#robin believing in them is believeing in herself and her life too this is making me sick... shitting crying throwing up etc

[hauntingblue]

ENIES LOBBY PART 2 BABY

The last look... like Orpheus to Euridice I'm going to be sick... also how they keep evading each other... they crossed each other in town and now they can't even cross glances.....

I can't do this anymore I'm not making it out of here you guys... I'm going to die all dried up in my bed like a mummy.... I'm just realising how similar luffy and Robin are and how unlucky she got in comparison but luffy reached her in the end... and now they're family 😭😭😭 anyways now to the sbs if I can read through my tears my god. Robin spent the rest of her life running from the government and in hiding just for a minute of contact with her mother. Like are you seeing this. And luffy would do it too. Fuck it is that not what marineford was??

Have I ever talked about how robin holds her mother's hand and her power (most of it for now) is manifesting hands out of thin air? It's like she can make need for connection manifest physically. That makes me feel so normal and emotionally stable

Look at these fucking freaks... also usopp who was the one who told robin to trust luffy burning down the flag because luffy told him to do it for robin... are you seeing this???

Luffy manager and assistant manager

Sanji is so scared of women look at him...

Look at his stupid face. What the fuck is that.

Her alpha pheromones have him ovulating right now. Look at this

Luffy is very dumb but look at the extreme he is willing to go for her friends. Just throwing himself into the rough sea. Thank god a child and her pet are out there to save him ajdkajsks

Was she... was she in the tub with kalifa.... fighting????

IS SHE LOOKING FOR THE STRAP???? THATS SEXUAL HARASSMENT!!

okay... normal reaction I guess

Sanji has never looked more pathetic I love it

Kalifa wants Nami's full attention.... wonder why that is... *pussy shot*

You know this is actually the building of a beautiful relationship

Look how frank approves of nami and her lesbianism... he's so supportive ❤️

He always has something cool to say... also zoro I saw your approving smile... you can't hide from me

Zoro couldn't say what he thought to usopp but sanji could do it here.... usopp needs to heart it so bad

I hollered so hard when I saw this for the first time... that is such a slay sanji.... luffy and zoro have fuck all to say when they beat someone so sanji gets all the one liners (also sanji is a demon and zoro is the king of hell there is zosan everywhere for those with the eyes to see)

It's fascinating to me that zoro says sorry here. What is going on inside that head. Like in recent developments (egghead) we can see they can be friendly but.... sorry for what....

Robin going from not trusting the crew, to protecting them because she sees her own life worthless and values theirs, to trusting them and their love to know they will save her... 🥺🥺

Gear 5 in gear 2 tease (no)

He is like the sun and he doesn't even fear the gods. Okay. Who made the people who wrote these reasons into prophets.

Oh my god. One piece water seven is so old that the world population was 5 billion.

This is so funny. "I love nami and robin" Does he makes cakes like that sometimes with things written on them. A cake with nami looks beautiful today. Another one with robin is very intelligent. Just for the fun of it I guess

This to me is CRAZY btw. Let me explain. I get it here it makes sense but he says the same thing about ace in thriller bark. And then after time skip he is back to this and he should be TERRIFIED. In my opinion at least. Knowing his friends is all he has left and they could die at any minute if he slips up or isn't quick enough to save them? Or did he understand that ace saved him. Still ace died (not saying this is true) to protect him because he wasn't strong enough or because he didn't get there quick enough.

Are they stupid??? Arkham games reddit referenced one piece that's so cool....

I thought I could finish enies lobby with one post.... welp....

[jaythes1mp]

1224 words, 7239 characters, 54 sentences, 27 paragraphs, 4.9 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

You had always had a vague understanding that your biological father was well-off, as he would consistently transfer a substantial amount of cash to that woman each month. However, while you were fortunate enough to not have grown up in the most deprived area of Gotham, it didn't necessarily mean that you had lived in the lap of luxury either.

Despite the knowledge that your father was wealthy, you had still scraped by in a small, cramped apartment, constantly relying on his financial support and night jobs to survive. You supposed that your situation could have been worse, but it didn't make the reality any more bearable. You often wondered what it would be like to live in a well-appointed home and never worry about money, but those thoughts were quickly thrusted aside and squashed down by the woman’s polished heel. Every time, the woman’s sharp words brought you back to reality.

You hadn’t deserved that life. She would remind you time and time again.

You grimace, the thought of your mother, or rather, that woman, entering your consciousness disgusting you. You weren't sure if she'd ever truly earn the title of 'mother.'

It wasn't until you reached the age of eleven that you become painfully aware that not every child had to desperately plead with their mother for food, and that it wasn't normal for parents to hold their kids needs over their own heads.

It had become abundantly clear to you from a young age that the woman was never truly interested in motherhood and had only kept you out of a slim chance that one of the men she had whored herself out to would be wealthy. She targeted men at lavish galas, her sole purpose for going being to hook up with them in exchange for large amounts of money. They usually sent nondisclosure agreements along with the cash, ensuring her continued wealth. However, your existence disrupted her carefree lifestyle. ‘It was perfect, until you came along.’ She’d say.

She had exploited Bruce Wayne for money. Getting him drunk with enough press around to stress about his ‘playboy image’ to bed her. Afterwards, she demanded a large sum of money, and he gave it to her without a second thought. He hadn’t even fully read over the details. Just signing up for a wire transfer to her account every month for the next few years. He hadn’t even been aware of you.

Too preoccupied with training the young Robin to even be aware of your birth.

Throughout your life, the woman had consistently manipulated the truth, spinning a tale in which it was your fault that your father had ‘left.’ And, despite your reservations, a small part of you still believed her words.

She had carefully cultivated your sense of guilt, instilling the belief that your very existence had driven your father away. Her venomous words and manipulative behavior had left deep emotional scars, convincing you that you were unworthy of a loving father's affection. Or rather, anyone’s affection.

That day, when you turned sixteen, was the day that woman unceremoniously ushered you out of her home. Clothes and any belongings that she didn't deem worthy enough to sell for a few hundred dollars were carelessly thrown out into the hallway. By the time you made it back from work, most of your belongings had already been looted by the other tenants and homeless kids who roamed the building.

With a mixture of desperation and hope, you had gathered the few remaining possessions that you could salvage, cramming them into your work bag. Your fingers had trembled slightly as you dug out your old, cracked phone. Desperation clawed at your chest as you dialed her number and slammed your fist against the door.

You hadn’t been surprised when your repeated calls went unanswered. Frustration and anger boiled within you, mingled with a pang of hurt and despair. Deep down, you knew it was futile to even attempt to break down the door, as that would only result in consequences that you were unwilling to face.

With a steely determination, you forced back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you, walking to the nearest bank with a firm resolve. You withdrew every penny you had painstakingly saved over the past two years and closed the account, ensuring she could no longer access any of your hard-earned money.

Armed with the few thousand dollars you had managed to retrieve, you began a desperate search for someone, anyone, who would be willing to offer you a roof over your head. Despair gripped your heart as you realized how limited your options truly were.

At that point, the members of the Batfamily had been cognisant of your existence for about a year. Bruce having taken a DNA test for Alfred’s medical examination. Yet, despite their general awareness of your presence, it seemed they had made no direct attempt to reach out or provide assistance. On the surface, your life appeared stable. You resided with a supportive parent, attended school, and held down a job. From all outward appearances, there didn't seem to be anything particularly noteworthy or concerning about your circumstances.

But they were detectives. One would expect them to possess keen eyes for details, especially when it came to the nuances and subtle signs that might indicate something amiss. Yet, they had missed the marks, failing to acknowledge the more subtle indications of your turmoil.

Jason discovered you the morning after you had been cruelly cast out from your home. You were found sleeping outside, your weary head nestled against your overstuffed work bag. Wearing an old, frayed sweater for a makeshift blanket.

Typically, he wouldn't have paused to take note of a sight akin to this. He was all too gruesomely acquainted with the sight of homeless, neglected children on the streets. But as his gaze fell upon you, there was an unsettling sense of familiarity that snagged his attention.

The question nagged him persistently, scratching at his consciousness like an untamed itch. Where had he come across you before?

Then, suddenly, recognition flashed across his mind. You were the same child Damian had fixated upon just over a year ago. The demon spawns little obsession.

He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Why on earth were you on the streets? It was blatantly obvious that it wasn’t a safe environment for anyone, let alone you. The mere notion of the young Wayne finding out that his blood kin was unhoused would undoubtedly send the typically stoic demon into a frenzy.

He let out a resigned sigh, leaning down to gently nudge your huddled form. His sharp, calculating grey eyes roved over your slumbering figure, taking in every minute detail with a sense of keen observation.

You stirred at the touch, groggily lifting your head from your overstuffed bag. Your bleary eyes slowly peeled open, blinking owlishly in the early morning light. Confusion and exhaustion mingled in your expression as you caught sight of Jason crouched down in front of you.

That was the day your life began to intertwine with the tightly woven web of the Wayne family. From that very moment, you became ensnared within the complex and sometimes suffocating grip of the Wayne's protective and possessive nature.

No use of y/n, no use of any descriptive features for the reader, no gender mentioned.

Shorter than usual, but more of a dive into the reader’s backstory.

Comments, asks, and reblogs are very appreciated! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

[overlyspecific]

Part 4 of Merlin as Robin Hood

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

The results are in, it was pretty neck and neck so i’ll try to get the other option posted pretty quick here too. This part gets a little dark towards the end so warning for injuries and angst for the future (whats merthur without a little trauma, you cant do hurt/comfort without the hurt).

Gwaine: *carrying a crate of fresh apples into the small clearing they’ve made into a hideout* I just don’t get it. Why would he risk getting captured just to see someone who would run him through first chance he got?

Lancelot: *smiling a little to himself* Oh, you don’t know the first thing about it, friend. You should have seen them when Merlin worked as his manservant. He would spend all night saving the castle with magic just to yelled at all morning by Arthur because he forgot to polish one piece of armor.

Gwaine: *he takes a seat on his makeshift hammock and takes a swig from his suspiciously ale-smelling water skin* I just don’t get why he cares so much about him. We do good work here stealing from rich douchebags and giving to people in need. I dont see what is so different about Arthur, isnt he the worst of the worst for rich douchebags? Merlin himself calls him a prat.

Lancelot: oh I see whats going on…

Gwaine: what?

Lancelot: You’re jealous.

Gwaine: No, I’m not. Look, Merlin’s great. I just don’t like him risking everything for someone who has proven they wont do the same.

Lancelot: and what? you would be better for him?

Gwaine: I could be, at least I wouldnt toss him out to fend for himself in the woods all alone.

Merlin: *returning from his forest meeting with Arthur catching the tail end of the conversation* Gwaine, I appreciate the sentiment, but no offense you werent there and *turning to lancelot* neither were you Lance. You don’t know what went down or the hard choices we ALL had to make. so respectfully butt out of it.

Gwaine and Lancelot: *feeling guilty for getting caught* sorry merls

Merlin: its alright. Let’s just take stock of everything we got so we can distribute it-

Merlin is cut off by a yell in the woods and they all go quiet.

Lancelot: Merlin, your magic is still in place, right? No one should be able to find us.

Merlin: Yes, no one can find us unless we allow them to. Stay here, it’s probably just a lost traveller.

Gwaine: No, you shouldnt go alone. We’ll go with you.

Merlin: If its a traveller by themself then it will be better to go alone to not spook them. I have my magic to back me up and i’ll shout if they are injured or need help. Stay here.

Merlin walks into the woods alone out of the magical safety of the hideout.

Gwaine: I dont have a good feeling about this…

Meanwhile in the woods, Gwen is searching desperately around the area largely covered by trees that look the exact same.

Gwen: *to herself* c’mon gwen focus! Did he say the trees with the fruit above or below the leaves?

Merlin: *appearing from the woods like the forest druid he is at heart* I actually said the trees with the blue berries and white blossoms. I think below the leaves means they are safe to eat.

Gwen: *running to Merlin and throwing her arms around him desperately* Merlin!

Merlin: *from inside gwen’s tight bear hug* As much as I appreciate the hug, do you want to tell me why you are in the woods alone trying to find me?

Gwen: *releasing Merlin from her death grip* Merlin, you are in danger! I came from the castle as quick as I could to warn you-

Merlin: Gwen! Gwen! It’s okay! I just got away from the knights, I’m fine. Better than fine actually. Arthur saved my life…

Gwen: *trying to get a word in but Merlin has started excitedly rambling about Arthur* No, Merlin. Listen to me.

Merlin:…and the way he looked at the knight that tried to kill me, Gwen, it was like he wanted to murder HIM. Can you believe it?

Gwen: Merlin!

Merlin: *Finally realizing something isn’t right and looking around the forest* Wait, we aren’t alone.

Gwen: That’s what i’ve been trying to tell you, Merlin! The king sent Arthur as a distraction. Arthur doesn’t even know. Uther hired a witchfinder with a really powerful magical tracking amulet. You’re the biggest magical target in the vicinity. Its going to lead them right to you! You have to run, get as far as you can!

Merlin: Gwen, I cant leave Arthur. He’ll die without me.

Gwen: He’ll die if you die. You have to go!

Merlin: Fine, but I’m scrying everyday to make sure he’s-

Merlin is cut off by an arrow plunging its way into his side. He falls onto Gwen who tries to keep him standing.

