#thank you so much for this sunday!!

[yumedoca]

Shoutout to this issue of the Weekly Shonen Sunday for being so awesome for having the characters from all (or most of, idk) the series running at the time do the iconic "Only One Truth Prevails!" pose!!

[urarakamysocksoff]

"How was work, hero?" "Good. How was class, teach?"

[aoiberrie]

(kofi request) avenday parfait date for shrimple <3

[voidsylus]

sylus loves to reassure us he’s got our backs

the best thing about 3.0 is the update for sylus orbits and today marks the day we completed 100 trials together

the phone call after our success made me want to cry. we were worried about our evol getting rusty during battles which cause harm to sylus because we are a team but he was having non of that

there’s nothing more beautiful knowing that your partner trust you wholeheartedly with our skills but also reassured you that no matter what he’ll protect us

since our love language is quality time and words of affirmation, we are celebrating once again and this loverboy wants to make sure that when we sleep, we’ll dream about him

[inkykeiji]

Sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat!!!!

anon you literally took me out with this because he is SUCH a perfect character for that role uGH!!! not only is sunday disgustingly wealthy, but he also desperately desires complete and total dominance and control—which is what makes him ripe for a bratty lil baby (especially if he gets to withhold certain privileges as a result of being Daddy). 

sunday’s word is ultimate, decorous and divine, and what he says goes, irregardless of how many fits you throw or feet you stomp or fists you ball up in anger, defiance, or fury. he tells you he doesn’t enjoy inflicting punishment on you—and while his voice is cold, stern, and full of veracity, that sharp glimmer in his eye suggests otherwise—but that he must dole out such discipline, as it is his duty as your Daddy; to guide, to teach, to mold, to correct.

his retributions vary depending on the severity of the act you’ve committed, ranging from merely revoking privileges (technology, later bed time, sweets, his credit card) to full on physical punishments (spanking your bare ass while wearing his gloves seeming to be the one he favours most often, but he is not above using canes and the like on you if he believes it to be ‘necessary’ to sear whatever lesson he’s trying to teach into that pretty little brain of yours), and you can bet your ass he’s got a meticulously worked out system in place that decides what the punishment will be, proportional to the transgression. 

he acts as if it’s exasperating, as if your disobedience is exhausting, yet he can’t seem to smother those tiny twitches tugging at the corners of his lips any time you push back, any time you challenge him, that glint in his eye flaring to something bright and blazing, despite his features being etched in stone. because although he’d never admit it, he does love enforcing (his specific brand of) justice; he does love exerting that power over you as he shepherds you back onto the path of the righteous, just as a blessed man should; he does love the utter and complete iron-fisted dominance it affords him.

but sunday doesn’t love being your Daddy just because of the absolute control it instils in him; he also loves being your Daddy when you’re good, well-behaved and obedient. oh, then he’s sweeter than sugar and just as corrosive; he spoils you fucking rotten. it’s one of his favourite things to do, showering you with expensive gifts and extravagant outings—lace-trimmed silk and red bottom shoes and multi-day spa getaways and lavish restaurants…all until that indulgence erodes your obedience, turns you into something naughty and saucy again, something greedy and entitled, something he has to fix.

and then, he repeats the whole process over.

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au epilogue :D

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10 /// part 11 /// epilogue

over a month for just 2.7k words :,)

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The temple was beautiful.

Sitting upon cliffs that raised it high above the sandy shoals, the two sets of double doors watched waves crash against distant rocks; The walls that enclosed the kingdom lowered for the cliff’s edge, allowing fresh, salty air to waft over its steps.

The building was grandiose, the devotion for the god it paid homage to clear with every carefully placed brick. Flower beds lined each wall, full of bright, blooming petals.

Townspeople had gathered at the base of the wide staircase; very few were allowed within the temple. Vacant streets echoed their refrain, their chanting prayers proclaiming their devotion and asking for protection in one resounding chorus.

Every time the girl’s pleas for mercy grew louder, their volume rose in tandem.

