughts of Wilbur and his betrayal flashed across your mind, you wanted to scream and say no. That you’ll never let someone like that hurt you again, you were too strong, you opened your mouth but the hope in Ghostbur’s eyes made you close your mouth. This wasn’t the Wilbur you knew, this was Ghostbur, sure he was the ghost of Wilbur but they were so different. Ghostbur made you happy, he made you remember what it was like to be a good person, made you remember what it was like when you first met Wilbur. He made you smile and laugh, and he genuinely adored and cared for your happiness. You found yourself uttering a soft okay before your brain could comprehend your decision, the smile that lit up across Ghostbur’s face was illuminating. He floated over to you and cupped your cheeks, his pale hands were freezing, but it felt good against your scalding hot cheeks. Ghostbur’s eyes softened as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a soft kiss, the kiss was cold but not unpleasant. You felt him melt against you, and press desperately on to your lips, you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle you felt him pull away. He had the cutest pout on his pale lips,

“Don’t giggle at my kisses!” Ghostbur sounded so offended, you only laughed harder. “Stopppppppp,” he whined leaning against you dramatically.

“I’m sorry Ghostbur.” You covered your mouth with your hand, “You’re just too cute.”

You watched him freeze at your genuine compliment, a smile broke across his features,

“No, you’re cute!” Ghostbur cooed floating around you and wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You leaned into his touch with bright red cheeks,

“You’re a goofball,” You whispered softly, he nuzzled his face into your hair,

“I love you.” You froze in his arms and tensed up, reality crashing back onto all at once. Did you really kiss your dead lover's ghost? The lover who was a fucking asshole to you and blew up an entire country.

Not a girl boss moment.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Ghostbur was quick to add, “I know how hard this is for you. There’s no pressure with me my dear, I just want you to know how I feel.” He pressed the sweetest of kisses to the side of your head. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, not out of sadness, out of shock. You couldn’t believe Ghostbur was once Wilbur, the same man you yelled and screamed at you before his death, Ghostbur was wonderful. Ghostbur was kind and sweet, gentle and tender, one day you’d be ready to say you love him, just not yet, not when everything is so fresh.

“Thank you Ghostbur. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Anything for you my dear.”

Months turned into years and you had officially fallen in love with your clingy ghost and his blue sheep. You knew he loved you to absolute bits, there were many occasions where Phil and Technoblade came up to you and begged you to get Ghostbur to stop gushing about you. You only turned red and smiled fondly, they scoffed but ruffled your hair, overall both were happy to see you smiling again. You hadn’t kept up with the dramas of the SMP, all your information was from Ghostbur, which happened to be not all that reliable.

You loved him but he was so naive, Tommy and Tubbo had defeated Dream, taken two of his cannon lives, and locked him in Sam’s prison. When Ghostbur told you a smile overtook your features, finally the bastard was getting what he deserved.

Isolation.

Tommy was growing closer with Ghostbur again too, which you couldn’t help but be happy about, he too deserved to heal from the trauma Wilbur had inflicted. You trusted Tommy, even when everyone else didn’t you tried to have his back and showed you he cared in his own weird way. Which mostly meant not stealing your shit, which you weren’t complaining about, today, however, he seemed tense. You both were walking the Prime Path on your way back to your abode, Tommy was loud and rambling, but they were different from his usual ramblings.

“Tommy?”

“What is it, women? I’m in the middle of my heroic story!”

“Are you alright?” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes and saw him go rigid. He cleared his throat shaking away his nerves,

“Fuck you talking about? Of course, I’m okay bitch. Don’t interrupt me again!” He scoffed nose high in the air, you narrowed your eyes and he shrunk under your gaze. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, you thought about his resurrection and assumed it had something to do with that, your gaze drifted to the white streaks littering his hair.

“Hey...it’s okay. Just know I’m here for you,” You assured with a smile. You reached up to squeeze his shoulder, he looked shocked at the affectionate gesture,

“Obviously I know that! Don’t assume things bitch!” Tommy shouted shaking off your hand, you shook your head with a smile and let Tommy continue his story. If the young boy wanted to tell you, he would on his own terms. That night Ghostbur had come home absolutely shaking with excitement,

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo said we’re going on an adventure tonight!” Ghostbur was absolutely glowing, you couldn’t help but smile faintly at his antics.

“Don’t have too much fun.” You chastised teasingly, ghostbur giggled in delight as you pressed a kiss to his cold skin. “Stay safe, don’t let them bully you too much.”

“They don’t bully me,” he huffed but he leaned in for another kiss. Ghostbur had discovered he loved your kisses, even though they were probably cold to you all he felt was warmth. If he was a hybrid like his son his tail would be wagging, and if he was alive he’d be bright red. “I love you (y/n), of course, I’ll stay safe. I promised you I’d never leave you remember?”

You flushed and nodded, “I remember. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Until then my dear!” He took your hand within his own and kissed the tops of your knuckles. You flushed pink and he sent you a cheeky grin,

“Get out of here loverboy! Don’t keep the children waiting!” You shouted as he floated out the door with a giant wave,

“I’ll be sending you kisses!”

“Ghostbur oh my god, go already!” You giggled with a fond roll of your eyes, he laughed loudly and floated out the door.

You should’ve told him you loved him. It’s okay, there would always be tomorrow.

You were getting ready for bed when Tubbo called you over the walkie-talkie, he was frantically apologizing and pleading for you to come to the crater that was L’manburg. Tommy then stole the walkie talking and started shouting about Ghostbur and your heart sink into your chest. He didn’t make a whole lot of sense but you put on a coat over your pajamas and ran in the direction of the once-prosperous nation. When you got there Tubbo and Tommy were a mess, Ranboo was trying to calm them down and Friend looked uncomfortable.

Where was Ghostbur?

You opened your mouth to call out to the boys when a pair of arms snuck around your waist. They were warm and real, pale hands caressed your abdomen,

“Hi, darling. Did you miss me?” Warm lips handed on your neck, “I missed you.”