Merlin: Gwen, get out of here! Find Lance and Gwaine, they’re just beyond those trees. They wont find you there. You cant be caught with me.

Gwen: Merlin!

Merlin: Gwen, go!

Gwen takes off into the woods in the direction of the hideout. Merlin falls to his knees and calls his magic up but his eyes only flicker gold for a second before dimming. Collapsing all the way to the ground, Merlin sees black boots approach him from in front of him. Merlin doesnt have the strength to raise his head but he knows if he did, he would be met with the satisfied face of the witchfinder.

Witchfinder: So you’re the great and powerful Emrys, huh? I thought you’d be harder to find.

Merlin feels one of the black boots make contact with his injured side and everything goes black.

Sorry to leave you all on a cliffhanger but I had to do it. Next part will be a flashback to the magic reveal and then we’ll see how Merlin Hood gets out of this sticky situation.

[brucewaynehater101]

i'm gonna be real idk if your the right person to go for young justice core four headcanons but you give the best replies by far so heres my own idea idea

I was listening to the Roblox Soundfont remix and now the og Gone Angels and now I'm thinking . . .

Tim became Robin to prevent Batman from ceasing to be the symbol of heroism and good he started off as

The symbol that spiraled into destruction of even the self with Jason Todd's death

imagine a world where Red Robin becomes the very thing he swore to destroy with his own death

he dies along with Bart and Kon. Cassie due to this and maybe other factors fucking looses it, Batman post-Jason's death but pre-Tim becoming Robin style

or maybe instead he dies but the rest of the core four lives. either way Cassie still looses it, by herself or with her other teammates

And maybe, just maybe, they get nobody to be the Third Robin to their Batman, no Third Robin to Tim's Second Robin

likely improbably in canon but the idea of Cassie and maybe even Bart and Kon having a villain arc (maybe Black Silence style) is too good of an idea not to share

(Side note; imagine a Gone Angels cover where the survivor(s) sing and for the itallian lyrics in the midway point the deceased sing)

((extra side note: imagine this is what gets Batman and maybe the other Bats to reflect on the time before and after Tim become robin, post Jason's death; seeing their history repeat with Young Justice))

((hell maybe the Justice League realizes as wells))

"you give the best replies by far." Thank you. Sometimes, it takes a bit to reply to asks cause I'm taking a few hours to really answer the prompts/ideas/questions people pose. I also sleep at random times, so apologizes in advance to any asks that take a while!

My image of YJ is a codependent platonic polycule. They are Young Just Us because they didn't receive proper support from their mentors. This is part of why Cassie and Tim fell apart after Kon and Bart died. This is why, in their own weird ways, both of them tried to get a form of Kon back. Tim tried the scientist cloning avenue, and Cassie tried the cult.

If you want Tim's death to inspire Cassie and YJ to go evil, might I suggest Tim sending proof of Bruce being alive in the timestream and then succumbing to his spleen injury (perhaps an infection)? This would create a delicious amount of angst, anger, and mental breakdowns.

Cassie, the only nonretired YJ member alive at the time, didn't believe Tim about Bruce being alive. This was in part due to the cloning stuff but also in part to trusting Nightwing (or Batman at the time). If Tim didn't make it out of that alive, Cassie may be desperate to find anyone to blame but herself for that. She was a kid, she was lost in her own grief, and Tim should have had the support of literally any other hero.

The entire hero community turned against a teenager in his time of need that he resorted to conspiring with the LoA and ended up losing his life. Whether she chooses to be mad about nobody believing him (Tim's possibly a better detective than Bruce and people have revived before, but his evidence at the time was flimsy), she can be very pissed that not a single hero offered to help him. They didn't even need to trust in Tim's decision. They could have just accompanied Tim until the teen gave up or proved himself right. They could have treated it as a grief road trip while Tim found himself.

Anyways, losing the last nonretired YJ member that way may cause her to just snap. The JL was already on thin ice with the YJ for their lack of support to her generation of heroes. Them failing YJ enough that two children died in the field and one died as a direct result of their actions? She would, rightfully, loathe the JL. On top of that, she does already not trust the government for what they did to Secret. If she can't prosecute the JL, she'll become their enemy.

Cassie lost all of her main polycule. She wants revenge.

After Bart and Kon come back, they see how JL left Cassie and what they did to Tim. Cassie is part of their ride or die, and she has been treated so horribly. Tim has died. They obviously join her.

Now, with Bart there to give evil ideas (Bart is the scariest member of YJ and you can't convince me otherwise), YJ is a force to be reckoned with. Maybe some of the other members come out of retirement, maybe not. They would be unstoppable with Tim helping them, but that's the problem. They don't have Tim. Tim isn't there to help them nor hold them back. That's why they became "evil" anyway.

I like to imagine someone, probably Nightwing, screaming at them from across the battlefield. "This isn't what he would have wanted! He became Robin to stop Batman from destroying everything. This is the antithesis of why he became a hero!"

For a split second, YJ would pause. There's merit in those words, after all. Cassie would recover first as she shakes her head. "He became a hero to be the leash to Batman's rage. He's not here now. He's not here to temper our rage, and you did that. You abandoned a child." She plants her feet more firmly and points her sword at Nightwing. "We won't let you do that again."

It's dealers choice on whether YJ win the battle or not. Also, I do believe YJ would be obsessed with trying to bring Tim back. Perhaps some of their evil deeds truly stem from them trying to find ways to bring back Tim. They are incomplete without him just as they were incomplete without Kon or Bart and would be without Cassie.

Now, is Tim actually alive or does he stay dead? Did Ra's revive him using the Pit? Did Ra's lie or misguide the Bats while keeping Tim hostage? Will Tim come back, either after being brainwashed by Ra's or escaping, to find his platonic polycule has officially lost it and turned evil?

[bitterbutblue]

What if i request Robin x Fem!Reader where Robin felt a bit pressured from the media and as her beloved girlfriend you help her relief stress :33

It can be fluff or smut, i dont rlly care i just want more Robinnn content :333

Thank you in advance!!!

Also can i be 🍷 anon? :3

you're not bad, but rather good ☆ robin x fem!reader

~ omg hi!!!! ur my first anon this is so exciting.... i don't do smut but i can totally do fluff.. anything 4 u <3

gonna start naming out the song lyrics i've been using as titles

loveable ~ jo yuri <3 ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Robin's recent comeback- a miserable failure.

Robin's new EP 'Welcome To My World' has been nothing but a colossal failure. With each new album, Robin continues to disappoint- fans are sick of her low effort songs and lack of stage presence. Her comeback stage shows her clearly lack of passion. Just because she has made a name for herself does not mean she can now slack off on stage when fans pay thousands to see her-

You closed the article before you finished reading it. If you continued, you probably would've ended up throwing your phone across the room or do something along the lines of that sort of stupidity that you would end up regretting later. That article was like a knife through the heart for Robin but for you it was a knife through the author's decaying and bleeding out body as you stab that fucker over and over again. Okay, maybe that was too violent but fuck you can't stand to see people say such bullshit about your girlfriend. She called you at work, crying and saying she couldn't do it anymore. You could barely make out her words through her sobs and the bad signal (which led you to believe she was hiding in the bathroom).

"I worked so hard, I don't know what they want from me. I can't-"

"Robin, baby, deep breaths- okay? I'm right here, it's okay."

It infuriates you, how people can run their mouths and say whatever bullshit that comes to their mind just because they're not satisfied with their own miserable lives. Just because they feel like dragging someone down would perhaps make themselves feel better about the fact that someone half their age is more successful than they will ever be. You want to tell her that you'll fucking find them and make their life a living hell but that's definitely not what she wants to hear right now.

"What do they want from me? I'm so tired, I don't wanna do this anymore."

All you really could do was continue to comfort her, hoping that she can pick up what you're saying through the static and cut offs due to bad internet. You just stayed with her until her cries became sniffles and she stated that she has to go before they suspect anything. You swallowed back your worry and just nodded.

"Okay. I love you, Robin.

You can feel her smile from across the phone.

"I love you."

That night you spent the entire evening in the kitchen, prancing around and trying not to burn the eight things you have going on the stove as you flip through your phone to find that recipe for the thing in the oven that looks horrifically bad.

"Ah fuck..."

You check the time- 8:03, she should be back soon. You finally find the recipe page and you feel your heart drop. Fuck, you were supposed to bake it for 30 minutes- not 50! No wonder that shit looked so wrong! You scramble to pull it out of the oven, the timer with 5 minutes left. You groan when you see how it looks- first it looked wrong and now it was probably burnt too. So much for making your girlfriend's favourite dessert.

"Love?"

The soft voice startles you, yelping as you dropped the cake pan.

"Shit!"

Robin stands there in all her glory. She looks exhausted, eye bags worse than before and shoulders sagged but to you she was still the most beautiful woman you have ever laid your eyes on.

"Everything okay?"

She tries to smile at you but it looks so forced. You feel your heart clenching in your chest as you pick up the cake pan from the ground, moving it back onto the counter.

"Baby, just let me take care of you tonight?"

You pull her in close, hugging her tight. She freezes at first, before completely melting in your grasp. She lets out a shaky sigh as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.

"I missed you."

Her voice is muffled against your shoulder but you just smile as you tiptoe to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I missed you so much, baby." You pull away, cupping her face with your hands as you brush your thumb against her cheek. "You look beautiful."

"Don't lie."

She gets flustered so easily, face turning pink as she looks away but she can't stop the small smile from forming on her face.

"I'm not. You look beautiful."

She sighs as she looks back at you, and the tired expression on your usual warm and happy girlfriend really does hurt you. The way the media can tear people down into nothing but the most insecure parts of themselves has always rubbed the wrong way with you but watching it happen to the one you love most is absolutely heartbreaking.

"I made you dinner?"

"I saw."

Her smile is not as forced now as she looks around the kitchen, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

"Quite a mess you made."

You just shoot an embarrassed grin at her as you tried to hide the cake pan behind your back.

"Well, I'm not a good cook."

"I think you did amazing."

She steps forward, caging you between the counter and herself.

"You make the worst days brighter, you know?"

"You make each of my days better. It's only fair I do the same to you."

Robin looks down, playing with her hands.

"I don't deserve you."

"Oh shut up."

The kiss was soft, gentle and loving. She cups your cheeks as she steps closer, bodies pressed against each other as you pour all the love you can convey through a simple act.

"I love you. I really love you so much, Robin." You say breathlessly to her when you pull away. She doesn't say much, only resting her head on your shoulder as she takes your hand into her own, lacing your fingers together.

"And I'm so proud of you for your new comeback. You've worked so hard and it paid off. You keep outdoing yourself and the people who don't see that can fuck off and die."

She sighs.

"No need for the violence, yeah?"

"Violence is always the answer."

You feel your heart flutter when she lets out a soft laugh, like a songbird's first melody of a new spring.

"You do whatever you want." She says, resting a hand on your chest as she leans in to press a quick but soft kiss to your lips. "Thank you- for this."

"Always."

The food you cooked was mostly inedible- resorting to the two of you ordering takeout together but you couldn't care less about the burnt cakes or undercooked mac and cheese. Robin is smiling again, and that's all you wanted to achieve for the night.

Response to: Robin's recent comeback- a miserable failure.

Robinsdog: op do u not have a life

servallandau_official: No one thinks this.

⤷ talesofthewinterlandsfan222: serval spitting facts but also what r u diong here

⤷ servallandau_official: Do I know you?

⤷ talesofthewinterlandsfan222: ENEVRMIND

march4robin: im giong to find u my entire crew is oing to find u we will run out train into u

galaticstelleballer: i am also going to run my train into u. and my bat. both at the same time.

⤷ dh: Guys please.

Sunday_Oakfamily: We are taking this post and the writer off the platform.

The article you are searching for no longer exists.

[daisyblog]

Protective

Too Young Masterlist Summary: Harry finds out YN is pregnant, with Louis baby.

Based on this request

It was early August and YN had flown out to New York to visit Harry on tour. Sophia was also visiting Liam and Lottie had joined her on the trip, as it was around her birthday and she wanted to see Louis. 

YN was about twelve weeks pregnant and she still hadn’t told Harry. In fact, the news hadn’t travelled beyond herself, Louis, their Mums and Robin. But each day it was getting harder not to slip up. 

Each day she grew and carried Louis baby, the guilt of sleeping with her brother’s best friend ate her. 

One Direction were playing at the MetLife Stadium that evening, so they all made the most of the free time they had ahead of the show. 

YN and Harry were chilling out in one of the dressing rooms backstage. For a moment YN had snapped out of reality as she chatted and joked with Harry. But the minute the relationship topic got brought up, the reality hit her. 

“Mums worried you’re being seen with different women.” YN raised her eyebrows playfully at her twin. 

“Yeh well she shouldn’t believe everything she reads.” Harry bit back from where he sat on the opposite chair. “Remember when they wrote an article about you being my mysterious woman, you’re my fucking twin and they couldn’t get that right.”.

“Yes okay���I get your point!” YN laughed as she remembered the article all too well, and how they had a good giggle about it. 

“Anyway…enough about my shitty love life.” Harry stated, as he twisted the conversation around. “Have I got anyone to give the big brother talk to?“.

YN’s whole body language changed, she felt nervous, anxious, she was absolutely terrified. In this moment she wished it was only a boyfriend she had to tell Harry about, but in the next few minutes everything was about to change. 