They held their hands to the heavens in worship, each quietly relieved it was not them nor their children that had been chosen. Now that they were no longer at risk of being on the offering table, they smiled.

War had come knocking on their gates with famine looming over the walls that were meant to protect them. Their old priest had died and in his place was someone young and charismatic with newer, more appealing ideas.

He said all they had to do was offer something greater. One life for the lives of an entire town. And with a trade like that, how were they to refuse?

Guards held the girl’s parents in place behind the crowd. They had refused to listen when told that they should be proud. But they would learn soon enough. To be chosen as a sacrifice was the greatest honor that could be bestowed upon a mortal, and they would watch.

Her hoarse, begging cries grew louder, the crowd no longer able to completely drown out her pleas for life.

No one noticed the stranger.

An unknown man from a foreign land dressed all in black with his face covered, he stood out harshly from the others yet their eyes glazed over him. He looked up to the statue of the god the temple belonged to; The sun cast it in shadow. 

The faceless stranger walked with purpose, moving through the crowd without a care for who was in his way. Some yelled in anger, some looked on confused, but regardless, he gained the attention of the crowd as they began to part for him.

Too stunned by the unexpected intrusion or too scared of the unknown figure, they let him through.

Laymen were not allowed in the temple, but now that push came to shove, no one had the conviction to stand in his way. They believed the intruder would taint the ceremony, yet they would rather the girl die in vain than risk going against the interloper with a gleaming halberd on his back.

Their chants had grown quiet. His footsteps were silent on the stone stairs.

The interior of the temple was just as ornate as the exterior, if not more so. Murals covered the walls, bordered by marble and tile. Every inch of the temple, from the floor to the pillars, was heavily decorated with the finest materials money could buy.

When the doors were open, light spilled in and shone on the colorful, polished tile, lighting the entire chamber with dancing sunlight and prismatic colors. 

But the doors remained closed, only a smattering of torches left to illuminate the entire room; The corners were dark and dim, the beautiful tile cast into shadow.

Light returned as it was meant to be for just one, singular moment as the stranger entered. But then it was gone once more as the doors locked behind him.

The offering table sat in the middle of the room, an almost forgotten statue standing behind it at the back.

The girl struggled even harder at the sight of the cloaked stranger while the priest and his two assistants froze in the middle of their ritual. They had not heard the chanting stop, but they noticed it missing.

They stared at the interloper with wide eyes. To interrupt such an important ceremony was inconceivable; It was forbidden for civilians to enter. Their shock lingered as they were faced with a situation they had not thought possible.

The stranger let them sit with their fear for a good long while. And when he finally walked forward, the stalemate broke and the three heading their barbaric excuse of a ceremony panicked.

One of the assistants ran towards the doors, hoping they could somehow out maneuver the faceless stranger standing between them and their escape. The stranger unsheathed his weapon.

The ax drove a furrow down the man’s chest. They stayed standing even as their eyes dimmed, only hitting the floor when the stranger threw them from the blade.

They hit the floor with a thud, spasming and twitching as they tried to fight the blood pooling into their lungs and the floor.

The stranger stepped over them and walked towards the table.

The girl’s efforts were rejuvenated when he approached, pulling harshly at her binds. Her panic did not waiver as he walked past her and only mixed with confusion as she tried desperately to reach the knots that held her in place.

The other assistant had grabbed the ornamental dagger and backed away, trying to put distance between them. They brandished their weapon wildly, holding it incorrectly.

The stranger smiled at their gumption but embedded the hook of his halberd deep into their shoulder and yanked them forward. As they stumbled, they were disarmed and the very knife they had brandished was buried deep into the underside of their jaw in one fluid move.

He turned back to the table slowly, Death incarnate; As if the Grim Reaper had grown bored of his scythe and exchanged it for the polearm, he killed without clemency for his victims and now approached her. She tried again to beg for mercy, but her voice was gone.

When he stepped up to the table, she begrudgingly closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable as tears continued to run down her cheeks. 

But there was no killing blow. 

