#the slow unraveling

[bluebeesknees]

Stages of dealing with the ex that won’t leave you tf alone

[bananafishdepression]

SPOILER ALERT ‼️‼️

They took the "in another life" a little too seriously 💀

[aventurineswife]

A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:

Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!

{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}

alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.

but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍

“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”

Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.

Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.

A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪

Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.

You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.

In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.

You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.

Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.

But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.

One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.

“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”

Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.

“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”

In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.

Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”

Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”

Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”

In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”

Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”

Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”

In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”

But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”

He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”

With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”

Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.

And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.

*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖

[johnslittlespoon]

omg it was so hard to pick butttt could i request 1 and 2 from the smut dialogue list (list 3) with buck and bucky!

prompts | "i want to hear you beg" + "arch your back for me" + playing around with smth a little different for their dynamic <33 ~800 words of filth below the cut >:-) this was so much fun ahh thx sm for the request!!

“Oh, baby,” John rumbles appreciatively, sitting back to get a good look at Gale while he rolls his hips languidly into him. “Look at you.”

Golden hair frames Gale’s head on the pillow like a halo, blue eyes half hidden by heavy eyelids, doll–like lashes fluttering each time John sinks his cock in deeper. Messy love bites mark a trail south, scattered across his chest and stomach and increasing in numbers where angular hip bones and soft thighs had just begged for John’s teeth to make themselves at home.

Gale rocks his hips down, dragging his kiss–bitten bottom lip between his teeth to muffle a needy little noise as John’s eyes rake over him. That just won’t do.

John stills, wrapping firm hands around Gale’s thighs where they drape over his own, squeezing gently.

“Keep going,” Gale breathes out, eyebrows knit together in frustration, still trying to fuck himself on John’s cock.

John purrs out a laugh, heart twisting in his chest at the glare Gale shoots him; it’s hard to look intimidating when he’s laid out pliant and pretty and cock–drunk beneath him, but John doesn’t tell him so. He just snaps his hips forward once, watching with satisfaction when the scowl leaps off of Gale’s face as flushed lips fall open to let out a gasp.

“John,” Gale almost, almost whines when he makes no move to continue, lithe hands coming up to wrap around John’s wrists imploringly, and John hums thoughtfully, stroking his thumbs over Gale’s thighs.

“You need something?” He tilts his head, feeling a little thrill at the huff he gets in return.

Gale levels him with an unimpressed look, but the light flush that creeps over his cheeks betrays him.

“I want you to ask for it,” John murmurs. He grants Gale with the smallest roll of his hips to egg him on when he stays silent, and he feels his hands tighten around his wrists.

“Want you to fuck me, John.” 

And oh, that’s something– his cock twitches at the rare vulgarity, and judging by Gale’s sharp inhale, he feels it. But it’s not quite what John’s looking for.

“That’s good, baby,” he praises him, delighting in the way his flush deepens. He leans down, sliding his hands up Gale’s hips as he goes, settling them on his waist. He brushes his lips against Gale’s in a ghost of a kiss, trailing them along his jaw until he reaches his ear.

“But I wanna hear you beg for me, Gale,” he whispers. 

The immediate pressure around his cock as Gale reflexively clenches down has his head dropping into the crook of Gale’s neck momentarily, cursing under his breath. He can’t help but press his hips forward, needing just a bit of relief, sitting back up once he collects himself, determined to keep the upper hand.

“C’mon,” he rasps out, running his hands up and down Gale’s sides, fingers splaying over his ribcage. “I know you can do it, angel.”

Gale does whine this time, high and desperate in his throat, eyes slipping closed to hide from his own embarrassment. But–

“Please, John,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Need you.”

“Jesus, Gale,” John breathes, head spinning. “Good, so good, baby.”

John’s not going to push– that’s already a lot more than he’s usually able to goad out of Gale, and he’s going to unravel a lot quicker than he intends to if he keeps talking like that.

“Arch your back for me, pretty thing,” John prompts instead, beginning to shallowly fuck into him, and Gale does, tilting his head back on the pillow to bare his neck as his spine curves beneath John’s hands.

The sight nearly knocks the breath out of John, and he groans, sliding one hand under Gale to flatten his palm against the small of his back, feeling the way it flexes as he jerks his hips forward.

Gale cries out so sweetly when he really starts driving his cock into him, grasping desperately at John’s arms, face going slack as he finally gives him what he needs, and it gets to John like nothing else, forever dizzy with the knowledge that he gets to make Gale feel so good.

Dragging those pretty noises out of Gale and feeling him tremble because of him is what really does it for John every time, and it’s what inevitably has him tipping over the edge seconds after Gale spills over his stomach with a broken whimper.