YN shook her head. “No…but uh…I do have something to tell you.”. Automatically YN began to fidget with the bracelet on her wrist. 

Harry noticed his sister’s nervous behaviour and began to sit up straight. “What is it?”. His voice full of panic. “Are you alright?”. 

YN kept her focus on her fidgeting fingers as they played with the metal band. “I’m pregnant.”. YN’s voice was so quiet, Harry almost missed what she said. 

Silence surrounded them, Harry’s eyes stared at YN almost like he was trying to get answers. YN couldn’t even look at her brother in the eye, petrified she was going to be faced with disappointment. 

“You..you’re..pregnant?” Harry was calm, a little too calm. “How?…I mean I know how but…how?”. 

YN bit her lip, her teeth causing the skin to go a darker shade of pink. “I was drunk…we were drunk, it was only suppose to be a one night thing.”. 

Harry wasn’t one to judge, he couldn’t judge especially when he had enjoyed a night of passion with someone and never saw them again. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of…things happen for a reason.”. Harry tried to be supportive, a reassuring smile on his face. But there was one piece of information Harry needed, wanted, to know. “Who’s the baby’s dad? Do I know him or is it someone you met in uni?”. 

YN thought about lying, but what good was that going to be? She knew the truth always got out. But at the same time, she knew the minute his name rolled off the tip of her tongue, Harry’s mood was going to flip. 

“It’s..uh…um.” The words got stuck in her throat, the anxiety was rolling around her stomach. “It’s Louis!”. 

“Louis?” Harry questioned not quite believing the name that fell from his sister’s lips. “Louis, my best friend Louis?”. The guilty look on YN’s face answered for her. 

Harry didn’t give a second thought when he got up from the seat and marched down the corridors, YN hot on his tail begging him not to say anything. But Harry barged through the door of another dressing room and accidentally pushed Liam out of his way causing him to fall into Zayn. 

“If you don’t keep those hands to yourself then I hope you know I’ll make sure you never use them again!”. Liam abruptly spoke but Zayn nudged him once he saw the anger on Harry’s face. 

“Harry please!”. YN begged, looking at Louis with wide eyes trying to give him the heads up that Harry knew they’re secret. 

“You slept with my sister!”. Harry aimed the statement at Louis, who right now knew it was best for him to remain silent. Liam, Niall and Zayn watched the scene in pure shock. 

“Harry, c’mon you don’t want to-“. Niall tried to calm the situation but failed when Harry’s voice got louder. 

“No Niall…you don’t have a sister…you don’t understand!”. Harry defended his anger. “You have sisters though!”. He looked at Louis with pure disappointment. “Imagine how I feel right… I find out not only did my best friend sleep with my sister….but she’s pregnant with his baby too!”. 

Liam, Zayn and Niall’s eyes found YN whose face was full of embarrassment. Zayn could see how betrayed YN felt right now and how she thought everyone was judging her. He placed his hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her but almost like YN had found her voice, she burst, shocking everyone in the room. 

“You can be angry, you have every right to be…but to announce it to everyone in this room is wrong!” YN raised her voice at Harry. “The news wasn’t yours to share…it was mine and Louis when we were ready…and you can be angry but we are having this baby so you need to get used to it!”. 

With that YN stormed out, leaving a guilty Louis, an angry Harry and three confused boys who couldn’t believe what they just witnessed. 

Taglist: @jillsvalentinex @itsmytimetoodream @peterholland04 @youcan-nolonger-run @chronicallybubbly

[ty-the-trainwreck]

robin and nancy accidentally staying at a couple’s resort while on a roadtrip. both of them walking into the room, and robin almost dies on the spot. mainly because there’s only one bed, but also because the staff made a heart on said bed with rose petals. and there’s even wine?! nancy also points out the matching robes with their initials on them. the both of them try and shrug it off, too tired to go book a whole new hotel at the moment.

nancy pours them both a glass of wine, and they drink while talking about how ridiculous this all is. eventually, they settle into the bed for the night. brushing off the petals with flushed faces that matches their red hue. it’s cold that night, cold enough for nancy to curl into robin’s side and drape her arm across the girl’s waist. robin tells herself it’s the wine, and tries not to get too excited that the girl she’s had the most embarrassing crush on for the past few months is cuddled into her side.

in the morning, robin wakes up to nancy walking around the room with her robe on, hair wet from the shower. robin stares for a little, trying not to make a sound as to not disrupt the peaceful morning air. but she ends up bumping the headboard with her elbow, making nancy jump. she stutters a flustered apology, and nancy smiles a little at how robin stumbles over her words. robin panics a little as nancy walks over to her, leaning over robin just enough so that she can see the contour of nancy’s chest. robin grumbles, “it’s too early for this—“ her face so unbelievably red. nancy laughs, gently pushing robin’s shoulder so that robin flops back onto the bed.

“get up, we gotta make it back to boston today.” nancy smirks at robin’s bewildered expression, taking pleasure in catching her off guard.

robin can’t believe her life.

[longstoryshort22]

Peter is brand Taylor talking to real Taylor, I Look in People’s Windows is real Taylor talking to brand Taylor (the two were supposed to become one, but the more famous she gets the harder it is)😭😭

The whole theme of the album is Taylor herself and her career and how the industry has affected her, joe/matty/travis/kim are just red herrings bye im gonna go cry listening to Peter

(more details⬇️)

I’m not saying that some songs aren’t about those specific people, I’m just saying they’re only PART OF the theme, I believe her father (and other big heads in the industry) had a big influence on her career and forced her to stay in the closet from the very beginning, that messed her up, she had to hide her true self and keep bearding, and in 2019 she planned to come out but didn’t because of the masters heist, now it’s because she’s gotten more famous than ever that she has too much to lose. So maybe these men he dated, she did like them and she had multiple feelings when these relationships ended, but it’s all part of who the industry had made her into; she had one true love (maybe Karlie) but she couldn’t be with that person that’s why some songs are about a true deep love lost, but that’s still part of the “her career” theme, because of her career, she can’t be with that person. (more details⬇️)

What’s really interesting in this theme is that she’s calling out her father in multiple songs because he really made her life harder…

In Cassandra, (the obvious theory is that Cassandra representing gaylors bc we’ve been saying the truth but never believed. And the first verse is about her getting the news of her masters heist just before her coming out plan, and then “stone’s thrown” is referencing Stonewall.) And in the bridge “They knew the whole time that I was onto something. The family, the pure greed, the Christian chorus line. They all said nothing. Blood's thick but nothing like a payroll. Bet they never spared a prayer for my soul” she’s saying her family knew something but said nothing because greed and money, we saw the leaked emails of her father and how he cares more about making money out of Taylor’s career than caring about her as his daughter, so I think this bridge is about her father, also about religious trauma may or may not due to him.

In The Bolter, “A curious child, ever reviled by everyone except her own father. With a quite bewitching face, splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless, excellent fun 'til you get to know her, then she runs like it's a race” she’s talking about herself being a precocious uniquely intelligent ambitious child, which everyone reviled except her father. why? because he wanted to invest money on her, he controlled how she conducted her career from the beginning.

What’s crazier is that Robin may be about her father too. That song sounds like a sweet song but she’s faking it like “all this showmanship to keep it for you in sweetness”. If she’s referring to her father (only wanting to make money out of her career) in this song then “you’re an animal, you are bloodthirsty” makes so much more sense. And the “buried down deep and out of your reach, the secret we all vowed to keep it from you in sweetness” her father probably knows about her queerness but wants her and everyone to keep it quiet.

In But Daddy I Love Him, “people only raise you to cage you” is pretty obvious about her father forcing her to stay in the closet, and “people try and save you cause they hate you” is literally about homophobes. “Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid” is about her father laying all the plans for her, which isn’t always what she wants. “I'd rather burn my whole life down, than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning. I'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace” reminds me of that scene in Miss Americana where her father was lecturing why she couldn’t public her opinions. “Thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me. And counteract the chemistry, and undo the destiny” is so queer coded. “Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see / You ain't gotta pray for me” another reference to religious trauma.

So all of this, about her father, about her lover and other men, it’s all connected to her career and she’s looking back at it, thinking and reflecting on it, that’s it that’s the blog

[stevie-petey]

oh also,,, whenever you wanna write. chap 6 steve & robin pov blurb because i am so sure steve would be going on and on about bug once she left so my soul needs that thank you <3

im kicking myself idk why i didnt include this scene in the chapter like its PERFECT for what i have planned later but ,,, for now all i can do is make it a blurb n tell people to read it lmao

enjoy <3

"it didnt matter that you were an ass. i was still... obsessed with you." robins confession hangs in the air. her back is pressed against steves as they lay on the floor, bound together. his eye stings and his nose is numb and crusted with dried blood. he isnt sure why shes telling him this.

"even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular. accepted. normal."

the rope around steves wrists tense. he clenches his fists and bites the inside of his swollen cheek. acceptance. he thought he had that, once. when he was sixteen with a crowd of people who wouldve done anything for his attention.

now hes eighteen and the crowds bruises still tinge his body.

"if it makes you feel any better, having those things isnt all that great. seriously." it took him a long time to learn that. to recognize that his acceptance was merely a precedence. it wasnt real friendship. he wouldnt learn this until he met you, until you taught it to him. "it just baffles me. everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, its all just... bullshit."

bullshit. nancy taught him that, too.

"its all just bullshit, it was so obviously bullshit. i was an idiot for not realizing it sooner," steve bites the inside of is cheek again. somehow, his lips remained untouched when he was being beaten by the russians. your lips still linger on his. "you know, the only person who saw through my bullshit was y/n. one day, before we knew about monsters and russian lairs, she said that she knew i wasnt a bad person. it... it stuck with me. here she was, y/n henderson, telling me i wasnt so bad."

"and then...?" robin is almost too afraid to press him further. shes never seen him like this, vulnerable and open. she didnt know that his history with you went beyond just a summer fling.

steve nudges his head back and sighs. "i messed up. i... i hurt people. people she cared about."

robin frowns. you wouldnt forgive someone so easily for that. theres more to what steve is saying, she just cant figure out what. "she must really love you, then. if she forgave you."

"i dont know if she loves me, but i know that she believes in me. sees someone worth putting up with." he huffs, he cant believe he will never see you again. he hates that he will never be able to thank you for seeing a version of him that no one else could. "it wasnt until i messed up that i realized she saw something in me. its ironic, isnt it? but i guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?"

he had to mess up to realize that he loved you, too.

"i hope so. i feel like my whole life has been one big error." robin admits. its the least she could do, offer steve a piece of herself in return for what hes offered her.

an unattractive snort escapes steve. he laughs, and his shoulders shake against robins. he understands exactly what she means. "yup."

"god, i wonder how y/n does it."

"does what?"

robin pauses, worries that she might reveal too much. but its steve. if theyre going to die together, he deserves to know. he has to know. "shes always able to see the error in people and love them anyways."

steve is quiet. he lets what she said settle over him. its what he loves the most about you. how youve always managed to see the good in people, even in someone as cruel as billy. he hadnt known that robin noticed this kindness in you, too.

she seems to understand you in a way only he and jonathan do.

"you know, i wish id known you in clicks class." its a peace offering. an extension of himself to robin for caring about you the way he does. no one really seems to be able, despite how easy steve finds it to be.

"yeah?"

"really, i do. maybe you couldve helped me pass the class." he breathes out, the thought of all he couldve done differently will always haunt him. king steve is dead, but the persona is a ghost he will never be able to get rid of. "maybe instead of being here, id be with y/n on some romantic getaway. maybe you wouldve given me the courage to do what i shouldve done sooner."

robin doesnt say anything. she turns her face away, presses her cheek against the concrete surface.

"robin?"

she swallows. "yeah. yeah, maybe. you wouldnt have been stuck slinging ice cream with me like some smuck."

steve shakes his head. hes worried hes said the wrong thing. "hey, dont get me wrong. i enjoyed being your smuck. it was fun while it lasted."

bittersweetness creeps upon robins face. she smiles, though its a sad one. shes going to die with the understanding of why youve fallen so hard for steve harrington. "yeah. it was."

then the doors burst open and the russian find them.

[wheneverfeasible]

Based off this post because I’ve lost all control of my life.

cw: sex trafficking, reference to non-con

Modern au. FBI au. Stobin became inseparable when they both started training in the FBI around the same time, though it started as a bit of not-so-friendly rivalry at first. Robin felt like she had to prove herself as a woman in the FBI, while Steve felt like he had to prove himself as a legacy who has always been a disappointment to his father. A fateful rookie hazing that went a little too far bonded them inseparably, however, and now years later they are the go-to team amongst the younger agents.

Also if you try to separate them then all hell will break loose.

Anyways, so one day there’s need for undercover work. They’ve been tracking this sex trafficking ring for a while and they finally believe they’ve discovered the mastermind behind it all, some newly famous rockstar called Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

So someone needs to dress up like a prostitute and infiltrate their ranks to get hard evidence to put this lowlife away once and for all. As she’s really the only girl on the team that fits the age demographic, Robin is picked as the fake prostitute. Except…well, let’s face it, she’s never been the most feminine of girls. Not a true butch or anything, more a soft futch than anything, but dresses and high heels and makeup? Yeah no.

As soon as Robin wobbles herself out (falling face first in the process) it’s not just Steve immediately telling her no and to go change back into her FBI kit because she looks super uncomfortable and there’s no way they can make her do this, whether or not she could even convincingly play the role to begin with.