Her ties were severed.

She scrambled backwards, falling in her haste and she pressed herself against the wall. The stranger waited. And when she stopped, he approached slowly, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

He was met with a bewildered and terrified gaze. Like a deer staring down the hunter. 

His face was covered; She would not have thought him human if not for the glimpse of his eyes. He pointed at the knotted rope that still encircled her wrists and ankles and held out his hand. An offer.

With closed eyes, she held out her wrist, not yet believing that she would not be harmed; She would have held her breath if she could. She jumped at the feeling of cold metal against her skin, but the knife did not draw blood.

It was wielded carefully, the too-tight binds finally falling away. She tucked her limbs in close when he was done, rolling her wrists and massaging the bruises as blood flow returned. It was not until he stepped away and turned his back to her that she realized he truly meant her no harm.

The stranger looked to the back of the room where the shadows thickened. Where the last man on his list was hiding fruitlessly behind the legs of a statue of a god whose name he had forgotten.

All of the care he had was gone as the stranger stalked towards his last target. The priest, knowing his disappearing act failed, pushed himself away and crawled backwards into the corner as he demanded that the stranger leave. He repeated the same lines over and over, not comprehending that someone did not respect the power he had assumed.

The stranger dragged the desecrated priest to the offering table by his hair. He kicked and screamed the whole way but it did not make a difference. The stranger offered him the same amount of mercy they had offered to the girl.

There was no splendor or flourish when he was thrown onto the altar and beheaded; He wasn’t worth the effort it took to bring the ax down, much less any honor.

Noise gave way to quiet as his grating cries were hushed. It was not fully silent, the sound of a non-circular object rolling around filled the room before it hit the floor with a squishy thud.

The stranger pulled a small bouquet of carnations from his cloak and set them on the table, tied together with twine and propped up against the decapitated body. He whispered a quiet prayer, his head bowed.

When he finished, he stood and stared at his handiwork with depraved delight, proud of the carnage he had wrought.

He grabbed the severed head and turned to leave but paused when he noticed the girl still cowering against the wall, crying silently with her head tucked into her knees. He approached with heavy steps. 

The stranger kneeled before her and offered his arm.

She stared at him for a long time, at his eyes, his clothes, his posture, his mask, and looked between him and the statue at the back of the chamber.

“No,” the stranger said, his voice inexplicably kind, “Just a friend of his.”

The girl grabbed the arm that was offered. He helped her up and did not move away as they walked to the door. She held onto his arm with both hands, having to stare at her feet so as to not trip.

She did not think about the blood she could feel beneath her hands.

The townspeople were waiting outside the temple, left in the dark as to the actions within. They could not hear the girl screaming anymore. Her parents had fallen to quiet sobs.

Hinges creaked, the doors opened, and a shock wave went through the crowd. 

The stranger and a girl they had not just assumed, but hoped was dead walked out of the temple. He moved slowly, being careful on the stairs as he helped her along.

The crowd only stared with wide eyes and gaping mouths, even the guards frozen in shock. Those at the front stumbled back like they were diseased, trying to keep far away from the dissenters.

Once they reached the base of the stairs, the stranger tossed something to one of the onlookers. They caught it out of reflex and let out a blood-curdling scream when they saw the desanctified priest’s head in their hands.

The stranger chuckled to himself as pandemonium broke out, flight now winning out over the crowd’s base instinct to freeze. 

The guards, unsure if they were staring at a god in the mortal world, unconsciously laxened their hold on their captives, now hysterical knowing their daughter was alive. Finally breaking free, they ran forward and fell into a tearful reunion.

The stranger, his goal accomplished, still held onto her arms to help cushion the fall and only stepped back once she was okay. They tried to thank him but he shook his head and held his hand up to stop them.

He smiled unnoticeably and pulled another flower from his cloak, holding it out to the girl. She accepted it with shaking hands and he nodded once in response.

And as casually as he arrived, he left, even as townspeople screamed in horror behind him. The guards did not chase after him, scared of what they would anger should they attack.