John sinks his teeth into Gale’s collarbone just to feel him squirm beneath him as he fills him up, hands digging into his hips, rutting into him like he can bury his cock impossibly deeper, feeling nails scrabble at his back as the softest mewls escape Gale’s mouth.

He laves his tongue over the fresh indents in apology before lifting his head to capture Gale’s lips in a messy kiss, swallowing his gasps and sighs as he gives him a few more lazy thrusts, chest warm and fuzzy and lovestruck. 

John smiles into the kiss, and Gale laughs softly, and god, he’s going to be the death of him.

[bubblegeon]

When a man harbours desires beyond his control, he is ultimately destroyed.

🩺 RE: REVENGE - YOKUBO NO HATE NI (2024)

[ahalliance]

qsmp francophone cubitos and their dynamic drive me wild, they all know they’re mutually lying and obscuring the truth to one another, they all know they’re keeping each other at arm’s distance, they all know they’re not as open as they once were when it was just them and the aftermath of a plane crash, but the love is still there. the worry and the concern. they pry information out of one another in supposedly subtle ways that really just convey how much they still care about each other. what’s your stance on the federation. how’s your code arm doing. even if in the end you don’t turn to me, please call out to someone. maybe looking out for yourself is looking out for others as well. i don’t know you anymore but i will protect the unknown anyway

[crustyfloor]

brain fart but when I watch the kiss scene over and over again I can't help but compare some of Ivan's expressions to that of an frustrated child trying to put on a straight face to get what he wants, he looks so stoic in every scene in a way that it just looks put on(?) ill think about it more later

[canisalbus]

I thought your dream story was amazing and so intense and yeah bad, lol clearly, but that has manifested itself as a whole AU in my head. Geriatric V and mentally ill M experiencing doomsday in a pastel grandmacore cottage be reminding me of an a24 film or some cult movie where you are experiencing the -wrongness- What a whole concept.

.

[infamous-if]

how many chapters will the whole game be?

I...have no idea. My first outline was a good 20 or so chapters (yikes) but i managed to merge a lot of things in the demo that flowed much better so that already cut it down. i follow the outline but i also give myself wiggle room because sometimes the pacing works better

im just vibing we'll see idk

[itspileofgoodthings]

I don’t even fully know why but “what do I do when I miss you so much?” / “Just wait, and pray desperately” was a knife to my heart in the best way.

[b-blushes]

i'm already psyching myself up for a super strong Sort It Out Saturday tomorrow..... i can do it...... you can do it........... we can do it..............!

[gaybd1]

so sokka's problems mostly swept under the rug because he doesn't have time to deal with huge and heavy emotions when he has to step up and keep his tribe and his sister and then later the gaang safe. i keep thinking about what that must mean after the war is over, how sokka would get the first real calm in his life for years and suddenly be hit by a train of trauma that needs unpacking. maybe not directly after the war, but a few years later, when things have stabilized, he just emotionally collapses and needs help from the gaang (and specifically zuko cmon now) in order to pull himself back up

YES I obsess over this concept.

WOULD he deal with it in a healthy manner? Ever? Or would he just keep himself busy, keep moving onto the Next Big Thing because that’s all he knows how to do? Would he throw himself into his work? Massive engineering projects to improve the world? His new version of saving the world, and we’ve SEEN the changes between the first show and Korra. Did he do all of that? To keep himself from thinking about his trauma? Does he become a workaholic? Does he end up spending less time with loved ones than he ought to because he’s so busy giving them a better world to live in??

I DON’T KNOW but I do know that boy wouldn’t WILLINGLY go to anyone else about his issues because HE is supposed to be the responsible one and burdening anyone else with his insignificant problems (from his perspective) is UNTHINKABLE

[laughing-sock]

I've temporarily banned myself from both ao3 and twitter until I finish my (belated) goyuugo week fic. it's working, kind of? unfortunately I cannot ban myself from work too 😔

if I could write faster than like, 5 wpm I would be so happy...

[rotteneldritchhorror]

If I actually had a project pile for all the clothes I have to mend or modify in some way I don’t think I’d have any clothes to actually wear

[mkzmerryfriend]

Here’s the thing. Everyone trying to figure out the signs and signals they’re sending about mcr5 and I just have to remind everyone that mcr does not do the Taylor Swift style of easter eggs and hinting at what’s to come. Mcr has always been about telling a story. When Frank said shut your mouth and sit down, it’s because this is not an escape room, this is a theater. You wouldn’t jump on stage to help Sherlock solve the case in a play. They’re telling a story to us, and our job as the audience is to be patient and listen, and get to experience it how they wanted to convey it.

[myloveoffandoms]

The girl is known for there being a chance of being unstable and then the leader and his people all expect her to be fucking sane?!? Just adjust to everything within days…

Like are they the insane ones for thinking Juliette’s the weird one for struggling with everything?