And so comes in Steve.

Now, Steve isn’t exactly femme either. While he’s certainly not the butchest agent on their team, he was a jock in high school and even now still picks up the occasional game with civilians or other agents when free time allows. What had once been a respectful firmness to his stomach was now a verifiable six pack, his biceps and thighs filling his clothes out nicely as his FBI workout regimen added some muscle mass.

But there was more to Steve than just the stereotypical musclehead jock. Steve had also been a bit of a prep in high school, and even now still brought some of that with him in his civvies and beauty regimens, especially with his hair. He also opposed to a bit of a shiny lipgloss when the mood hit. And secretly? He’s always wanted do undercover work like this. And it’s not like the victims were only girls.

Plus, though Robin would call him sexist for it, he didn’t like the idea of sending Robin or any other woman into the pits of hell alone like that.

Steve struts out of the changing room wearing the skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen in his life (think like, Julia Roberts’s first outfit in Pretty Woman), except he didn’t shave at all so his hair thighs and chest hair still poke out. There’s no hiding his physique, so he’s going for the whole hairy thing, and he knows it works for him. For any gender.

With a grace that might belie that this isn’t his first time in heels, Steve is on his way to the hotel where all this is going down, slipping in easily, Steve starts casing the place and compiling evidence before the big event that night where hopefully they catch Munson in the act of selling victims to the highest bidder.

Except, while sneaking around trying to gather as much evidence as possible, he runs into Munson himself. Not in some big penthouse full of drugs and weapons and whatever else used to keep the product in line, but in a small little unused room Steve had slipped into to avoid one of the muscled “bodyguards” Munson kept on hand.

No, Steve slipped in and found an anxiously pacing dweeb of man in Garfield sleep trousers and what looked like a homemade shirt with the graphic of a devil face on it, black polished nails being gnawed at by the hunched over form. The figure with frazzled hair matched the images of the mastermind he had seen, though he looked startling different from the persona he put on in public.

Munson’s eyes bugged out a little when he walked in, his eyes taking in Steve’s form with an appreciation that made Steve smug at being the correct choice for this sting after all, but then Munson was groaning in a less appreciative way and slapping his hands to his face.

“I told Dad I didn’t want a fucking hooker,” he mumbled to himself, before dropping his hands with a wince as he held up his hands beseechingly. “Sorry, nothing wrong with prostitutes, darling, I just…now is really not a good time.”

And…huh. Okay. This was the Big Bad Boogeyman who had been giving them the slip for almost a year now? He looked like a wet rat despite being completely dry.

So Steve struts some more, plays his part, simpers and encourages Munson’s eyes to focus on his bare skin and not the slight bulge to his thigh high heeled boots where his gun and handcuffs were hidden. And Munson looks, because Steve is hot and he’s only human, but he also looks really really nervous and lets out a choked giggle when Steve pulls out his charm.

And then Munson again apologizes, says he never met a prostitute before he and he seems like a really nice boy but that he wasn’t the one who hired him and he’s not looking for sex right now, just wanting to get through tonight and go home to his cats, Smaug and Shelob.

Which is unexpected. Even more so when Munson claims he didn’t even want to be there in the first place, that his dad was in charge of setting up the event, though he did so in Munson’s—Eddie’s—name, just as he had been doing ever since Eddie first caught a break for his music in high school. Had dragged Eddie away from his garage band and friends and instead threw Eddie headlong into being a solo artist and creating the persona of The Freak, acting as a kind of shadow manager. Working behind the curtains so that barely anyone even knew he existed.

And…oh. Ohhhhh. Suddenly, Steve didn’t think Eddie was the mastermind they were after. He just looked like nervous kid (who was technically older than Steve but whatever) thrown into the a spotlight not of his own making and made the scapegoat for all of his father’s illegal activities.

Not that Eddie knew anything about the current operation, that was more than evident. He thought it was an actual auction for like antiques and shit. Thought the only person being sold that night was a date with him, his father’s idea. It was why he was hiding out in an unused room to have a little freak out away from everyone treating him like a doll to do whatever they wanted.

But his father had suggested bringing in some hookers to help him calm down, which Eddie had rejected, but which he now thought was what Steve was. Just a hooker his father had bought for the night to help his son relax.

And Steve thought his father was a piece of work.

They talk, Eddie’s nervousness and discomfort in his life causing him to spill secrets he otherwise never would have, not just about his father’s past but also his own, talking about how much he missed his high school band, the Dungeons & Club he used to run, his uncle he hasn’t seen in years, and just a life where he could live it how he wanted.

Much to his surprise, Steve also revealed some truths about himself. Not about his real job, of course, but about his own father, about not ever being good enough for him or his mother, about how they had always held his inheritance over his head until he’d told them to stuff it and that he wasn’t going to marry some socialite of their choosing. He smudged some details about his work, which he felt weirdly guilty for, but needs must.

And well, Eddie’s babble reveals that they really have to change the focus of the sting, which means Steve needs to get a message to Robin pronto. Luckily, she should be nearby undercover as one of the hotel staff with a couple other agents.

Steve does get the message out, but in the process the truth is accidentally revealed to Eddie and he is devastated. He had known his father wasn’t a good man, but he hadn’t realized just how evil he was. He was also, surprisingly, hurt by the knowledge that Steve was just doing his job and the connection he had thought they’d formed wasn’t real.

Except, as Eddie worked with the FBI to take down the operation, getting shot by his own father in the process in a misguided attempt to protect Steve, Steve can’t help but wonder if maybe there was a genuine connection after all.

Later, Steve visits Eddie in the hospital, bypassing the armed guards outside because, while they have proof it was Al Munson behind the sex trafficking and forcing the victims into prostitution, Eddie is still a person of interest as a witness and they still need to fully clear his name regarding any knowing involvement.

Robin, of course, was sick of hearing Steve mooning about Eddie and encouraged the meeting, though she later regretted it when it just caused Steve to talk more about the former rockstar—Eddie was quitting, hating the lonely fame, and wanting to reach out to his old friends and apologize for abandoning them. She was fond of the man’s cats, however, going with Steve to make certain they were taken care of while Eddie was convalescing in the hospital.

Later again, once Eddie is cleared and the trial is over and Al is rotting behind bars, Steve meets up with Eddie when it’s no longer a conflict of interest. He also reveals that he kept his undercover outfit and the two of them put it to good use.

Robin, meanwhile, has likewise grown closer to one of the former victims, a young woman by the name of Chrissy. She had helped her and the others deal with everything, especially those who felt uncomfortable around the male agents. Eddie of course apologizes profusely to her when they meet, but Chrissy knows he wasn’t a part of it and actually helped save her and the others in the end, bringing him into a hug that helps heal the both of them a little bit more.

Steve and Robin and the rest of the team are honored for their work, but to them the real honor is in the loving embrace of those they saved, and who in their own way saved Steve and Robin too.

-

Hostage tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[undead-supernova]

everlasting / Masterlist

pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader

plot: just a soft night together, blissfully

warnings: absolutely none unless you count fluff as a warning

wc: 360 (basically a blurb)

song inspo: Good Looking by Suki Waterhouse

note: this is so small and I just wrote it today but I wanted to share just cause

You couldn’t figure out how to make sense of it all.

How you had Robin here, in your arms, swaying along to the song blaring from your record player. It was soft, the light harmonies of The Association’s “Never My Love” carrying you through its magical melody.

Her back to your chest, hands intertwined as she pulled them against her chest. Breathing deep and even, ocean eyes closed as she let the music move her. The apartment, sparkling with your pink LED lights, a comfortable haze surging through you. A vanilla candle resting on the coffee table, sprinkling warmth against her cheek.

You were Robin’s.

And Robin was yours.

It was startling, the way you were granted this moment, granted the continuous opportunity to smell her gentle perfume, a subtle scent that was only able to be found the closer you got. You were allowed to spend the rest of your life adoring her, caressing her. Bringing her deeper and deeper into you until all you could do is blur. 

Planting a soft kiss to her cheek, you watched a soft smile reach her lips. Let your chin rest on her shoulder as she leaned her head back on yours. 

“This is perfect,” she said, taking a deep breath. 

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, rubbing your nose against her neck. A gentle moan escaped her lips, nearly laughing at herself for being so affected. But it was something you longed for, the chance to make her feel beautiful. Wanted. Needed.

This was a soft love.

A needed love.

“I can’t believe we really did it,” she said. “We really got married today, huh?”

A grin spread across your face, squeezing her tighter. Your dresses, satin against silk, gently rubbed together as the music continued. Bare feet against the hardwood floor, the winter biting at the exposure. Simple wedding bands adorning your fingers, matching with the internal engraving: everlasting.  

“We sure did,” you replied.

“I really love you, you know.” 

Nodding, you closed your eyes. Breathed her in. Took a chance to bask in the moment before you opened your mouth. 

Slightly, delicately. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I really love you, too.”

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Cherry on Top (Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader) Fluff

When the pining between Robin and the cute customer who comes into Scoops Ahoy becomes too much for Steve to bear, he hatches as plan to give them then gentle push they both so desperately need.

Word Count:1,184

Masterlist // Robin Buckley Masterlist

It was just a summer job Robin thought to herself. It's not forever.

Even so, working at Scoops Ahoy wasn't all that bad, sure the uniforms were silly, and slightly scratchy against her skin, the pay wasn't all that much, and sometimes customers were straight up rude. However, despite its ever-stacking list of cons, there were a few pros; such as staff discounts on ice cream, and working alongside Steve Harrington, who had surprisingly grown up a lot since high-school. Proving that he actually wasn't all that bad like she had been led to believe.

However Robin found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the cute customer who came in every Saturday, just to order the same thing she orders every time. One single scoop of chocolate, rainbow sprinkles with a cherry on top. 

Robin watched on from behind the crack in the serving window as the girl's eyes sparkled, and her smile beamed. No doubt laughing at Steve's attempt at flirtatious banter. 

Not that she’d ever tell him, but Robin was jealous of Steve. Jealous of the way the girl's eyes lit up when she looked at him, jealous of the way she laughed at every single one of his stupid jokes. How Steve seemed so effortlessly cool and calm, almost suave, around the girl that made Robin’s heart race annoyed her to no end.

“Hey Steve!” you cheer as you skip into Scoops ahoy on a hot Saturday afternoon. It was oddly quiet in the parlour today, save for a few people sitting in the booths

“Hey y/n! Same as usual?” he chirps back with his boyish smile.

“You know it!”

“Alright then, one scoop of chocolate, rainbow sprinkles and a cherry coming right up.” he smiles as he twirls his ice-cream scooper around with his fingers.

“So..Uh.. Steve, i-is Robin here today?” you ask him, your voice stuttering slightly with nerves.

“When are you just going to bite the bullet and ask her out already?” 

“Keep your voice down will ‘ya, Harrington, jeez” you whisper-shout as you shush him, looking around to see if anyone heard him.

“What? So you don’t want to take her out on a date and make out with her then?” he teases, as he hands you your ice-cream.

“I didn’t say that…” you drawl out, as you hand Steve over your money.

“Look, you think she’s cute, she thinks you’re cute, I don’t know what more you’re waiting for?” He softly laughs with a shake of his head.

“Wait…Robin thinks I’m cute? Did she say something to you?” you splutter at this revelation.

“Just leave it with me, alright? Think of me as your wing-man.” Steve says all too confidently. 

You eye him slightly, but ultimately decide that trusting him would be in your best interest, especially if it scored you a date with his best friend.

“I’ve got two tickets to see Footloose, c’mon Rob, don’t you wanna go with me..” Steve pleads down the phone.

Robin rolled her eyes at her friend. She could just see his floppy hair and dumb puppy-dog face in her mind, begging her to go with him.

“You’re actually asking me to go with you to see a musical? Steve, I thought you hated musicals? You told me you hated how unrealistic it was, and that ‘nobody bursts into song like that in real life’.” Robin teases with her impression of Steve. 

“Yeah, I know but you love ‘em, besides I’ve heard good things about this one.”

Robin rolled her eyes at her friend, but she’d already made her mind up that she was going to go, Steve was her best friend, and she’d do anything to make him happy. 

“Alright, what time is the movie?”

Robin Strolled up to the movie theatre, where Steve was already waiting for her outside.

“Hey! Robin!” Steve waves. “Over here!”

But as Robin got closer she could see the cute girl from the ice cream parlour.

“Hey look who I bumped into.” Steve smirked.

“Hi, Robin!” you wave cheerfully.

“Hey, yourself!” Robin replies, trying her best to play it cool. “So, what are you here to see?” 

“Oh I was just about to buy myself some tickets to see Footloose. Truth be told I have a soft spot for musicals.” you explain.

“Hey, why don’t you just take my ticket?” Steve offers, raising his eyebrows at you. This was his plan all along. He’d told you as much, explaining what was going to happen before he even phoned Robin. He was going to bail at the last minute to give you two some time alone together. It’s not that he didn’t love spending time with Robin, but the way she pined over you was beginning to become unbearable, so Steve took it upon himself, as your wing-man and Robin’s best friend to give you both the push you needed.

Robin looked at her friend like he had two heads. What was he doing leaving her alone with the girl she had been crushing on so badly that she’d barely spoken two whole sentences to her? 

“Oh Steve, you don’t have to do that!” you worry, before he assures that it’s no worries at all. 