Wilbur was back.

~~~ @blossom-702 @mayempress @thatguythatsshy

[kazucee]

THE ENDING MADE MY HEART DROP?? KOUE? ARE YOU OK? IM AT THE EDGE OF MY DAMN BED AND YOU DROP THIS CLIFFHANGER???? Anyway besides that ending (internally I'm cursing at you but also kissing your feet because this was absolutely magnificent !)

your writting gets better every time I read one of your works. going piece by piece of my favourite bits (though lets be honest, every part is so well written I could write a whole book report on it despite it being the prologue and first chapter)

'It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle. For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.'

this part??????? hello? koue and political themes is something I didn't think I needed (but now I'm invested and I demand more) gosh this blurb got me by the throat, like my lungs stopped working type. political themes slap so hard when done properly and madam served so hard with this! 'knees bled beneath the stones?' felt. me begging koue to release any of their writing frfr.

'Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.'

THIS ONE MADE MY EYES GLASSY IF I'M BEING HONEST. had to stop, chat koue, reread it, and inhale. reread, inhale, wipe eyes, repeat. It sent me through a rollercoaster, and I got whiplash. READER MY BELOVED CHILD, SHE IS JUST A BABY. WHEN I FIND THE PEOPLE WHO DARE HURT HER. But koue? The emotion in this scene is so well delivered (articulated, presented, THE WORDS? THEEEE WORDSSSS) and I like how you included how sacred halovian wings are to them (yes. YES.) 'to be helpless, to die flightless.' my heart pinched, legit ached, did I mention how well written this part is? don't underestimate koue and their angst capabilities or you'll get shot.

"My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

dare i say the best dialogue to ever dialogue. LIKE YES SIR GET YOUR DREAM ! I LOVED THIS PART. idk it shows how determined this young man is to give the people a better life (YES KOUE. YES. HIS CHARACTER IS JUST CHEFS KISS. guys its THE Sunday writer ever) i want nothing but to hug Sunday, you made him all rough edges and callouses at the ripe age of 15 (i hate that he's pushed to study so hard already, seething actually) yet despite his upbringing he still finds a way to be a gentle soul (and a total loser but we love him for it) 'if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one' OK? SIR? its giving 'if i cant run to you ill walk and if i cant walk ill crawl'

'It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit.'

reader being best friends with Robin is everything to me ! i love them, two twin stars taking the world by storm >:.DD AND SUNDAY BEING HAPPY ABOUT IT? BUT ALSO NOT BEING ABLE TO JOIN THEM BECAUSE OF HIS STUDIES? IM SOBBING. GOPHER WHEN I CATCH YOUR ASS. but sunday being soft towards the two special ladies in his life??>>>>> SOBBING.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

IF THIS DIDNT MAKE YOU SOB. there's smth so innocent and pure about their relationship (living for it, I truly am holy shhhhhhh) and I AM LOVING THE PACING (CALLING IT, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, MAYBE ENEMIES ALONG THE WAY) but like their conversations >>> koue can really dialogue like no other. it's so in character? it's so animated and it really brings the entire story to life? i can't compliment you more my darling well done indeed.

'And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.'

gosh i honestly wish i could quote the entire book because !!! but. anyways. I'm in love with reader? like robin is, the children too and the sisters and sunday? LIKE COUNT ME IN BECAUSE READER IS SUCH A LOVELY DARLING GIRL I LUV EM SO MUCH. PROPS TO YOU FOR MAKING SUCH AN EASY TO LOVE CHARACTER.

end notes: yes i could rant about this till the next day, yes I'm serious about the book report part, yes idc if it is tldr because I needed to express my love for this series. i remember koue mentioning that they're afraid of posting because it was too long? but honestly the wc doesn't even matter to me especially if it is well written and paced nicely ! it's like I'm transported into the world and I get lost in it, to my beloved spouse, your writing is great, if you still doubt yourself then this entire ass reblog was for naught >:O. ALSO, I am doing this of my free will because I want to, not because I'm compelled to, I see a well-written story, I compliment the crap out of it, and that's it, nothing to it. KOUE DARLING, ONCE AGAIN, STANDING OVATION FOR YOU (PLS DROP THE NEXT CHAPTER SOON BEFORE I START CHEWING ON THE BARS)

CHAPTER ONE. HIS BECKONING SALVATION.

SERIES SYNOPSIS, “For his tongue reckon with the beggary and treachery of her.” The narrative of the sun-burnt boy towards the moon-bruised girl, wherein Aeons dare play them both like a sedative, bore them starved for a disastrous relationship.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sunday x fem!halovian reader. mentions of physical abuse and mutilation, religious metaphors, world-building for Penacony, not canon-compliant to hsr lore. historical + semi-steampunk au! [8.1k wc]

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

“Hounds, seize the man in the red tailcoat. The girl is a victim." His young raspy tone coils around the audience like a snake, the pin drop silence, then the haunting allure of your voice comes to a decrepit halt.

Sunday tastes the chaos first before understanding what had happened, what he had just done.

The Hounds were on the move due to his command, undressing clear aggression towards the people in charge of tonight's show. The audience had jumped up from their seats, scattering and fleeing when they recognized the Bloodhound seals on their vest and the muted colors of their uniforms. Gopher Wood doesn't spare another second once his feet touch the stage, his long coat swishing through the cold air.

"In the name of Penacony's esteemed law, I hereby arrest the suspected perpetrators involved in Velvet House's illicit activities of child trafficking."

"Mister Chamberlain, sir!" The man in the red tailcoat stresses out, cries, struggles out of the grasps of a Hound tying him down like a shackle.

"Please have mercy! I was wrong, I was—"

"Your words have no power here." Gopher's tone is ice cold, his crow wings rustling sharply. "Save your pliant cries before the Judges, and pray that your punishment will be in your favor."

"No, please I cannot afford this! Please let me explain myself!"

"Take him away."

Gopher waves a hand at the Hounds, they simply nod their heads, dragging the hysterical man off the stage. Sunday is reluctant as he steps beside the Minister, fingertips trembling from anxious thrill.

"...What will become of him?" He asks.

"The man had committed a heavy crime in the Ménage, if all votes are in favor of punishment then he as well as the folks involved will be sentenced to death—each will take a silver cup of poison wine." Gopher doesn't dare sugarcoat his words, pin needles of guilt pricks at the flesh of Sunday's benign heart.

"And, if the votes go for the latter option?"

Gopher takes a glance at him. "The latter option is seeking atonement for their sins. If the President orders it, they will be exiled to the borders of the Reef where they will spend their remaining days begging for absolution, forced to train as soldiers, they will die valiantly trying to protect our Nation from the remaining Legion."

So death, still.

The guilt within the boy grows thick, enough for bitterness to settle heavy on his tongue. These men will be dead because of his command.

"That's horrible."

"Sunday, I'll speak candidly with you." The young boy is surprised when Gopher drops to a knee in front of him.

"You've done well speaking up." Gopher says. "Cease such sensitivity of yours. Sometimes, there will be a price for freedom. And to fight for goodness, there will be moral conflicts that will be sent to you as a challenge. To protect the weak, we could trample over those who take advantage of the downtrodden ones. It is difficult but it is still our duty, Sunday."

Protect the weak.