A stranger walked out the front gate, leaving salvation and pandemonium in his wake, deeming his warning sufficient.

As soon as he was past the wall, he turned and leaned against the brick. He listened to the chaos just a few steps away and embraced the cool shade of the mountain even as he shivered. He removed his hood and enjoyed the salty air as he admired the partially obscured view of the ocean, watching where it met and melded with the sky on the horizon.

He did not need to wait for long.

“Simon,” said the god of death, full of fond exasperation.

“Johnny,” said the stranger with a warm smile.

“This is a bit much, don’t you think?” Johnny asked, gesturing to the city plunged into chaos just past the wall with a bouquet of carnations.

“No — Why? Do you?” Simon asked slyly. 

“We sleep in the same bed. There are easier ways to ask me out,” Johnny reminded, shaking his head, a grin he’d tried to hide slipping past his defenses.

“Yes,” Simon hummed in partial agreement and grabbed the god’s unoccupied hand, planting a small kiss on his knuckles. “But this is the most fun.” He tugged lightly on his hand, pulling Johnny to join him on the small trail leading down to the beach.

The god sighed, but followed, his loving smile hidden as he smelled the bouquet of carnations.

Simon let the sweet moment hang for a few seconds before he tacked on, “Besides, I think you still hold the crown for most violent display of affection—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up,” Johnny demanded, tired of the incessant reminder.

But Simon was undeterred and enjoyed egging him on. “A decapitation is quite tame in comparison to the general—”

Johnny let go of his hand and shoved him to the side harshly with a burgeoning smile. “How many fucking times are you gonna bring that up?!”

Simon stumbled away to play along though he never lost his balance. He retook his place at his side as he yanked the god closer to him and utilized their height difference to drape an arm over Johnny’s shoulder. Simon leaned down and smirked, “Guess you should’ve left me there.”

Johnny elbowed him hard for the suggestion and wound his arm around Simon's waist, ignoring the fake cries of pain and betrayal. He shook his head and in a tone more real than their joking jabs, scoffed, “As if.”

The crashing waves grew louder as the dirt beneath the grass turned to sand.

Johnny looked up at him. “But did you have to throw his head into the crowd?”

Simon hummed. “No.”

Johnny waited for more, a meandering excuse or another distraction, but none came. For that one little part, Simon was willing to admit he was being dramatic.

He reluctantly chuckled and shook his head. “At least you didn’t get chased by an entire platoon of guards this time.”

“That was one time—”

“Yeah, ‘s real annoying when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?”

Simon rolled his eyes. He tried not to smile like a lovesick fool and failed miserably. But it was okay; he knew Johnny was in the same boat.

…

When Death returned, it was quiet at first.

Cautionary warnings from a fractured militia missing their figure-head became intertwined with reverent stories from bruised and battered soldiers. They circulated through quiet cities and cobbled streets, whispers carried on the wind.

New tales replaced the old, now that of a god that had been intent on ending the unnecessary bloodshed that had gone on for years; Stories of a god that saved some poor kid, stranded after battle; Of stolen plans and spilled secrets; Of a miraculous victory, snatched straight from the jaws of defeat.

Over time and as the tales traveled, some parts grew murky, some details lost, some descriptions changed. The story re-crafted itself over and over, always changing, yet the heart of it remained the same.

Sometimes, Death hid his face beneath a mask, enshrouded by a black cloak. Sometimes, Death worked through an unwilling harbinger who had been forced into the role.

But the real story stayed true, written into tomes by those who refused to forget the sacrifices that had been made, carved into stone by those who wanted to remember. 

With darkness comes light; day means nothing without its night. A warm, blue sky couldn’t be appreciated without a constellation filled expanse in turn.

Wherever Death went, Life followed. One cannot exist without the other. A tale of two, rolled into one and completely inseparable from the other.

The god of death had been abandoned long ago.

But Death was no longer alone. And hope, as fickle as it was, found its way back.