“No, honestly, I insist. Dustin called me up earlier, said he needs me to pick him and the rest of the boys up from their little nerd club.”

“Well if you're absolutely sure” you say as you take the ticket Steve offers you.

“You girls go ahead and have fun without me!” He smiles triumphantly. 

Steve goes up to give Robin a hug before leaving, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear.

“Enjoy your date, Dingus.” Steve whispers, pulling away from the hug with an affectionate smile.

You and Robin both sit through the movie, a shared bag of hot buttery popcorn sits between you both. Your hands grazing against each other a few times as you both reach for the bag at the same time, with a couple of mumbled apologies whispered to each other in between the music coming from the big screen.

The film draws to a close and you both exit the theatre with match smiles on your faces.

“I-I had a great time hanging out with you today.” Robin mumbles, her eyes looking down at the floor, because if she dared to look you in the eyes she would not be able to speak to you without fumbling over her words.

You tilt her chin up under your fingers, wanting to look at her properly.

You lean in close to her before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, your lips brushing against her flushed features.

“I had a great time too!” you smile. “Perhaps we can do this again sometime, like a proper date?”

Robin beams at your suggestion, elated that this had gone well enough that you were willing to go on another date with her.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Robin was going to have to give Steve the biggest thank you hug ever when she saw him next. 

@sunnythespookyghost @penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfirebunnyxx @onegirlmanytales @mrsjellymunson @reidsbtch

[laundrybiscuits]

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt: 'pool' | wc: 442 | rated: G | cw: mild alcohol use (and cussing I guess? do we warn for PG-13 language?)

“Get in on this, Steve,” Robin says directly into his ear, way too loud. She’s had most of a Long Island iced tea; her face is bright pink.

“In on what,” Steve says, shoving at her.

“Nancy thinks Eddie’s gonna strike out again, but I believe in tru-u-ue lo-o-ove,” she warbles, clinging to his arm like a tipsy limpet. “So we’re betting. Five bucks. Who’re you siding with.”

It’s not like Steve hadn’t noticed Eddie talking to some guy, he'd just thought—

He swats at her again, futilely. “Yeah, I’m sure some random asshole at a dive bar is his true love.”

“Please, that’s probably Eddie's idea of a metalhead fairytale. They’re gonna make scuzzy little musician babies.”

“Do we have to talk about the birds and the bees, Robin?” He glances over at Nancy, listing against Jonathan’s side. Steve fights the urge to push Robin away again, but he shifts uncomfortably. The four of them probably look like interlopers here—tourists.

Nancy’s not flushed like Robin, but she looks a little looser than she’s let herself be in a while. It’s nice.

She’s smiling as she watches Eddie and the random asshole. “Eddie’s not doing too badly this time. Guess there’s someone for everyone.”

“Don't bias Steve,” whines Robin. “I want his money.”

“I’m not gonna bet, this is stupid,” says Steve. “It’s shitty to start a betting pool on Eddie’s—love life, or whatever.”

“They’re just having fun, man,” says Jonathan. “We all just want Eddie to be happy.”

“Sure. Some random asshole’s gonna make him happy.” Steve leans back against the bar, folding his arms.

“Steve.” Robin’s staring at him. “Oh my god, Steve. Wait. Steve.”

He winces.

“Steve,” she says. “Do you—”

“No. Shut up,” says Steve.

Jonathan glances from Steve to Robin to Eddie, and back to Steve. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Dude. Uh. Not to like, betray any confidences, but. You should tell him.”

“Wait, what?” Steve blinks. The jack and coke he's been nursing might be hitting. “You mean…”

Robin shoves him hard enough that he almost overbalances. “Go get your man! Team True Love!” She’s not even trying to be quiet. Across the bar, Eddie jumps a little and turns to stare back at them.

Steve’s face warms. He waves, like a loser, and Eddie’s expression goes from confused to something else. Something new.

Eddie touches the random asshole’s arm, but whatever he says makes the guy laugh and fuck off, so that's okay.

As Steve pushes away from the bar and starts to walk towards Eddie's growing smile, he hears Nancy saying, “I think this means you owe me,” while Robin shrieks, “Oh, like hell—”

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Okay now that we know Lullaby was on Amazon Lily with Luffy, I’m assuming she goes to Marineford too. Which then makes me think of the whole “Rosy and the Admirals” post. So what I’m getting to is that all of the Admirals are in shock from seeing this kid that looks exactly like the woman they were sleeping with and know had a kid.

Akainu is probably too busy questioning his life choices, especially now that he knows his maybe child is a pirate, to keep fighting, and is just frozen in place.

Meanwhile, Kizaru and Aokiji both take a moment to be in shock, before rushing over to her in panic because she’s in the middle of a war zone. This leads to them both stopping right in front of her and realizing that they were both sleeping with Rosy. This could lead to a fight between them, but I think it would be funnier if, given how well their personalities mesh, they decide to say “screw it” just go full Mamma Mia, accepting that they’re both her fathers. Does this mean that Kizaru is going to Join Aokiji in his midlife crisis? Will Aokiji decide that he wants that stinky warthog Blackbeard nowhere near his daughter? I say yes. I think it would be even better if they join the Revolutionary Army, considering that they can’t be admirals anymore, and they both have issues with the government, so now Dragon is part of the newly formed Dad Alliance, whether he likes it or not.

I am so sorry for the long ask, but I just can’t help myself. Your writing is so good, it brings my creative side out.

Never apologize for sending a long ask, I live for them!

Yes, Lullaby does end up at Marineford despite the Boa sisters' best efforts. Hancock has Sandersonia and Marigold stay on Amazon Lily to keep Lullaby safe and away from the danger. Lullaby, of course, objects to it and does what she does best and sneaks onto the Perfume Yuda before they can leave. Hancock gets a frantic call from her sisters saying that they lost their niece, and she's very close to turning the ship around when Lullaby pops out of a barrel and asks what the commotion is about with a smirk on her face. Hancock is torn between being upset that Lullaby has put herself into danger and feeling a nostalgic pang in her heart because this is such a Rosy thing to do.

Lullaby manages to then also sneak off the ship later because she assumes that Sanji is going to show up at some point to help, and she needs to see for herself that he is okay.

Now by this point, both Aokiji and Kizaru have already seen her. Aokiji saw her when he first encountered the Straw Hats to try and capture Robin. To say that it completely threw him off his game would be an understatement. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing his presumed dead child alive and well and right in front of him. All of a sudden, he very generously offers to strike a deal with the Straw Hats. He's going to pretend like he never saw them, and all that they have to do is let him have Lullaby. That, of course, doesn't happen and they manage to get away.

Then at Sabaody, Kizaru sees her when he's attacking the Straw Hats. He's about to land a blow on Sanji when he feels tiny fists wailing on his leg. He glances down only to completely freeze up when he sees her face. His mind is racing as he puts together who she is, but before he can make any move to grab her, Kuma appears and uses his powers to send her away.

Marineford is the first chance that Akainu gets to see her. He can't believe what he's seeing. The kid that he thought was dead is not only alive, but is also a fucking pirate. He's questioning if this is his punishment for being happy about his own potential child being dead. All he can do is stare at her while being frozen in place. Part of him wants to get rid of her here and now to preserve his reputation... but the tiny sliver of a conscience that he has left is making him hesitate. He's killed people before. He's killed children before. But now that it's possibly his kid... he doesn't know what to do. Can he really look his own daughter in the eye as he ends her life? He feels sick and is paralyzed.

When Aokiji and Kizaru see her at Marineford, neither of them are messing around. They are going to get their daughter no matter what it takes. They're in such a rush to get her out of an active war zone that neither of them notice the other until they're both grabbing onto one of her arms to pull her away.

They genuinely don't care that both of them were sleeping with Rosy. She's a sex worker and neither of them were delusional enough to believe that they were exclusive. And frankly, neither of them were in love with her. Aokiji was very fed up with her towards the end, and Kizaru only offered for her to quit and come live with him for the sake of creating a stable home life for Lullaby. However, they are shocked to realize that both of them had been told that they were the father. They slowly start to realize the extent of Rosy's paternity fraud scheme as more and more people just at Marineford try to make a grab for Lullaby while insisting that they are actually the father. Neither of them are happy about this, but they quickly agree to work together for the time being when Doflamingo tries to snatch her up.

You can see Sengoku's hair graying in real time as he realizes that all three of his admirals had baby mama drama with not only the same woman, but over the same child. He accidentally yells at Garp out of instinct.

Aokiji really didn't need much encouragement to leave the marines. He would much rather focus on raising his daughter in peace than deal with any more marine bullshit. Kizaru was more hesitant and only left when he realized that the marines weren't going to be willing to ignore the fact that Lullaby was a part of a pirate crew even though she's only seven. He's so horrified by them wanting to execute her for her involvement that he leaves immediately. He did not just get his daughter back only to watch her be killed for bullshit reasons.

I think that them defecting to the Revolutionary Army makes the most sense. Both of them have problems with the world government, and helping the Revolutionary Army would be the most logical way to possibly fix that. Aokiji does not want his baby anywhere near Blackbeard or the rest of his freaky crew, so he never teams up with him in this au.

Aokiji and Kizaru agree to co-parent Lullaby purely because neither of them want to even entertain the idea that they aren't the father. They have invested too much in this emotionally to risk taking a test that could come back negative for both of them. They would much rather live in blissful ignorance. That, and they both feel like they are some of the best father candidates, especially with people like Doflamingo and Kaido being among them.

[viviseawrites]

wishing the happiest of (slightly belated) birthdays to @paradimeshifts7!

each evening's darkening

rated E | 11k words | stevie harrington enters the forest to barter with a witch for a cure. she comes out with much more. wlw steddie.

excerpt:

Stevie Harrington knows better than to enter the woods. She’s lived in town all her life, after all, and the people of Hawkins have long claimed that something ominous haunts the land beyond the tree line. It used to be that young men dared each other to spend a night beneath those boughs to prove their courage, but too many never returned, and now folks respect the wishes of the forest.

If it weren’t her last resort, Stevie would not be here. She should be tucked away in bed at home, settling in for the night. Instead, she’s standing at the spot where prairie grasses give way to tall trunks, peering into the shadows. She shifts her weight between her feet, eyes searching for any sign of danger, before she swallows and steels herself. Her shoulders roll back under the straps of her rucksack as she nods firmly, just once, and makes the stupidest decision of her life so far.

The temperature drops beneath the trees. Her feet, clad in thick wool socks and worn boots, sink into the damp mulch of leaf litter and decay, kicking up a musty scent that tickles the back of her throat. “This better fucking be worth it,” she huffs, pointedly keeping her gaze directed straight ahead.

Robin told her not to do this. She begged and pleaded and threatened and promised to help find another solution. After all that, Stevie barely believes she managed to convince Robin that she would wait for her. Stevie half-expected to find her sleeping on the doorstep just in case Stevie tried it anyway.

But it’s better this way. Either Stevie succeeds or she fails, but no one else suffers, whatever the outcome.

After a few minutes, she’s learned not to look when she thinks she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. She chalks it up to normal animals—squirrels, foxes, rabbits, and the like—because there’s no point in considering anything more dangerous, not if she intends to see this through. Instead, she preoccupies herself by repeating what Dustin had told her at the start of all this, again and again, intent on remembering every detail.

“Not all witches are evil, Stevie! I swear on my mother,” Dustin had insisted. “I read something about witches that used to help people instead, and it said the witch of Mirkwood was one of them until something really bad happened.”

“So what happened?”

Dustin had folded under Stevie’s unimpressed raised eyebrow. “Well, no one is really sure.”

“Even if that were true, Dustin, how would I find her?”

“The book says only those in need may find the path,” Dustin had said. Despite further prodding and bickering, he recalled no other details. Honestly, Stevie nearly gave up on the idea right then and there. It was far-fetched and unlikely to yield results; it still is. But at least she exhausted every other option before resigning herself to this.

Only those in need may find the path. Stevie figures the desperation bubbling under her sternum lends credence to the necessity of this cursed trip.

She just hopes that Dustin and Robin forgive her if everything goes wrong.

A low, grumbling kind of snarl splits the muffled night air. Stevie flinches, whipping her head up to look for the threat, and immediately pitches forward over a raised root. Displaced air ruffles her hair and her ankle rolls under her until a yelp breaks from her lips, but she manages to catch herself against the rough bark of a thick oak. The silence that follows weighs heavy on her trembling shoulders. Gone are the weird shuffling noises and hair-raising growls; instead, silence descends around her. Even the owls have gone quiet.

Stevie presses her back up against the oak and stares out into the dark. Despite the glowing moon she spotted before entering Mirkwood, no light pierces the canopy here. She does manage to spot a branch on the ground a few feet away, though, amongst a patch of clover, and she scrambles to pick it up, wielding it like a club as she waits for an attack that never comes.

Her heartbeat drums loudly in her ears. Her fingers cramp around the makeshift weapon, held at the ready even as the normal sounds of the forest filter back in. Whatever she encountered, it appears to have moved on, but her nerves refuse to calm.

When the voice comes, Stevie acts in a way she’s not proud of. “You know,” someone says behind her—the words cut off as Stevie screams and whirls around, sweeping her branch through the air only to find nothing waiting. A shudder wracks her arms and spills down her spine.

Witch, her mind hisses.