The man straightens, then once Sunday's name leaves his lips one last time, without awaiting the response of the young boy he saunters off to deal with the aftermath of the subjugated traffickers, telling Sunday to take a rest if he feels overwhelmed with the situation. What he had said was the truth, after all.

Sunday is not God, he cannot appease everyone, and not everyone will see his beliefs to be absolute, that's why law enforces such as the Hounds still exist even after the civil war—or any war even before that, even when the bold words of Independence happen to be pasted in every billboard and graffitied walls around the Capital—

It was simply just another appeasement.

Another reassurance for the public.

It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle.

For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.

Gopher Wood told him so during one of his studies, don't waste your time clinging to hope that can kill you, even with your selective ignorance on the matter the results will not change.

Even when he had uttered the command to send traffickers to death's door, it was supposed to be an accomplishment.

But Sunday's too bitter and guilt-ridden to feel a huff of pride from his achievement.

An hour has passed then, still, Sunday muddled on his transgression. Thirty minutes later, he pins his back straight; the theatre now is empty of audience, under the jurisdiction of the Bloodhounds, from the report given to them, there are roughly twenty-one children found in the backstage of the building, some former orphans from the war, others trafficked to be laboured as rising singers for on stage performances.

His leg couldn't stop bouncing. Restless, he's so restless all of a sudden. Sunday cannot help but let his thoughts wander to you, the young Halovian on the center stage that had such a grenadine syrup singing voice. He hasn't seen you since your call for help and his command to arrest. Did something happen?

"Would you like a drink, young lord?" A younger Hound had approached, a glass of water in hand.

Sunday takes it silently. "Where will the children go after this?"

"Well, it depends. First, we need to verify their identities before they are taken here. After that, they will be taken to the Great hall where parents with missing kids will come to pick up their kins."

"And, if the children have no parents nor identities?"

The dark cobalts of the Hound's eyes flicker briefly to him. "Then, the Governors will assign them a residence, they will be raised in comfort then trained to be military civil servants."

The young boy couldn't stop himself from feeling so utterly restless, he stood up. "May I ask where they are now?"

There was a brief hesitancy with the young Hound. "I believe they are still backstage, going through individual inspection."

Sunday thanks him and saunters off towards the direction pointed.

Once he opens the heavy flaps of red theatre curtains, he cuts through the small crowd, side-stepping with ease. Big, amber eyes fly quickly—he's trying to find you, a girl with wings and a ringed halo like scattered stars, wearing attire as bare white as sunlight, white ribbons that drag across the stage floor. He remembers your cocktail hat that rests like a crown above your head, the white veil that hides the elusiveness of your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smile. It's daunting to him, he doesn't know you and yet he still seeks you out.

Where could you have gone?

Eight minutes have passed, his footfalls take him to every nook and cranny of the Velvet House until he is certain he has reap the entire place. When the time bleeds five more minutes, his steps turn mild and he's heaving tired breaths, hand pressed against the wall supporting his weight.

For a split moment, he wondered if you ever existed at all—it's like you had vanished like a wisp of dainty smoke when your performance was interrupted prematurely. Sunday dabs his forehead with the edge of his sleeve,

Then, he hears a foreign noise.

It almost sounded like a chair creaking under heavy weight.

When the boy glances up, there's a sliver of moonlight spilling in from one of the open doors on the corridor he was on. Without thinking and with nowhere else to go, he approaches slowly, carefully, the door croaking loud when he pushes it open.

Under the dimly lit room he is greeted with the sight of a girl, standing on her tippy-toes up on a rickety chair, reaching for something that's clearly out of her reach at the top shelf of a bookcase. His sudden presence clearly alerts her and she spins, almost stumbling from her perfect stance—Sunday's eyes fly open and his heart stutters as she starts to lose her balance.

"Hey! Be careful—!"

The chair topples and a heavy thud resounds around the room, along with a few books that fell from its place in the case.

Sunday's chest and entire back blooms with a sudden rush of pain, his face crumpling on a wince.

"Oww..."

His amber eyes peered down and his eyes lock with you as he had you in his embrace to crush the fall of your impact.

The boy diverts his eyes, then looks back at you, clearly at the loss with what to do.

"Uhm." His hands come up to softly hold your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

A second of silence.

"I think so.."

With two of his hands on your own, he helps you up slowly. Then he leans down to brush the dust from your dress.

"Sorry." Sunday goes for an apology. "I didn't mean to startle you, I—"

"Wait a second."

He looks up at your cushiony voice, your eyes seem to hover on the shape of his halo under the candlelight.

Sunday could've sworn he saw wonderment within your eyes.

"You're that halovian boy with the large halo." You say, your enthused tone resting upon his ears and it seemed as if the world had stilled.

Sunday sees the expression on your face and finally he takes every inch of you. Gone was your stylish hat, what remains is a silky dress that seems to ebb and flow around your limbs and legs. Your eyes encased his in orphic merriment.

"Yes, hi." He almost scowls at himself, he hates how that sounded between his teeth. "You're...the one that performed today, your voice is very beautiful."

Your chuckle is feathery and tasted like sweet fruit. You turn away from him to pick up a notebook that fell on the floor, brushing your fingers against its leather cover.

"So why are you in this part of the building, lost?"

"Of that nature, yes."

He doesn't say that he's been looking for you, specifically. He doesn't even know why he felt that way. At the corner of his membrane, he vaguely wanted to ask if you were okay—or inquire why you had asked for his assistance, he wouldn't have made a move if you hadn't done that.

To the boy's misfortune, you see through his white lie.

"You know, if you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds earlier, I would have assumed you were really lost." You tell him with a hardened look. "You're not even supposed to be here in this room."

If you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds.

"So you knew I wasn't just some audience member from the start." He asks you, non-accusatory.

"It doesn't take a genius to see you are different from the rest." You start. "You were in one of the high balconies—only those in high positions are allowed to enter there."

Sunday doesn't know whether you said it as an insult or a compliment. He clears his throat, "Then I wanted to ask you something, why did you ask me to help you?"

Sunday remembers his own humming halo, before hearing your voice in his head. He wonders why you had chosen to converse with him of all people in the audience, you could've called for the Minister instead, but you chose him specifically.

"I just knew you would help." Your gentle smile doesn't leave too much for him to wonder. "I saw it in your eyes."

It takes a long time for you to answer, his amber eyes don't leave you as you brush past him, footsteps thudding softly against wooden planks to stare out the window that acts like a halo around your figure—like performance lights.

Skepticism is sewn between his brows. Everything is quiet now, Sunday doesn't know what to say or do but watch you. The room is too dark to completely see anything but for a split second when the curtains raise to invite street lamps to pour in the room—he notices something.