[tohruies]

oki . i am beginning to run low on blab fuel 💤☁️ but i Will be back later on to reblog a few more selfship posts and tag a fic or two and respond to messages and annoy mutuals . etc etc 💌 :3 i really am so grateful for your understanding with my slow interactions and also my tendency to forget to reply to things . oopsies > < thank you for being so niceys to me regardless 🥺 my awesome frens who i care so much for 🥹 !!

[petorahs]

Bye my brain is thinking abt Sunday now so here are some more

Since Robin is often busy (for the sake of this hc interplanetary contact isn’t often available), Sunday journals down his worries as if he’s talking to Robin and sometimes even writes new songs for her that he never ends up showing lol (eh this one is kind of mid but idc it’s 4am for me and I wanna be silly)

He would 100% have a Robin merch shrine you cannot convince me otherwise

Limited Edition sneakers? He has them

Makeup line? Yep

Literally anything under the sun he 100% has he’s the number one Robin Fanclub CEO

This is a bit of a stretch but I think it’d be cute to imagine the AE family giving Sunday an affectionate nickname even though he’s only going to be on the Express for one arc (for now) ((allegedly)) and the nickname doesn’t relate to his name being a weekday or his ear feathers because those have alr been done

Omg imagine him, Welt, and Himeko (and Dan Heng too why not) enjoying some classical piano tunes

I can see Sunday being a big ballet nerd because of the artistry that goes with it and it’s a lot of precision and control and just yadadayada ty for letting me drabble in your inbox

re: Sunday writing Robin's songs........ YES?????????? at least a few of them. hes too shy to show.. ^q^ i'd say it's still in line with his character! slightly insecure little guy. also even more yes to him owning all of Robin's makeup brands, his favorite is her COLORS series! :D (he'd also have a Robin ita bag)

I LOVEEE AE SUNDAY HCs thank you so much he would enjoy classical arts with the more serious members of the crew. and ballet is so him! those puppets in Penacony Grand Theatre are all posed by himself i'd imagine.. <3 THANK YOU for drabbling in my inbox!! ^-^ i adore reading these ⁽ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶦᶠ ᶦᵐ ˢˡᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵖˡʸ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗᶦᵐᵉˢ⁾

[akai-anna]

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

[oshaskell]

better in my mind than not at all

(tags/warnings: post 9-1-1 s08e08 Wannabes, buck pov, pining, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt no comfort)

-

"Yeah, actually." Buck fiddles with the ring on his finger, all his weight melting onto the bar top. "I have a husband."

Drunk, sweaty and overwhelmed, he finds himself laughing. It's not just the alcohol, but the lights and the swirling room and the masses of people moving on the dance floor behind him, behind him and the stranger next to him that tips a smile in his direction. "Nice," the guy says. It sounds distant. Buck finds himself nodding along, lifting his Appletini in a swoop that sends some of it sloshing over the rim. Oops, he goes, the stranger laughing with him, and he takes a sip and smacks his lips loudly at the sweetness. Nods at the glint in the guy—Thomas, he introduces himself—'s hand, on his ring finger.

"You guys got any kids?"

"She's pregnant, actually." Thomas lights up, in that slow, three-drinks-in way. Buck does too, clinking their glasses together. The music changes, something slower, something that makes him think of Eddie.

"Congratulations," Buck says. "I love kids."

Thomas laughs, nods, me too, and gushes about his wife and family, Buck humming in all the right places, and Thomas returns the question. The next five to ten minutes go by with a refill set down in front of them and Buck gushing about Chris, he's so cool, we're so lucky to have him, and Eddie doesn't think he's a good dad sometimes, but he is, he really is, and yeah, we've been partners for seven years. I've never been happier in my life. Thomas grins, congratulating him, and he doesn't know.

That Buck's stealing these moments, fragments from a life that will never be his.

That he's inhabiting them for the night like the broken specter he is, stuck and forever left behind.

And Thomas will remain oblivious. Buck's laugh thrums with it all, a fire fueled and flashing over at this moment, until Thomas taps out with an empty glass hitting the countertop, speaking of rejoining his brother's birthday group and waving Buck goodbye with a cheers, man, great talk, and Buck is alone again.