“Well, that was rude,” the voice says blandly, coming from overhead this time. Stevie looks up searchingly to no avail. “I was just going to compliment you on dodging the demodog. It almost looked purposeful when you tripped. Very graceful.”

read the rest on ao3

[kii-nami]

GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 8.7k words; part two of three; previous part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

Scars do not itch yet the longing for a fleeting taste of pain remains the same.

Kafka is a mysterious woman yet the one Sunday wishes not to figure out. She is better off as an unidentifiable object of speculation, even if she wishes to insert herself in his drifting existence with a persistence that could rival yours, yet the one Sunday could never appreciate. She is prodding and meddling, her presence is a noose and most days Sunday is too detached to even try to entertain the woman with her bothersome advances. Even if Elio has a plan – whatever it might be – that will grant Sunday what he wishes for by the end of his journey, no contract is enough for him to stoop so low as to play a jester.

And if Elio has a plan – a script, Firefly reminds carefully – that plan is sure far worse than any gilded dreams Sunday used to hold so dear. For if that plan includes being stranded on a spaceship in the middle of the vastness of nothing, Sunday cannot think of that script as sound. The ship is far too small for the three of them, Firefly’s anxious foot tapping on the metal floorboards just adds to the claustrophobic sensation that keeps creeping up his spine and ruffling the feathers of his newly mended wings.

It's been almost six months since that day, yet Sunday still keeps them tightly pressed against his back despite the better judgment that sounds awfully like Robin. They will never truly be his again until he figures himself out. And for that he needs to see you again. To pray to high heavens for your paths to cross once more just like you did the day he last saw you. Only Sunday knows not how to pray to anyone but Ena, he knows not how to begin living a life free of martyrdom, he knows not how to stop the mindless drifting amongst the shattered dreams and finally anchor himself in reality.

It's morbidly ironic, how with only spiders crawling amongst the scattered feathers, Sunday still dreams of ribbons that form the stairway to heaven.

“Kafka!” Firefly exclaims, a little breathless. The tapping stops and Sunday now has nothing to focus on to stop himself from disassociating.

The woman lifts her gaze from the screen of her phone, unbothered and unreadable, “Yes, my dear?”

Finger pointing at the blinking red dot on the navigation panel, Firefly seems hopeful for the first time since the engine of the spacecraft shut down with no warning, “There’s a ship nearby.”

Kafka’s reply is drowning in the drumming of Sunday’s heartbeat. Whatever she says is not and never will be important. It’s his journey towards freedom and the gilded birdcage of his dreams is crawling with venomous spiders and moths that disguise themselves as fireflies. He wishes not to make friends with the insects but to get rid of them, so he can finally break the golden bars and reach the paradise he yearns for. The red dot keeps blinking. Uncharacteristically for him, Sunday hides his hands in the pockets of his coat. He would rather not soil the wings made of saint’s touch with the sin he is yet to wash away.

“Are you with us, Angel Wings?” Kafka taps Sunday on the shoulder, the angry involuntary twitch of his wings gives away his disdain even if his expression remains neutrally apathetic. She laughs, it’s the screeching of nails against the coffin of his sanity. Or whatever is left of it. “We’re ready to make the jump for that ship. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sunday is not convinced; Kafka is prone to little white lies that benefit only her and that is not the way he wishes to live the life that could have been. Unfortunately, there is no way to leave unless it’s drifting forwards on the waves of time. Wherever this road leads to Sunday will have to figure it out as he goes. He can only hope that salvation awaits him on the shoreline.

Scars do not itch yet the phantom scent of a foreign god remains divine in the lungs of a sinner.

The movement is sudden; it disorients him and blinds him just as much as it takes away his hearing. For a split-second Sunday exists neither in reality nor in a dreamscape; simply stuck in between martyrdom and apostasy, he is rejected by the vastness of this universe, and it is the closest he comes to tasting freedom since the day he was born. Then his senses return to him just as suddenly as they abandoned him, and whatever suffering Elio scripted for Sunday to endure, it all may be worth it in the end.

“We mustn’t argue.” A little panicked and breathless, Sunday hears you before he sees you. Drowning in the starlight of the open space, the halo of your divinity shines twice as bright as it did under the sky of Penacony. You cannot imprison holiness in a cage of sin, and only after tasting both freedom and shackles can one realize that.

You’re too busy with pacifying the red-haired woman – Himeko, if his memory is yet to fail him – to notice Sunday hiding behind the shadows of Kafka and Firefly. Himeko is very uncharacteristically upfront about her disdain for Kafka’s unpleasant presence, and as much as he wishes to express his agreement, Sunday is sure his opinion would never be appreciated by the likes of your so-called family.

“I’m going to shove that ship up her–” Himeko’s sharp gaze is digging rusted nails into Kafka’s mortal body, crucifying her with just words alone.

Your palm pressed against Himeko’s red lips silences all blasphemy and prevents immediate bloodshed. “Miss Himeko, please!”

You tug her backwards. Kafka laughs, her amusement hidden by the purple fabric of her gloves. Whether she finds Himeko’s emotional distress funny or it’s your futile efforts to subdue her rage that Kafka finds entertaining remains unclear, neither does Sunday wish to figure it out.

“No, let her continue.” There’s a change to Kafka’s tone, a subtle shift to the way she pronounces her vowels that an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed. Yet Sunday has spent months with nothing but the buzz of the flies caught in Kafka’s spiderweb, and despite his better judgment and the constant detachment of his soul from his mortal body, he notices. She was his only constant companion, the one he had to guard himself from; Sunday would have been a fool to not study her to protect himself. “It’s awfully entertaining to watch such a composed woman lose her cool.”

You shake your head, disappointed yet not surprised even in the slightest, merely chastising the older woman for her immature behavior, “Please do not instigate.”

Kafka swipes the scolding under the rug, dismissing your words as if they were never said in the first place. Simply pets your head, two gentle ruffles of your hair, and then leans closer to Himeko’s face. “I see you missed me dearly, Himeko.”

“Die in a ditch.” Himeko spits, stepping aside and almost shoving Kafka to the side in the most graceful of manners one can muster without seeming excessively aggressive. Then she embraces Firefly as if she was her own daughter. It startles both Sunday and Firefly herself, yet the barrage of questions from Himeko doesn’t let the girl settle into her embarrassment. “Hello, my dear. How have you been? You–”

Murata Himeko has little to no composure when it comes to Kafka’s antics, and it almost makes Sunday feel invested. It is almost enough to anchor him in the raging waters of the endless sea, yet it is still not enough, and he is still guided by the glow of the lighthouse at the faraway shoreline. If he addresses you directly, will you respond or would you dismiss him the way Himeko does Kafka, now that he’s bound to the Slave of Fate with a little ink and a lot of blood? Or would you disregard the chasm separating the two of you and reach for a fleeting friendly touch?

Have you prayed for your paths to cross again or have you forgotten your own words now that he is not your heavenly burden to carry? Sunday would never find out unless he acts on his selfish desires, and selfishness cannot exist in a dream he is still so reluctant to let go.

Kafka clears her throat. It’s a warning for Sunday to return from the gloom of his thoughts, yet the stars illuminate your hair with the shade of blood you spilled to escape the Dreamscape. Sunday is here yet he is never present enough to not get lost in the glow of your nimbus. The ribbons sway with every twitch of your fingers.

“Oh, and who is…” Himeko’s breath gets caught in her throat just as his hazy vision meets her eyes. “That?”

Her pleased expression sours in the blink of an eye, the curve of her lips forming a frown of disgust. She fixes herself just as fast, yet it is enough for everyone to realize where she stands when it comes to him. The winds pick up speed and the raging waves carry Sunday farther away from his destination. Maybe he is not destined to reach the shores of paradise in the first place, simply born to die as a sinner masquerading as a martyr. Maybe he has not found a place where he can finally drop an anchor for a brief gulp of relief. Whatever the case, Sunday does not care.

He does not exist on the same plane mortals do. He is unreachable, untouchable, unknown. Godhood slipped through his fingers like sand, and now he has nothing to offer to the world other than his own suffering. Strike him through his palms and he will not waver. Strike him through his feet and he will remain standing. Strike him to the chest and he will come alive to die once more. Take him apart like a decaying canvas and he will remain scattered thread, floating in the angry winds with no place to settle.

Heavy lungs and drumming heart, breathing seems like an impossible task under the incriminating stare of a woman who knows not of him beyond the vessel of Ena’s order. His lungs expand, no air fills the emptiness. The contract means nothing if he takes his final breath before reaching the shore.

Flashing lights and a pool of glittering blood that soaks the pristine whiteness of silk, something burns him in a way that reminds him of who he truly is. And when Sunday can finally take a proper breath, you look up at him with the expectant gaze, a fragile shield protecting him from the impending doom inflicted by his own two hands.

“Mister Sunday.” Your voice is scorching, your smile is blinding. Sunday wishes to die in the warm sands of your divine presence, buried under the weight of heavenly light. “It seems my prayers reached the heavens.” One glove. Then the next. Your skin is as smooth as the day his lips tasted it for the first time, the sweetness of heaven soiled by the salt of blood and the bitterness of tears. “It is very nice to see you again.”

If you are lying for his sake, Sunday would never know. If you are being sincere, it would bring him to his knees in a desperate attempt to atone for the sin of creating false idols. Yet he knows who you are, he knows your routine and your habits; your only selfless wish and the fears you hide by the foreign tongue he cannot comprehend. Something burns in his throat. Maybe it’s tears, maybe he has finally reached his end and is choking on the sinful blood of his decaying body. He is leaning into your sunlight all the same.

“He kidnapped you.” The accusation is not unfounded.

You dismiss it like it is, “I wouldn’t call it kidnapping.” A little wave of your left hand, the palm of your right is still gently trembling in the grasp of Sunday’s selfish fingers. “More like a vacation.”

You aren’t taken seriously. It seems to be a recurring thing, from how effortlessly your faux indifference is taken at face value. Sunday wants to speak; to play the shield you so bravely act as to protect his rotting flesh, yet all his voice is lost, and he is yet to find perch on the branches of the forbidden tree. The knowledge is all out in the open for his disposal, yet the wounded raven is yet to accept it as the truth of this world, soaring above the green leaves, shamefully nibbling on the fruit that will inevitably take him straight to hell.

Himeko stares you down, you don’t have the guts to stare back at the woman whom you owe your life to. Simply shakily stand your fragile ground, a cracked glass screen separating life and death. Himeko does not condemn you; it is Sunday she does not trust, and he cannot blame her for doing so. Yet some selfishly irksome part of him deems her reaction as unreasonable. She is not privy to your intricate bond; she knows not of suffering that binds you together, of the tears wasted and the ink spilled; she has no right to judge what she cannot understand. And puny humans like Murata Himeko cannot comprehend the extent of your relationship; every second of your suffering, every minute of his guilt, each of your thoughts unshared, each of his dreams unreachable.

Kafka’s laughter is poison, the succulent flesh of the fruit pushed inside his mouth against his will. Your nails dig into his palm, the blood does not spill yet the fear drips from Sunday’s palms as everyone is trying to find balance while the ground under their feet shakes, ready to split in two.

Sunday’s holds onto you like a life vest, the anchor dropped in the middle of the raging sea storm, the only lifeline that connects him to the reality of this miserable existence. Kafka chokes on her giggles as she almost trips over her own feet, the knockback of the sudden stop sending her toppling over. Himeko catches Firefly by the collar of her dress, pressing the girl close to her chest. The lights flicker in and out, yellow to blue, until red flashing lights overtake the hallway. Then everything shuts down.

It’s a painfully long second of silence with nothing but the heat of your body pressed tightly against his. And when the blood washes off the walls, it’s the glow of the open door and the disheveled pink haired girl and her trailblazing companion bursting though the yellow haze of artificial lights.

“What was that?!” The question is not meant to get an answer, and despite knowing it deep down, the girl with an odd name asks it all the same. “Dan Heng said the engine died.”

Irrationality is the heart of human nature; it is the thing that moves humanity forward and it is also what drags them down. Sunday cannot understand it, yet he is not completely against the notion. He, too, is only human, and your hand in his goes against any rational thinking of a devout believer.

“Himeko, what in the world is happening?” Annoyed and hissy voice, ruffled hair and a white robe barely held together by a little silk belt. The pink haired Foxian that snarled and bared her teeth at Sunday any chance she could back on Penacony, now looks like a displeased cat, lost in the unfamiliar environment. The impatient tapping of her foot, the flat heel of her fuzzy slipper softly knocking on the glossy floors.

Himeko says nothing. Just turns away, lips pressed tightly together. A glance she sends your way sends shivers down his spine, involuntary twitch of his wings sensing danger Sunday cannot combat with just the strength of his body alone. This time you look at her, the haunted darkness of your pupils keeps expanding and swallowing the light of the blushing sunsets Sunday is so enamored with.

“I don’t know.” Himeko finally states. Despite the finality of her words, it is clear as day that the woman knows very well. And with how she avoids your gaze now that she spoke, it is obvious you know even more. Nobody brings it up, even Kafka blinks in a solemn understanding that sometimes scripts don’t play in their favor. Satisfied with her play being accepted, Himeko continues with the second act, “But please put some clothes on, Shuhua.”

Shuhua huffs, a suspicious side eye thrown into your general direction. You seem to pay her no mind, too preoccupied with staring outside the window. Receiving no reaction, the Foxian turns on her heels and leaves the hallway with no hurry behind her steps. Himeko mumbles something under her breath and follows after Shuhua, arms folded over her chest and palpable tension to her every move.