His heart stutters, then he closes the distance between the two of you. One hand weighs heavy on your shoulder, the other rips the curtains wide so the light has no choice but to cascade in.

Sunday's shock at the sight.

There are deep scars, clumsy and messy, almost like wine blemishes greeting him between the peaks of stylish fabric. Amber eyes then trace along the wounds, it stops closely at the deep scratches where your wings were, like someone had dug red in the root of it.

"What happened to your..."

Your smile is bitter but you dare not answer him. Despite being young and powerless, Sunday's not a fool. He instantly places two together.

The reason for your cry for help, the trafficked children, your injuries...

"You're not from Penacony, are you?" He touches your wrist, pulling you close then closer, breathing almost a whisper in case anyone else was listening.

"You're from New Ebondium."

Sunday's eyes are wide open now, grim and stiff with the revelation—a polar opposite from yours that remains passive, too calm for his liking.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

You chuckle then, it seems like the situation hasn't weighed down on you. Even if it did, you don't seem too concerned with it. "You're smart. I am a foreigner, I was trafficked from New Ebondium. It's easy to exploit a land that was defeated, no?"

Your eyes trail to the window, massaging a tentative finger to your wounded ear wings.

"They tried to cut it off with a pair of rusty old scissors a few days ago." You start, "to them, they didn't care what I am—I'm nothing but a scum from New Ebondium—they said. They also wondered if halovian wings would fetch a high price in the market. That's why I asked for help from you, I thought you'd do something about those bastards and you did."

Sunday's shock turns to fury.

"Blasphemous."

White hot anger rises from his throat and deeper within his veins, a surge of protectiveness. It didn't matter if war ceased three years ago. Whatever the outcome, the victors would always be aligned with honor, breeding pride and prejudice, a slow cycle for the absolute victors and punishment-bearers.

This was not the dream of victory Sunday honors.

Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.

It's the fact that your birth-given wings beneath your ears have already been threatened to be chopped off, you haven't even fully grown out your secondary wings yet...

Sunday pulls himself out of his own thoughts when he feels palms lifting his cheeks up.

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment the two of you stay like that, watching the other's folded expression closely.

"You're sad." You concluded after your inspection. "Why are you sad?"

Why were you asking this question?

"You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?"

"No one has." You answer him. "Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you."

Someone like me, you say. Sunday should feel insulted from such distinctions. But at the back of his head, he knows you're right.

He lets out a shaky exhale.

It's weird. The feeling tickling in his chest is different, there's a tentative pull that he feels towards you but he cannot quite understand why. Aside from Robin no one else had expressed trust in him, a trust that didn't have any basis or solid ground. You had trusted him the moment your eyes met from across the stage, trusted him of your origin and your wounds from harassment that mar the canvas of your body.

You trusted him despite not knowing him.

Sunday doesn't understand.

By the time the inspection was finished, Sunday had to leave the room and you were called back with the other kids. The night was dead and the rain had stopped pouring, mechanical carriages awaited outside as Bloodhounds ushered the children within.

"Where have you run off to?"

Sunday looks up at Gopher, the night rests peacefully upon his face, his arms crossed softly over his chest. The young boy avoids eye contact first, then looks back at his deep eyes, "I just wanted to take a look around the area."

"Hm." Gopher hums. "Next time, take someone from the Bloodhounds with you. You could've run into trouble."

Run into trouble. The man's deep voice invokes doubt, enough to pierce and stumble Sunday's self-morale.

He bites his tongue.

"Of course."

The young boy focuses on the line of children in front of them, he's reminded of you. Sunday knew that if these kids will grow up, they will be like lambs to a slaughter. To be entangled in a more governed and high atrocity the closer they get to the Capital.

And then there's you, a girl from the enemy land, the girl who loves to perform—born to be one. One mishap from you and your life would tumble down like a weed in a garden.

'Oh, aren't you that halovian boy with the large halo?' 'My instincts told me to trust you.' 'Why are you sad?'

Your voice is in Sunday's head, your tone absent of any sort of expectations or contempt.

It felt like petals falling, your voice that is.

Sunday wants to hear it again—he cares.

He felt like he had the responsibility to look after you now after that statement of yours, after relishing briefly in your company, the young boy cannot help but crave for more, like a moth to a flame.

So when you appear from the door, following the line to the carriage—he steps out from his place beside the Minister, he cannot help but reach out and circle your wrist, the line that flowed like a stream suddenly meeting its disturbance, the boy could feel many eyes on him, burning his skin. It almost makes him flush red with embarrassment, but your eyes appear gentle like he'd remember a few moments ago beneath that moonlight, encouraging, so he stills his determination.

"Son?" Gopher questions.

But Sunday's eyes are on you.

You're sad. Why are you sad?

You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?

No one has. Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you.

"You're wrong because I care." He tells you, he feels the warmth of your wrist, the pulse on his fingertip, pouring at a similar rhythm of his own heartbeat. "Pain is still pain. It does not discriminate, not with rugs or with riches."

From there on, he has made his final decision and turns to his guardian.

"Mr. Gopher Wood." Says Sunday, a tinge of weakness in his tone, he takes another breath, fists clenched.

"I want her." He says. "As a companion for Robin and I."

"Sunday." Gopher's eyes narrow. "If you demand something, speak with a voice of confidence, only then will I listen to you."

Sunday's eyes widened, this was the first time the Minister had given him a chance to explain himself. He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

He looks at you gingerly. "Will you come with me?"

You seem also shocked by his actions, but you're quick to recover. "Only if you allow it."

"Then, she'll be coming back with me to the Church, Mr. Gopher Wood."

There was a splotch of silence, then a small exhale from the tall man. "Alright then. If you wish for a friend, who am I to refuse my son's request?" Sunday's surprise of Gopher Wood's pliancy on the matter. Sunday beckons you to stand with him and watch as the last remaining kids enter the carriage. The Minister had his final say with some of the Bloodhound officers and Sunday diverted his attention, ready to take you to their carriage.

He stops when he notices you staring up at the Velvet House once more, you squeezed Sunday's hand. "You told me pain is still pain despite rugs or riches."

"Yes, I did."

"Then, do you truly understand my pain?"

Sunday notices the melancholy framing your irises and the lilt of your tone, he tilts his head and says your name for the first time that night. That garners your attention and you look back at him,

He releases your hand only to reach out and hold both your ear wings upon his cupped palms. He feels the feathers once again and remembers its touch of roughness—he hasn't told you this, but there was a time where both he and Robin had smoke rubble and tangy blood caking their feathers. It was such a long time ago, but Sunday would dare not forget his mother's caresses and final words.

He holds your face softly, "My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

You stare dumbfounded at his bold statement, Sunday sees your eyes turn starry-eyed.