Not for long.

He's wearing the ring when he flirts with the hot drunk brunette that grabs his ass, winding up with against a wall with her mouth pressed to his and fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard, harder, and he's wearing the ring when he sucks off a beautiful dark-eyed man with a Prince Albert in a cramped toilet stall, moaning and taking him deeper than he should, enough that it'll leave his throat hoarse the next day, sore and fucking hurting.

The end of the night finds him in an Uber home, buzzing all over, his heart worn down, shattered, and stomped to pieces. Can't get his eyes off his hand, the stupid prop ring, the whole ride. He stumbles his way into his apartment, the gaping maw in his chest aching with loneliness.

He doesn’t deserve to leave a glass of water and Tylenol in his nightstand. He walks straight up the stairs to his room and drops on the side of his bed, tugging the ring off.

It leaves an indent on his skin, a brand at the base of his finger. The mark goes white when he presses a thumb down on it, then fades back into view.

He tugs the closest nightstand drawer open. In his pocket, a buzz. A text from Eddie.

You doing anything right now?

He doesn't wait—his hand's already tapping the call icon.

Eddie picks up within one ring, and there he is, Buck thinks, aching some more. Eight hundred miles away, Eddie—cheeks rosy and his beautiful dark eyes a little warm, a little sleepy—grants him a smile. "Hey, Buck."

"Hi," Buck says. Eddie's voice is a balm. Eddie's face, a sight for sore eyes, and Buck misses him, and misses him, and misses him, his heart thumping and thrashing against the walls of his chest, jabbing hard against the backs of his eyes and begging him to say something, Eddie, please, and Buck pushes the nightstand drawer closed with a trembling hand. The ring jostles, clinks heavily against the wood inside. "To answer your question, no," he says, arranging his face into a grin, as mild and easy as he can, and thumbs at the indent on his finger again. "Not doing anything at all."

[erod-doi]

I was debating on making this a monthly or weekly sale but since we are the beginning of march, here is my monthly (paying the bills) sale! 🐳✨️

There are 3 spots open for Half Body commissions, which will each be 99$ (Usually 185$)! Each commission will be coloured AND rendered, and will come with the lineart itself as well (yupee!).

(Half bodies can go down to the hip and include arms and props!)

[rampantram]

Hey guys so

As long as everything continues going according to plan

4K Followers Celebration Art Stream

It’s gonna happen

Stay tuned~

[sir-teddy-of-bear]

*incoherent screaming*

how are the ninerose/ tenrose nation feeling after that latest episode because let me tell you i’m feeling

[spoilers in tags]

[nerdetiquette]

I don’t think words are enough to express how much the Juno Steel stories means to me and how much Juno himself means to me, but I am calling myself a writer now, so I am making an attempt to find the words, even if they will not be enough.

Juno Steel is such a character driven and focused story with an amazing amount of care put into it. There was care put into Nightmare at the end, the Aurinkos in the middle, and Juno in the beginning, and all of it led to the conclusion of a beautiful thing. Juno gave way for all of it, and the themes of self improvement and self love being the end of the story, the final lessons Harley and Kevin have decided to teach us, make the story what it is.

I love this show from the bottom of my heart and it’s done so much for me. Thank you for all of the lessons you have taught me on how to be a better person, how to be a complete person, and how to continue being a person even when it’s hard. Juno’s themes are so human and something everyone can relate to, and I think the human element is what makes it mean so much.

Thank you Harley and Kevin, though I hope you never see this and perceive me more than saying my name at the end of episodes, this story means the world to me. It means the world to many others. I’m so happy I kept going, even though I hated Juno in the first season. I’m so happy my friend got me into the podcast with the disgusting make out noises in the second episode. I’m so happy I was able to listen to this show, and I’m so happy it affected me so much.

[siriussunday]

read your favorite grimoire today! after all, it's—

SIRIUS SUNDAY!