As if sensing some invisible danger, Kafka steps away from the entrance and beckons Firefly to do the same. Slowly but surely, akin to two cautious animals, they hide themselves behind the corner of the hallway. It’s an oxymoron, truly, yet Sunday has no other way to describe the careful way in which Kafka – with all her predator glory – navigates the space. Precise and calculated, she wastes no time in exiting the hallway. Be it to torment Himeko some more or run away from whatever chill that is eating away at Sunday’s wings. Whatever the case, it’s just you, him and the young pink haired woman left standing in the dying light of faraway stars.

“Please step away from the window.” It’s a clear warning and Sunday heeds it, for all drifting souls follow the flow of the stream. March is way too anchored in her life to recognize the tremor of your voice for what it is.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, unblinking gaze lost in the vastness of the open space. The alien pink hues swallow the darkness of cosmos and the glow of stars, dyeing the dim room with something sinister. March tugs on your sleeve, you don’t turn to look her way. The pinks turn into purples, the black holes of your eyes grow until only the void remains. The prayer falls from your lips like teardrops; some words muffled, some forever lost in the air to never reach his ears.

Faint footsteps are not the ones Sunday recognizes but he recalls seeing the young man, Dan Heng, on Penacony the day everything fell apart. He’s frowning, the tight line of his mouth trying to hide his distress. March seems relieved to see him, finger pointing at you with a quick shake of her head.

Dan Heng doesn’t read between the lines, simply waves his hand, “We caught another distress signal. Himeko ordered to regroup.”

March eagerly takes it as a chance to escape the suffocating tension, although she seems to be too hesitant to leave your side. One of the ribbons of your dress wrapped around her finger, she tugs on your clothing once more, yet you don’t move from your spot. Dan Heng seems annoyed by the delay, enough so he sends a dirty look Sunday’s way as a compensation for his wasted time.

“[Name], did you hear me?” Dan Heng takes one step closer. The purples turn into reds. March can’t find a spot to rest her eyes on, gaze darting from you to Dan Heng. The reds turn into pinks, then back into purples. The young man rests his hand on your shoulder. Purples darken into black. “We need to–”

“Move.” You snap, arms pushing March away from the glass just in time before the fog rejects the laws of this world, slipping through the thick layer of glass.

 The shrill volume of your voice is deafening but it’s not enough to scare away whatever it is that is floating in that fog. It latches into Dan Heng’s clothing, enveloping his fingers. The rapidly melting skin is falling down on the shiny floors like blackened ashes, piece by piece, layer by layer, until there is nothing but bone. And even then, the rot is not satisfied.

Dan Heng staggers backwards until his back hits the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide, shaky legs barely supporting his body. You quickly follow, trying to stabilize him, yet the best you can do is to help him slide down the wall slowly. His left arm is frantically trying to rip the rapidly deteriorating edges of his coat off yet to no avail, the fog swallows anything it touches far quicker than a human can move.

March calls out to you two, quickly crossing the little distance between you and sagging to her knees next to Dan Heng, trying to reach out to help him but you slap her hand away. “Don’t touch him!” You yell, so out of character for the calm and serene attitude Sunday is used to. Then you swallow, mouth seemingly dry, and when you speak next, it’s even softer and lighter than your usual tone, “Please step away, March. Don’t let the fog get near you.”

 Wide eyed, March is staring at you like she sees you for the first time in her life. Gods are gracious yet they are fair; Sunday knows better than anyone just how fair they can be. Yet this fairness from you must be something she had never seen before. Even Sunday himself, in that short time that he spent with your presence illuminating the nights of his loneliness, has not witnessed this side of you. Your refusal was gentle yet adamant, your dismissal was careful yet assured. Your harshness was nonexistent, for you were rejecting it like you do with everything in this life. Yet here you are, embracing it to save the life of the one you care about. It seems Sunday forgot he is not the only one lost in the river, praying to finally reach the lighthouse.

 “You never take me seriously.” You mutter dejectedly, eyes watery and fingers trembling.

“I’m sorry.” Dan Heng’s voice is almost gone, raspy and hoarse, heavy breathing never easing even when the fog starts thinning out under the glow of pinks and purples.

The ribbons of your dress float in the air; the ashes rise from the floor, twisting and turning into bleeding pieces of torn flesh and broken bone as his arm reconstructs itself slowly.  It’s unnatural, foreign to even witness, yet alone feel but Sunday knows the ache of mended bones. He knows the pain will never leave and will follow Dan Heng till his deathbed, a reminder of his wrongdoings. The sin of disobedience is hard to wash off, be it a prayer or holy water. Maybe the blood of a saint spilt on the foreign flesh can cure those phantom pains, yet no saint martyr would ever bleed for sinners like them.

The ode of resurrection is short-lived, yet the horrors the onlookers witnessed will remain there even when they close their eyes and fall into deep slumber. It will chase them like prey until it devours them alive. Sunday is used to a little misery, his dreams used to be his only salvation till they shattered like a birdcage caught in a hurricane; yet he is not sure how those who live to dream would deal with nightmares.

“What in hell is happening?” Shuhua’s blown amber eyes lost all the warmth of mild fire as she watches the final pieces of flesh reject their decay.

Too many people in this hallway for it to be safe. From Dan Heng to the two companions that came with her, to the black fog creeping near the window. Shuhua’s tail is wagging angrily from side to side. One of the men next to her – the infuriating Stoneheart, bless his audacity – seems to be as annoyed as she is. Although a bit more cautious and way less adventurous as he follows the woman when she steps closer to the black cloud, gloved palm all but ready to tug Shuhua back in case things go south.

As much as Sunday dislikes Aventurine, there is little point in his suffering now that it does not benefit the preservation of Ena’s eternal dream. Neither that nor your grief for the loss of a friend would bring Sunday any satisfaction. If anything, it would just force him further into the deep waters and the last thing he wants is to drown in despair before truly tasting freedom.

So he bows his head and rejects his ego, trying to be that very better brother that could stop all galaxies and freeze time just to let his sister descend the heavenly ladder. Even if the feat is not comparable and Sunday is a simple mortal who cannot perform miracles just yet, he can be a better man who would do good by others for you so at the end he could do so for himself.

The chill of the fog is caressing his back even from the distance Sunday assured is there. The irritation on Shuhua’s face when her investigation gets cut short could rival Sunday’s own disenchantment with the life he was forced into. Yet even if despised, Sunday stands for what he believes is right.

“I strongly advise you to not go near that fog.” It’s the first time in a long while that he addresses someone else. Prayers have been left behind in search of belief in himself and the conversations with Kafka are all one sided. There is no need to speak when Sunday has nothing to say, and it seems even if he does now, the audience is not willing to listen.

“I strongly advise you to stay the hell away from me, birdbrain.” Shuhua is prone to snarling and threats, yet it is very hard to take her seriously when even someone as fragile in body as Sunday himself could probably pick her up by the collar of her coat just to look at her face at eye level. He wishes not to pick any unnecessary fights, yet Shuhua seems to want to pick them all, “I will tear you apart.”

You sigh, it’s so heavy as if the weight of the universe rests on your delicate shoulders. “Please stop.”

Nobody truly listens. True to your previous words, no one takes you seriously. Your wishes have no substance, and your opinion is as translucent as air that they breathe in just to exhale the next moment. There is a brief, fleeting moment in which Sunday entertains the idea of the eternal dream once more. The ideal paradise in which people listen to you all the time and not just when it’s beneficial to them, yet he pushes it aside as soon as it blossoms in his mind with blood red petals. No wishes ever come true in gilded dreams and the only way to change reality is to take action here and now. There is very little Sunday can change, however, so the only thing he can do is stand his ground.

You walk past them right into the haze of the fog, Shuhua and Aventurine casting you a passing glance of confusion. Dan Heng, for as sickly pale as he is right now, is trying hurriedly to get up with March’s help. There must be something on Sunday’s face that gives away his doubt of the safety of your actions, as you smile wearily, “It’s alright. It can do me no harm.”

Sunday’s mind does not doubt the gospel, yet his heart is his worst enemy. Despite his worries, the dark cloud lightens in color: from black to purple, then to pink, and finally it thins out enough for only to pale mist to remain floating at the edges of the glass. The silence that falls is heavier than any burden a martyr could carry. Himeko joins you by the window, respectful distance from the pinkish whisps. She seems to be contemplating something, yet the options she has must be limited and choosing between two evils is never easy. Aventurine is peeking outside where the fog is still sick and dark, obscuring the starlight. Even the cyborg – one of the galaxy rangers that Sunday does not the name of – is searching for something behind the other side of the glass.

“I warned you to take another route.” You say finally. Shuhua is distressed, it’s barely noticeable, yet the twitch of her ears gives it all away. Himeko folds her arms over her chest, troubled expression reflecting on the surface of the glass. It’s evident nobody except you and her understands what you mean by that, yet for once you aren’t trying to include everyone in the conversation. It’s between you and the woman who seems to know way more about you than Sunday prides himself on knowing. “We got too close, and we got caught by the pollution.”

“Where the fudge are we anyway?” The cyborg taps the window, metal fingers thudding unpleasantly on the glass. This shirthole–”

“Mister Boothill.” You chastise lightly. “Language.”

“S’rry, birdie.” He chuckles awkwardly, slight embarrassment to his tone. “Where are we again?”

“My home planet.” Your words are the bloodstained nails, dropped by the executioner. The blood drips off them in thick droplets of divine nectar and falls to the floor, coating the room with the saccharine scent of the paradise lost.

“Huh?” There’s something peculiarly tense about the way Aventurine looks at you behind those glasses of his, yet Boothill’s astonishment saves you a lot of questions that you most likely do not wish to answer. “Ya fudgin’ breathe poison or somethin’?” You laugh, shaking your head lightheartedly at what could have been an oddly disrespectful question if not presented in such a standoffish way.

 “Not anymore.” You confirm, “The–” then your breath gets caught in your throat and your smile falls, replaced by a very familiar longing that Sunday grew accustomed to. Yet today is Thursday and on Thursdays you watch the stars. The regret and the tears are all saved for when the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day, and you get on your knees in a prayer hidden behind a foreign tongue. “Never mind. It’s a long, boring story that will put you all to sleep.”

“[Name]–” Himeko wants to say something; she clearly made up her mind and whatever decision she came up to burdens her way more than not listening to you when she had the chance.

Yet you, as per the path you are chained to, refuse to listen to whatever she has to say, “We do need to look into that distress signal.”

“Not unless we want to get turned into ashes.” Aventurine pipes in, a little teasing behind his otherwise serious tone, “I am not ready to get dusted just yet. No offense, [Name].”

Your smile is strained. It’s unnatural and forced yet Sunday is unsure whether others realize it, “I would never take offense in your finding the desire to live.” A well-meaning comment that is aimed to hit exactly where it hurts the most. Or maybe Sunday simply is too far deep in the waters of sin, so he projects his most evil onto the saints who deserve it not. Aventurine, however, does not contemplate your intentions, simply turns away from you as if burnt as it often happens when playing with fire. “Miss Himeko, if you may?”

Himeko nods wordlessly. You hide from the view with Boothill leaving right after when the awkwardness gets a bit too much for him. Sunday has half a mind to follow you but stops before he does something very much foolish. He needs to learn to pick his battles and regulate his wishes to control everything. For the very notion of control has always been his biggest enemy.

He who has no reign over his life desires to control everything, yet what he is supposed to do now that he has nothing to rule over? To control yourself is to control your own life, yet how does he find freedom when some of the choices he makes are still very much guided by someone else’s wishes masquerading as his own? Abandoning dreams meant abandoning order, yet somehow it still dictates his life all the same.

The lighthouse has never been farther away.

None of these people are tolerant of him, least of all fond of him, and without your presence this hallway once more turns into a cage. Maybe Kafka wasn’t as awful of a companion as he initially thought and her spiderweb acted as feather-like anchor to keep his mind from floating too far away from the shore. Maybe he is terrified of what could happen now that he has been stripped of power completely, matters not that the influence he used to have was all make believe.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, chicken boy.” Shuhua laughs, twitching ears and sharp teeth on display as a warning. “Nobody here likes you, but we aren’t going to kill you. Unless you accidentally fall into that fog and die.” She misinterprets Sunday’s silence, yet he is not sure whether she is truly capable of cold-blooded murder or simply playing it up for the sake of dispelling some tension.

The Stoneheart quirks his brow skeptically, “Do you really want a sob fest?”

For someone like Aventurine, everything in this life is all but a transaction. An eye for an eye. A favor received; a favor returned. It’s not about either of them but it’s about both of you. The idea of pushing Sunday into the man-devouring fog seems to be quite pleasant for him even if he is almost stopping the Foxian from murder just because Sunday stopped her from almost dying.

Scoffing, Shuhua points her finger at Sunday as if he’s not even there, “She’ll get over it and find another boytoy to fawn over in approximately five business days.”

The notion of you crying over his death is terrifyingly unsettling. There is no realm, be it the rivers of reality long past of the gilded cage of a dream yet to be, in which Sunday wishes for you to weep for him ever again. Neither does he wish to die before you. Or after you, for that matter. Yet dying together with your last breath caught by his lips seems like a beautiful way to end his existence.