"You promise?" You asked him, hopeful.

The boy is still young, doe-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, skin still dewy from any tribulations, with the first touch of the sun on the tip of his tongue when he says,

"I promise you."

“Another dead Halovian, sir.” There is a strain in the officer's tone, the body before them covered with a plain sheet, concealing the corpse.

"She was a widowed baron's wife." Gopher Wood's brows knotted, conflicted. The night lamp from afar provides ample light, glittering the chain hanging from his glasses.

"Are there any leads?"

"The local detectives are on their way here. But it will take about a day or two to gather any concrete evidence."

"What a waste of precious time." the man chastises. "By the time the detectives finish their work, the perpetrator would have escaped the city."

"My apologies, Chamberlain. However with the issues of Lady Constance's funeral preparations, the missing merchants and the suspicious activities of New Ebondium our resources are running incredibly thin."

Gopher Wood cannot help but pinch the bridge of his nose, rarely does he show any pint of irritation but the ongoing problem has been thinning his patience. "I had told those ignoramus Family heads to handle this affair weeks ago. Time and time again they have proven to be incompet—"

He catches himself before insults can spill any further. The atmosphere hushes into silence, merely the humming of lamplight and the distance roars of mechanical gears fill the cracked air.

Gopher barely turns his head, fixing his gloves. "Sunday."

"Yes, Minister?"

"This situation shall be kept hidden from the public and there's nothing more for you to learn today, you may head back to the Church."

The boy tilts his head. "Then, I’ll take my leave."

The night is achingly cold, even with him bundled up in a woolen scarf. His chauffeur guides him back to the awaiting carriage at the end of the alleyway, the young boy gets in and they are set off. When Sunday leans his elbow by the window sill, the radio starts to sputter:

"Convicted suspects of the horrible discovery in the downtown sector of the Velvet House have already been sentenced to their execution a few system hours ago. Their punishment to drink a half-pint of foxglove from a silver goblet, they have been—"

Sunday closes his eyes.

"Coach."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Please turn the radio off."

"Right away, young lord." His eyes remain vacant on the moving road, his fingers thrumming on his lap. Aside from the silence from the lessening radio, he could hear the distant roars of mechanical wirings and cogs from the Industrial Capital, the clips of horses' hooves as his carriage continued to roll by the granite road.

And just like that, after two weeks of hearing about the trials, the judgment, following the Minister around, the people involved with the trafficking had met their tragic end.

Penacony's news and radios had been sputtering about the incident, coupling it with the gasps from passersby and locals of all the sectors that bore witness to such atrocities. Two weeks of nonstop rumors and gossip about the tainted downtowns of deepened black market connections running haywire, and how they had gone radio silent after the crimes had surfaced to the Capital and the Bloodhounds.

In a couple of weeks people will move on from the topic, and days will continue to ebb and flow like clockwork.

That also means it has been exactly two weeks since you came to the Church.

Two weeks since Sunday last spoke to you.

Your schedule doesn't seem to find a crossroad. On the night of your arrival to the Church, the Minister had pulled Sunday aside,

"You've matured, Sunday." Gopher Wood had a different expression on his face. "I will tell the Academy to change your general studies to something more befitting. It's about time you start learning how to be a leader of this Nation."

Sunday should've been more aware of this outcome. The price of the Minister's lack of scolding on the matter concerning you—was Sunday's obedience and devotion to his growing responsibility. And thus, more weight was added on his shoulders.

With more duties on his plate comes the sacrifice of spending less time with his sister or having leisure time for himself.

The carriage stops. "We have arrived, please watch your step when you exit, master."

Sunday straightens, picking up his textbooks and exiting the carriage, what greets him at the entrance of the Church was one of the sisters that raised him, her smile kind, "Welcome back, Sunday. You've done well today, allow me to take your textbooks to your room."

"Thank you but there's no need, Sister Ruth." Sunday hesitates. "Is Robin home already?"

"Yes, she finished her recitals earlier and is now singing for tonight's sermon—ah." Ruth's eyes brighten. "That young girl volunteered to sing tonight as well, both have such lovely voices. Miss Robin and her seem to be enjoying each other's company."

A small smile graces Sunday's lips. "I see."

During the short time busying himself with the Minister's demands, he has found how you and Robin had grown closer to one another each passing day.

It was an instant click of friendship, Robin warmed up to you first after hearing of your circumstances (of course, Sunday hid the fact that you were New Ebondium-borne).

It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit. The other day, Sunday saw how Robin had enthusiastically pulled you to join her in her recitals and practices, sometimes during the lukewarm afternoon light, he would hear you both giggling over in Robin's room or he would see you two care for the other children, tidying up the dinette table together, talking and grinning, the kids offering you a wreath to crown your head, the sisters patting your head or cheek affectionately.

It always brings a smile to Sunday's face to see you getting along so well with the others, a little relieved that Robin has another companion of her age whenever the boy is too busy. But at the same time, Sunday cannot help but feel a bit left out, a type of bittersweetness on the duvet of his expression whenever he sees you and the others, a gaping ache of loneliness in his chest that continues to grow a ravine, but he swallows down his own emotions.

"Would you like to join them?" Ruth asks. "I can go ahead and—"

"No, it's alright. I…" Sunday hesitates a second too late. "The Academy is expecting me to do well for the next exams, I have to study. Please send my greetings to those two."

Ruth's smile is softer now, sad. "Okay. Be sure to take breaks in the middle, young lord." The boy feels a warm hand caressing his cheek, almost achingly akin to a mother's touch of concern. "You're still fifteen, you shouldn't be worked up over things like these so early."

"I know." Sunday sends her a kind smile, pivoting in his heel after bidding her a curt farewell.

But he can't help but worry about his future responsibilities as the future successor, too busy worrying to join you and Robin so leisurely,

And his loneliness is quickly filled with matters of the Ménage.

The night is growing colder by the minute and Sunday finds himself leafing through the pages of one of his books—he cannot find it in him to sleep with ease, deprived and muddled with so many troubles. The Academy has high hopes for him to rank one and sooner or later depending on how he performs, he will be introduced as the Chamberlain's successor at the next banquet in the heart of the Ménage.

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, a headache rampant. It's too much.

He sighs heavily, leaning his head against his arm. A knock on the door pulls him from his own thoughts, he flinches at the unexpected disturbance.

"Who's there?" He calls out softly, his eyes wander to the clock, 2:34am. It's so late for someone to come over. Silence answers him at first, however Sunday could hear the heartbeat of the person on the opposite side of the door, a mellow whisper and a dainty shuffle of feet beneath the wood.

"Sunday?" His breath hitches at your soft voice. "May I come in?"

The chair is dragged back as he stands. When he reaches the door he cannot help but fleet his gaze to the mirror in the corner, he squints beneath the dim light, pressing his shirt flat from creases, making sure his cowlicks are tamed down and presentable; he fusses over his appearance for a while before he cracks the door open.

His eyes sought yours and just like that, his lethargy lessens. You greet him on the other hand, your familiar smile decorating your lips, head tilted to the side.

"Hi."

"Hey." Sunday pauses, eyes looking you up and down, a frown on his lips. "The night is getting chillier, why are you only wearing cotton?"

He reaches out, albeit reluctantly for your hand to tug you in—only to jolt from how icy your fingers feel.

He sighs then. “Take care of yourself.”

His kiss-warmth hands are firm over your own, the boy pulls out a wool blanket from his wardrobe, wrapping it generously around your shoulders. He closes the door to his room and asks you to follow him to the lounge where a fireplace rests. You both sit in front of the hearth as Sunday clumsily cracks fire embers on the wood, it took a minute or two before red crumbs grew bright, licking up charred wood and humming through the empty air.

"Thank you." You let out a puff of breath, inching your cold fingers near the fire, then you turn to him. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you, I just couldn't sleep."

"No, no—" He's quick to clear his throat. "It's alright, really. I couldn't sleep either." His golden eyes drop to the heavy book being cradled to your chest.

"Looks like the two of us have things on our minds."

When Sunday looks back at you, your eyes are tipped upward in a smile.

He looks away immediately.

He hasn't mentioned it but it still feels a little odd to see you walking around the Church like that; hair untied, dressed in a simple cotton fabric—maybe he was used to seeing you in that silk-priced performance dress back at Velvet House but as you walk around, there's something else that seem to change about you.

There's still an air of untouched sophistication about you, your steps feather-like and quiet, sometimes he feels like if there is any form of danger right around the corner you won't hesitate to up and vanish like a smoke. But now, there's grounded reassurance—with the light of the fire, your wings appear preened and fluffier than usual, like it's been taken care more, it susurrates as you flap it. You settle comfortably on the floor beside him, nose buried into the blanket around your shoulder, and Sunday thinks that you look domestic, more like a child now than before.

You open your eyes. "Robin mentioned how much of a scholar you are."

He chuckles. "I'm just alright."

"Really?" You tilt your head. "You seem to like spending more time with books and scriptures than wanting to spend time with us."

Sunday's lips curve into a thin smile, he jots down about your unexpected boldness in his head then he quietly takes the empty space beside you, the floor creaking under his light weight. His wings flap once, twice. peeved and troubled. "I don’t particularly like scriptures as much as you thought." He turns his attention to the book you have. "What do you have there?"

He sees you look at him, down at the book, then up again.

"Oh." Your fingers are tentative over the letters inked onto the book. "This is just a book from the library I found. I was wondering if you knew of this." A pause. "I just didn't know how to approach you."

Sunday shakes his head, then leans in. "What is it? I can teach you if you want."

The boy wasn't expecting you to inch closer to his face, he refrains his wings from expressing his fluster and surprise, tucking it beneath his ears daintily when he sees you cup a palm around your mouth, your voice becoming whispery and hushed on his ear.

"It's about the Reef."

"The Reef,” He echoes. “The one that borders Penacony and separates the land from New Ebondium?" Sunday swallows his bash and answers you in a scholarly tone.

You nod your head. "Yes."

"Why are you curious about it?"

"The folks from the Velvet House mentioned it a couple of times back then." There's a look of adamancy in your expression, something that stirs Sunday. "They mentioned how difficult it is to go through the Reef and cross the border, why is that?"

The young boy thinks about it for a moment, during his travels he finds himself picking up certain information not privy to the public ears—on one of his journey towards the Serenity District, the closest location to the Reef itself—he has heard of Bloodhound officers talking about a creature spotted in that zone, not exactly the Legion but something more sinister.

Sunday spares you a look, his amber eyes glowing beneath the late hour. He leans forward, enough that his lips are brushing the feathers of your wings.

"There's a mimema in there."

"What's a mimema?"

"A meme." He simply says. "A creature as big as the most priced stallions in the high districts, said to have multiple eyes, golden claws and a weird...inky proportion."

He can feel your long silence. Then you ask, "Like a monster almost?"

"Yeah, almost. People have been said to have disappeared whilst crossing the Reef, mostly verified merchants trading to and fro." Sunday pauses. "That's just a myth though."

"I see." Your fingertip runs across the page, tracing the lines of a map on the book. "Then, can you teach me more about Penacony? I barely know anything about it aside from the Velvet House."

Sunday blinks his amber eyes down at you, the fire continues to crackle and burn. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"I'm," he looks away, insecurity is quick to well up inside of him as he remembers Mister Gopher Wood’s critique. You still have a lot to learn, son. He told him one time, and the young boy is quick to believe it.

"I'm not that good yet.” He tells you, and a pang coils through the air at the sound of rejection, he readies himself to stand and return to his room. “Forgive me but it’s best if you ask Robin or the Sisters…”

“Sunday, wait.” You catch the palm of his hand in yours, stopping his pace completely.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

Then and there, young Sunday realizes the issue. He starts to piece together your unexpected visit, your sudden interest about Penacony and your request for him to teach you.

Two weeks, he has busied himself with other matters that he hasn’t spoken to you in that long. He thought Robin’s company was enough to satiate you, or the presence of the Sisters and the other children that you don’t need him.

He thought you didn't need him, but here you were, reaching out to him first when he should’ve kept his promise to you the moment he intertwined his hands with yours and offered you to come live with him.

“I just want to spend more time with you.” He finally sees the look of loneliness in your eyes, your hand squeezes his own, a lingering yearning in your own eyes. “You were the one that helped me and took me away from that hell. I just want us to be friends at the very least.”

Sunday cannot help but stare at you simply. There's valiance pooling in your eyes, a shine that dares to overflow it makes his breath hitch. The young boy clears his throat, he turns away—the apple of his cheeks burning and not because of the hearth's warmth—he traces his steps back and occupies the space beside you once again, the action makes your shoulders slump in relief.

His amber eyes are akin to the fire in front of both of you, “You don’t need to say all of that, I already see you as a friend.”

Your eyes seem to sparkle at his reply, your hands are still latched, and the boy is hyper aware of the feel of your cool fingers and the mild calluses written on your palm. He reaches out to brush some rebellious strands from your face, “I should be the one to say sorry, I was the one who brought you here and I never gave you reassurance.”

You shake your head. “I knew there were other things that worried you. I saw it in your eyes when you were talking with that Minister,”

So, even you noticed that.

You continued, “Robin has told me a lot about you.” Sunday cannot help but feel bashful at your confession. “She’s worried about you too, you know. She wants you to lean on her when you feel overwhelmed.”