But Shuhua, despite her never-ending hostility, is right and he doesn’t think a god would waste her last moments on the fleeting warmth of a dying sinner. Death is far too cruel to allow him to go peacefully. And so, Sunday locks any foolish thoughts behind the golden bars of a dream once more.

That is the only place where heresy belongs to.

The fog darkens, not even a sliver of starlight remains. In this darkness Sunday has trouble keeping himself afloat. The thorns drag him down to the bottom even if the hollow bones of his wings do not itch any longer.

To dream is to survive. To live is to suffer. To dream is to suffer. To live is to survive. No matter how one twists the words, the outcome is the same. Torment is unavoidable, misery is unescapable. Be it in a cage made of gold or in a life soaked in freedom, everyone suffers equally. Sunday is yet to accept that as a given, yet this anguish is probably the only thing you embrace with your torn heart. Maybe one of these days the stream will carry him to his destination, and he finally finds what he’s looking for.

Maybe for the first time in his life Sunday needs to take control of himself and not others.

 “You should come inside.”  A gentle hand on his shoulder. A tall woman – another galaxy ranger – smiles at him with a little something very tired to the curve of her lips. “They’re about to make the jump.”

Sunday stops himself from wondering what all those people are doing here. Their ship got stranded so the rest must have suffered the same fate. Everything happens for a reason, and Sunday has little to no desire to doubt anything right now. Not when that doubt could force the thorns up his body until he is crowned in them like a dying man crucified.

And so he nods, following after Acheron, “They started the engine?”

“No,” She shakes her head, the door in front of her opens automatically. “We’re breeching the atmosphere the old-fashioned way.”

Sunday has no clear idea what that entails, but the implications don’t seem very promising. Some sort of a mascot is running around the room, ushering everyone to get seated. Kafka is smiling, scooting ever so slightly closer to Himeko despite the other trying to get away from her. Firefly is rambling, March and the pesky Nameless to her right engaging her in a rather animated conversation. Boothill, Shuhua, and Aventurine seem to get along rather splendidly, considering their conflicting personalities.

The veiled Memokeeper pats the empty spot next to her in a silent invitation; Sunday knows it isn’t meant for him, so he takes a seat in the farthest corner of the couch and lets Acheron depart with no words exchanged. You are nowhere in sight. Sunday thinks that once again nobody takes you seriously even if they should. Dan Heng and an elderly man who Sunday hasn’t met before seem to be the only one to be at least a little bit troubled by the current predicament, vigilantly watching the door in case it opens.

It does not. Instead, the lights flicker rapidly, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Being sat is not enough.

Everything comes crashing down, and no seatbelts could save them from the heat of the fall through the corroding fog and the atmosphere unwelcoming to the outsiders. Someone more poetic would have called this the fall of god’s most beloved angel, Sunday knows that it is nothing more than a punishment for the sins one could never atone. Everything seems to be on fire, scorching and hostile. Sparks of light ignite outside the trembling glass windows. In the darkness of this nightmare, fate in the shape of glowing ribbons is kind enough to catch him right before Sunday slips off the couch.

The fall stops so abruptly that the train jumps upwards. The pinks and purples shimmer with the peculiar radiance, lighting up the shadows and ensuring a safe descend into the deepest circles where only the most heinous sinners could survive. That is not a place someone like you could be born in, yet it seems just right for Istanai the Repudiation.

“Is everyone okay?” Your voice is hoarse, and you look a bit worse for wear. Sweat running down your temple, you shiver. Someone says something, it gets lost in the raging waters of doubt. “I cleansed the engine as much as I could but it’s enough to make one jump far away from the fog.”

“Please be careful.” Himeko mumbles, the train shakes for the final time.

You smile, “Aren’t I always?” That smile is nothing more than a kiss to the cheek and 30 pieces of silver, yet somehow Sunday is sure that it is them who would end up weeping at the cross.

Perhaps even Himeko herself knows she is sending the lamb to the slaughter. With regrets and misty eyes, she presses her lips to your forehead. It’s a fleeting touch with nothing left of it by the time it ends, and you turn around first, leaving without even a goodbye. Stelle darts from her seat, ready to join in on another dangerous adventure, Dan Heng and March following suit until Himeko stops them, whispering something that makes March gasp audibly. Half astonished, half disappointed, she returns to her spot on the couch and drops down with a huff. If Sunday is sure of something, it’s that the lonely path you are bound to cannot offer you any constant companionship.

Kafka is watching him with that infuriating something behind the clouded haze of her eyes. Sunday hates letting her win; he despises being caught in the spiderweb of her schemes and convoluted plots written by a lunatic far worse than he, himself, is. Spending his whole life being conditioned to believe he is the one in control of the cage, Sunday has been chained to the golden bars of a tomb where they buried his freedom. Yet he is not a charmony dove in desperate need of someone looking after him, his clipped wings have long been mended and the disillusionment in a dream that cannot be is ringing in his ears in Robin’s trembling voice.

What would she do if she were in his shoes, Sunday wonders, although there is no real need to contemplate it at all. For someone like his sister – another victim of a mind far too cruel for this world – there is only one path in this life. You move towards freedom, even if it means getting caught up in the crossfire.

Kafka’s giggles die with as the distance grows. Sunday is lucky to catch you before you exit the train, yet he isn’t sure there is any more luck in his life left for you to change your mind.

Sunday isn’t fast enough to even voice his concerns before you shut him down, “I just need to check with the port security, and I will be back. One foot out, one foot in.”

“Then I shall accompany you.” How can one preserve a life without controlling it? How to change your mind when even the most drastic of measures will prove futile? If Sunday gets down on his knees and beg like a sinner would do before the heavenly lord, would you accept him then? Would telling the truth save him now that he has nothing more to his person than the wings that belong to you and the halo that he is willing to discard for your sake?

“As much as I would enjoy to go on adventure with you, Mister Sunday, I am afraid this is something I must do alone.” There’s an air of finality to your words. As if you gave up all your agency to fate and willingly chose to walk the road to your crucifixion with the shoulders carrying the weapon which inevitably will be used against you. Yet Sunday doesn’t want you to. If there is a way to share this burden, his hands are willing. If there is a way to unfasten the noose around your neck or to wipe the blood of your palms, he is ready to stain himself until everything is red. “Besides… Who will save me if I put you in danger with my own two hands?”

As usual, you make little to no sense. How can Sunday save you if he isn’t by your side? “Aeon or not, you mustn’t–”

Your palm against his cheek is warm. Thumb gliding over his skin, smearing crimson till nothing is left of his anguish. Only heartache remains; the realization that he cannot do anything but give up and let you walk outside the gilded cage of safety into the world which would never be kind to you even if you spill all your tears for it. He could not stop Robin and had to pay the price, and now with you Sunday will have to do the same. Control is never enough when you lack the power to reinforce it, the dreams are fleeting and fragile like the glass castles amongst the clouds. All Sunday can do is to believe that he will get there in time to gather your holy blood before the ground accepts it as a part of itself.

“To live is to survive.” He whispers, hopeless and sorrowful.

“To dream is to suffer.” You agree. A ruffle of your dress, the ribbons sway as you rise. Betrayal means nothing when the warmth of your lips against his cheek eradicates all vices and purifies all evil. “May the heavens be kind enough for the suffering to cease.”

The door silently closes. Sunday returns to the train cart. The shimmer of the ribbons is still glowing all around the room. The atmosphere is a bit too charged, Dan Heng and Himeko glaring at each other with various degrees of animosity. Kafka is grinning, although there is something tense to her smile that Sunday had no desire to investigate. Elio admitted he could not predict your future, so whatever script she has is probably nothing but a nonsensical piece of fiction written by a crazed lunatic.

“You know nothing.” Himeko snaps. It must not be a regular occurrence, as it earns her a couple of odd glances. “If she doesn’t contact us in five system hours, [Name] told us to leave her here.”

Sunday expected as much yet this being said out loud weights way heavier on his soul than he anticipated. Dan Heng, familiar with the aftermath of touching death firsthand, seems to share the sentiment, “You can’t do that! Himeko, what–”

“This is not my place to decide, and this is not your place to judge.” The woman cuts his sentence short, not at all content with your decision yet unable to refuse your final wish. “It’s [Name]’s choice. Her fate has found her. You should know that better than anyone, Dan Heng.”

This silences the young man way faster than Sunday anticipated. Dan Heng, oddly dejected and somewhat pained, ignores Himeko’s orders and returns to the couch. March’s comforting hand does little to soothe whatever turmoil he is going through and Himeko doesn’t hurry to apologize for hurting him. Kafka hums, a little perplexing noise, as she pets Himeko’s shoulder lightly. The red-haired woman has little strength now to refuse the spider’s advances now, face hidden in the palms of her hands.

Pompom quietly warns everyone to buckle up and the jump is way smoother this time around, yet nobody seems to be happy about the comfort. The quiet conversations and Firefly’s soft, somewhat awkward laughter fills in the void of passing hours. Scars do not itch yet old habits are hard to break, and Sunday is once again being dragged down to the bottom with the thorns of his deadly sin. One more hour, the glow of the ribbons dies along with the fog. Soon there would be nothing but darkness and the glitter of starlight illuminating the edges of the planet clouded in death.

“You seem awfully worried for someone you quite literally held hostage.” Shuhua’s voice is a fairway noise of the waves crashing against the pier. Sunday doesn’t mean to ignore her, yet he has no desire to engage her either. Pointless bickering has no merit unless both parties have something to prove. And Sunday has nothing to stand for right now. She is somewhat correct, and he is completely lost.

“Not as fun to bother now that you have nothing to hide.” Aventurine is the green glint of the precious stones scattered around the seabed. Laying amongst all those colorful rocks, Sunday lets them dig painfully into the base of his wings, till blood seeps through the open wounds. “Lame.”

“Cut him some slack, you two.” Black Swan says, a little teasing to her hushed voice, “He’s in the process of actively yearning.” Sunday wishes they would stop talking about him as if he isn’t present, yet he is not allowed to condemn them for sinning when his deeds are as unforgiving as they come.

 “Not like he knows anything about love beyond controlling the object of his obsession.” If a Memokeeper can get into Sunday’s head to pick his troubled feelings apart and put them together into some semblance of cohesion, the Stoneheart doubts the notion of Sunday having any emotions at all. It’s infuriating, yet it helps in a way. The waters may be deep, and the waves may be harsh, yet fury knows no hell like a lover scorned.

“I advise you to not speculate about my feelings.” The chill of his tone is familiar. “You might find out the true extent of their depth.”

For a second Sunday is back on Penacony, caged and buried, following orders and grasping for an ounce of control over his own actions through desperately trying to liberate those who could be saved. Would any of them try to save him? Robin would. Robin did. Now she’s somewhere out of reach, in the lighthouse Sunday can see yet can never find a way to. You would. You did. And now you are back to the dream shattered, unattainable and doomed.

Sunday has little to call his, yet his heart is worth fighting for.

Aventurine lifts his glasses, the grin on his lips is the one you would only find in hell, “Hit a nerve?” The tension increases, yet Sunday is not above playing dirty. They should know as much already. All is fair when you protect what you believe in, for the road to hell is paved with intentions most pure.

“Fifty thousand credits say you to shoot the chicken if he squares up.” Shuhua whispers, yet her voice is loud enough for everyone to hear.

Boothill clicks his tongue, “Make it a hundred, foxy. I ain’t lifting a forkin’ finger for some chump change.”

“Now now, let’s not fight.” Black Swan claps her hands to dispel some of that tension and it works. Somewhat. Sunday’s wings are still twitching under his coat, posture rigid and breathing shallow. Aventurine himself is way on guard for someone who is not ready to fight for his life, yet he is the one to throw in the towel. “We might need our knights to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“Talking about distress.” Acheron inserts herself into the situation with a surprising ease, surely not in the mood to mediate any immature conflicts yet very much willing to remind of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “It’s been four hours, Himeko.”

“I know.” Himeko nods, her expression as hazy as the fog outside this room.

Kafka huffs, amused and ready to stir the conversation where she wants it to go, “When I left you the kids, I thought you would keep them safe, Himeko. Look at you now…”

Himeko, for all her detachment now that she’s haunted by her own choices, seems to be finally ready to physically fight Kafka this time around. Her anger is short lived. And everything after that is nonexistent. It all ends here where it all began.

“Guys.” March gasps, palms pressed against the glass window. “No, guys, look.”

Stelle joins her by the window, but the others ignore her excitement as they did ten times prior to this. Yet judging by how the curve of Stelle’s lips drops suddenly, this time around they should have paid attention.

The blinding light is promised to lead all mortals to salvation of Paradise. With the scorching warmth of hell’s fire on his face, Sunday is sure that he is never destined to find the shores of redemption. The train is shaking with the aftershocks of the end of the world as they knew it. His fate is sealed with an explosion and the debris drifting into the open space, colliding with each other in a promise to never meet again.

In the eyes of Murata Himeko, Sunday can recognize the guilt which is dripping from his heavy lashes every time he brings himself down on his knees in a prayer. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Paradise of eternal happiness cannot exist, for it is nothing but a pipedream of a man gone mad.

For once in the short time that he knew her, Kafka is silent. Sunday takes that silence with him into the darkness that envelopes all creation.

The curtain falls, yet as the lights go out the gilded dreams live on.

Scars do not itch yet the memory of a dream yet to be dreamt is the only proof of your existence.