Sunday’s smiles thin and he replies to your statement, a light-hearted chuckle leaving his lips. The night continues to prolong and ink through the minutes, however the two of you find yourself staying in each other’s company in the lounge. You were an easy person to be around, you were willing to listen as conversation quickly fills the background. Your chatting ranged from random spurts of topics you wish to tell the other—talking about your days in the Church, what you liked and disliked—to in-depth talks about philosophies from Sunday, even if there was a lack of heartfelt conversations tonight, it didn’t matter. The boy had yearned to interact with you since he saw you in Velvet House, being able to chat with ease about anything and everything was all that he needed.

That night, Sunday learned more about you as you did with him. You didn’t realize how long you both lingered and talked that the fire had reached its lifetime, and the dregs of sleep had pulled you both under, conquering your consciousness. The enthusiastic chattering quickly shifts into silence and you both fall asleep on the lounge floor, huddled together with the blanket Sunday had lent you.

By the next morning, the young boy awakens with Robin poking his cheek. His drowsy amber eyes fall to his sister’s sly expression and only then did he realize how he had fallen asleep whilst chatting with you throughout the night, and how he had you close to him, an arm beneath your head to act like a cushion at the absence of a pillow and his other arm draped over the blanket like he’s shielding you from the cold.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Robin coos teasingly. “Seems like the two of you had fun without me last night.”

“It’s not like that.” Robin could only laugh sweetly which made Sunday’s ears brush red yet again. It seems as if his soft skin had melange with rud these days. The boy sits up, cradling your head as you continue to slumber and he looks down at you softly.

Robin sees this and gets up from her crouched position, her dress fluttering “Her room is just across from mine.” She tells him. “I’ll help make breakfast. Take care of her, brother. She’s been through a lot.”

With one last smile in his direction, Robin exits the lounge leaving Sunday to ponder. Take care of her, brother, the sentence resonates through him. Without sparing another second, Sunday winds a hand around your shoulder and the other under your knees to lift you up into his embrace. You seem to unconsciously drift closer to him, your cheek and tucked wing making home on the crook of his neck as Sunday takes you to your own room.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach it, struggling a little with you in his arms and juggling the doorknob open. Sunday hasn’t been inside your own space before, but as soon as he steps inside the boy cannot help but realize how much the room is akin to its owner—he was reminded of the room he found you in at the Velvet House. The honey gold spilling through the thin curtains and melting down the floor looked like performance lights. Your bed is a fluffy nest, with layers of caked beddings and duvets, he spots a vanity, a wardrobe, a desk with a singular notebook tucked by the corner. He diverts his attention and waddles his way to your mattress and slowly sinks you on its comfortable sheets.

He cannot help the smile from invading his lips when you let out a breathy sigh of comfort. His hand inches to brush your hair again but his fingertips stop just as it graces your forehead, “It should be me, thanking you.” He mutters out softly.

“If it weren’t for you…”

Sunday pauses briefly, amber eyes observing your peaceful expression. He ruminates upon his thoughts as the morning continues to float around the room in gentle waves.

Sunday had kept his promise to you. After the whole ordeal with you visiting him and asking him to teach you more about Penacony—he approached you the next few days and was more than willing to give you a few pointers of what he was taught by his tutors and the Academy. Ruth specifically was elated at how you two are getting along now. More importantly, looking at the gentle look Sister Ruth gave Sunday, the boy knew why she was relieved.

Ever since taking private lessons to be the head of the Church at thirteen, Sunday stopped acting like a child and had been making surface-level relationships. Aside from the people within the Church, Robin and Mister Gopher Wood—he never let anyone genuinely in.

You were the first in a long while that Sunday was letting into his life.

Of course, neither Sunday nor Sister Ruth mentioned that fact as he guides you to his room, books already stacked and ready at his desk for topic reviews.

Time passes in a blink of an eye.

After a few slices of moments together, Sunday came to a quick realization that you don't seem to hold a heavy amount of worry about the future like he does, and even if you did, it didn't seem to affect your person.

Bright, glittering, crystalline water—that's what he describes you as. With your grinning eyes, curves of your lips and alluring tone—it's easy for anyone to fall into your own little puddle, you seem to have a talent with that. By the next month since you've arrived in the Church, you have become the sweetheart of many. It's well known how much Robin had considered you her dear friend, or how the younger kids had called you their pretty older sister, or how the Sisters of the Church had called you their darling girl.

And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.

All those routine nights studying alone through wordy scriptures and heavy proverbs was simply replaced by your presence and the crackle of fire. That one late night visiting Sunday turned to two, then four—to the point the boy doesn’t question when he hears his door open and close because he knows it’s just you, another new book in your arms and questions ready to slip between your tongue.

You were easily Sunday's best student, you were quick to understand certain verses, can make analysis and theories on certain economic and political decisions of the Ménage, get into deep discussions with him in terms of Penaconian history and learn its linguistics. It had quickly become a study session for the two of you—one of the last things on his routine which Sunday favored the most. It was the only time you two got to spend time together since his mornings and afternoons were preoccupied by private tutoring.

"You learned the Penaconian language faster than I expected." Sunday's impressed at your written notes, they are all correct and easy to understand. Then he starts cleaning up the mess of cards and parchments from his room floor. The boy was too busy to notice your long stare. When he gathers up the last remaining notes, he barely sees you reach out your hand until he feels the touch of fingertips grazing the feathers of his wings, touching a nerve.

Sunday jolts back in surprise, curling his wings protectively beneath his gray hair. "...What is it?"

"Oh sorry. It’s nothing, I just..." You seem to be daydreaming, stagnant and saddened all of a sudden. "To Halovians, wings are their lifeline. Scriptures and textbooks have mentioned the divinity and the meaning of wings to Halovians so I still cannot understand why there will be people out there that desire to cut off our wings."

Sunday is quiet for a moment, he cannot help but sigh heavily. "Did you eavesdrop on the passing guards outside of our Church?"

Your silence is almost deafening. "What do you mean?"

"Did you hear about the recent serial murders of Halovians?" He asks. Your expression shifts: shocked, caught, then melancholic.

You nod slowly and the boy's shoulders droop.

A month has passed already, and that meant three more dead Halovians found in ditches and alleyways with no clue of the murderer behind it. The only alarming difference from the first found body—was that the recently murdered Halovians had ripped off wings and missing halos. Maybe the black market networks are finally making a bold move after the execution of their own? Sunday hasn't heard anything from Minister Gopher Wood in awhile since the first case.

The very thought of those mutilated Halovians twists ichor and sickness within Sunday.

Then for a moment, everything seems to stop.

The two of you hear clattering, then the door creaks open, Ruth emerges with a lantern in hand, her expression creased with panic and worry. Something felt wrong.

“What the matter?” Sunday is up on his feet, his pulse is racing.

Ruth is reluctant for a second, then she says. “It’s the young miss.” She says. “We can’t find her anywhere.”

Robin. Sunday felt like his whole world crashed for a momentary second.

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

taglist — @kazucee @3lectraheart @cakechase @swivi @justcallmemidnight

[domthedevil]

what about sub diavolo? like making him edge himself beforehand and then ruining his orgasms until he's a mess. then mc just let's him have a normal orgasm and it's too much and also, could you put an aftercare part? i like when people write about aftercare but it's not that common to read about it

Yes! And yes! I agree we don’t see a lot of after care in fics. And I’m a big baby myself with aftercare so I’m all mushy as always. I needed this to help break up some writer’s block. Thank you!

Warnings: Diavolo x gn!mc, edging, overstimulation

The prince’s hips jerked and twitched as your hand slowed its pace for what felt like the thousandth time. You had him prisoner in bed, teasing him until he whined and begged to only let the hot, tight sensation fade to a dull ache. All day you teased and cared for him, but not a single time did you let him finish. Even though he begged and whimpered for it, you let him know who was in control.

“Keep squirming and I’ll leave you high and dry.” You hissed as his hips twitched against your hand. Your finger lightly traced the slit of his throbbing cock. He felt so full of cum, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold back. The enchanted marbles you used to squeezed his nipples tightly shone in the low light of the room. Diavolo’s tight grip on the sheets made your own arousal grow.Even though he was so strong, he couldn’t bring himself to fight your commands. It was exhilarating to see him lose his princely facade at the touch of your hand.

“You look so good like this...”

“MC-! I can’t hold on. Please.” Diavolo’s breathless plea.

“You’ve been so good, beg me one more time.”

“P-please-! I’m going to explode if you don’t.” His beautiful golden eyes tore through you. Such a pathetic expression. “MC...I’ll be so good for you. I’ll be so good. Just please let me cum...!”

Licking your lips, you pumped his tender cock with both hands. Slowly letting his smooth and hot skin be fully engulfed in your warm fingers. Feeling his legs shake at your sides while kissing him deeply, you marveled at how beautiful the demon prince was. Letting himself go, letting himself be honest, and all just for you.

“Cum for me Diavolo. Cover my hands in it. You’ve earned it.”

Your whisper felt hot against his lips before you dipped to bite and nibble at his broad neck. His moans almost sounded like sobs as he got close. Every touch was a mix of pain and pleasure as Diavolo grew closer to finishing. Even his chest was tender and tingling. His whole body was on fire. His heart was racing faster than he could remember. Hearing your whispers of encouragement helped him reach the edge quickly.

“Hhh-MC!” Diavolo whined louder than he had meant to, but his moans following were even louder. Finally feeling his orgasm gush out of his sensitive cock shook him. Stilling your hands at the base of his cock, you watched as there didn’t seem to be an end to his massive load. His dazed and flush face was a masterpiece you hoped to paint one day. Diavolo almost collapsed on the mattress beneath you both, his mouth hanging open as he panted. Riding out a long awaited bliss.

Enchanted by his afterglow, it took some force to pull yourself away. Now came one of you favorite parts. Parting from him a moment, you washed your hands and prepared to help clean his highness up. You couldn’t imagine he could use his legs anytime soon. Grabbing a few of his favorite things you walked back to find him just how you left him. With a soft, damp towel you delicately washed his legs and chest and stomach clean. Placing soft kisses on the now clean areas.

Diavolo watched lazily as you tended to his bites and bruises. Your soft touch made him feel so assured, your kisses showed your love just as strongly. Like it was only natural to trust you like this. Once he was clean, you quietly straddled him as you rubbed at his arms and shoulders.

“MC?”

“I thought a nice massage might help relax you. Let me spoil you a little.” You emphasized your request with a kiss. Kissing you back, Diavolo smiled warmly as you treated him. Each new area you touch was followed by a soft kiss or a soft nuzzle.The exhausted prince could only hold you close as he drifted in and out of sleep, thinking about how much he cherished you.

There were endless ways to treat him. But Diavolo loved the way you did it the most. Getting a cup of tea for him, playing with his hair as you read or told funny stories, even helping him dress into a clean robe; though he insisted he was fine by then, you were determined to dress him still. Everything was perfect.

[akookminsupporter]

sometimes i forget that words hold weight. i just read the words instead of having them sink in. maybe that's why i'm adoring the journey i have rn of reading bts lyrics; as of now i'm obsessing over outro: tear bc all of the rapline's different styles just jump out and blend well?? just love how like namgi have different pronunciations and meaning to the word tear and the intensity hobi has with his theme of fear. just so good? also sobbing over still with you bc jungkook's such a great writer? his descriptions are so vivid and i absolutely adore his mind. the line This subtle noise from the air conditioner, If I don’t even have this, I think I’ll break down. (lyrics from doolsetbangtan). just the outright implication that the hum of the air-con's the only thing that has a grip on his sanity. ugh, masterful. also!! will never move one from namjoon's "i'm ill" from dis-ease, which proves his mastery of both english and korean hhhh. the different meanings of ill which can be; one for korean, sick as in cool or sick as in illness. just ughh. just ever since pre-debut, wtf. how are these men so talented? especially the rapline omg. namjoon participating in rap battles since he was like 14? and wining? yoongi too!! with his lyrics ughh, he's so honest and raw in his lyrics (i love him bye). and how hobi (this man is so talented wtf) utilizes the sound of words to emphasize his flow bc of his background of dance too which contributes so much to his rapping. (and also the double meanings found in his lyrics wtf (yes, i'm looking at daydream specifically) i wanna compliment all the members now bc all of them are so skilled and talented when it comes to the art of music?? it's obvious how much they care abt the music they put out? honestly still shook over how jin literally started from nothing and now has such a timeless and velvet voice and HE WROTE A SONG ABOUT HIS PETS PLS and his love for music is just so admirable. jimin, oh my god jimin, he needs to release more solo music, pls his lyrics from lie are so guttural and punch me in the throat all the time. taehyung!! look at him go plsss,, just adore how he writes in english and his usage of nature when it comes to imagery <3333. and jungkook, this man, ughhh this man. he just exceptional. just realized how big this rant ended up being and i still wanna say some more but whatever. what about you rosie? are there are any lyrics from the tannies that make you feel so much emotions? i think as of now mine is 134340, rain, trivia; love, outro: tear and magic shop.

"i wanna compliment all the members now bc all of them are so skilled and talented when it comes to the art of music."

This ask is the perfect example of what a true fan of a band sounds or talks like.

There are many lyrics or lines from BTS songs that make me feel many emotions but there is one, in particular, one from Suga in Answer: Love Myself that marked me from the first time I read it:

🎶Perhaps, than loving someone else, it is more difficult to love myself Let’s be honest and admit what we have to admit that your standards are more strict when they are applied to you🎶

translation: doolset