#writing: mikashisus

[duskforge]

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 ✦ rb acc + archive

this blog is dedicated to rbs of others’ writing and art, as well as an archive for all of my own fics. will include nsfw content. pls refrain from following this acc, ty ! 🤍

[mikashisus]

the way i giggled upon seeing the leaks of sethos and wanderer’s voicelines about each other and sethos’ character stories, LIKE I KNOW WHAT YOU TWO AREEEE

AND DURING PRIDE MONTH ??? WE WON

SUCH A BIG DAY FOR THE MULTISHIPPER COMMUNITY (ME)

[vxnuslogy]

— the only exception.

pairing: rin itoshi x gn!reader

premise: itoshi rin isn’t a very likable person in general. he’s rude and doesn’t have any respect for anyone, well other than you. quite literally attached to the hip, you were the only one that rin actually ‘tolerates’. everyone still wonders why you even put up with him, but dear, if they actually cared enough to look past his icy exterior maybe then they’d be rewarded with the soft and clingy rin you knew.

— warnings: ooc-rin (??), just rin fluff

— author’s note: this is reupload from my old blog ( syriiina ). i also might start writing for bllk again so yippie!! art credits to @l_An_pi on twt.

— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @laterosal @mikashisus @powchakko ; if you’d like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned or send me an ask off anon!

“rin!” you shouted, hands frankly waving from the stands as the tall boy jogged towards you. leaning over the railing, hands neatly folded in front of you as you grinned at your sweaty friend who only raised a brow at you. “do you wanna go to the arcade later after practice?”

from the corner of your vision, you could see his teammates speak in hushed tones. you couldn’t help the amused chuckle in your throat as you patiently waited for rin to answer your invitation.

“why not?” you grinned, “we’ll be done in 10 minutes, mind waiting for me?” you just nodded and sat down on one of the vacant seats of the seating area while rin jogged back to the field with his teammates. laughing at how his team was interrogating the poor boy.

10 minutes flew by quickly, at this point you had stood up from your seat and made your way back to the entrance, waiting for rin to finish his shower and change. a few more minutes passed by before you heard the soft padding of footsteps behind you. it wasn’t long when a tap on your shoulder made you look up from your phone. grinning when familiar eyes with long under lashes came to greet you.

“you ready to go?” duffel bag carelessly slung over his shoulder, he followed you out of the school and to the arcade you had mentioned earlier. “you seem happy for a trip to the arcade.” he said, tugging at your hand slightly when you were near the crossing –he was making sure you didn’t get run over by a vehicle – before letting go and instead taking hold of your bag.

unlocking your phone, you showed rin of the new crane machine that had been installed a few days ago. “aren’t those machines scams?” he asked you, flailing your arms around a bit saying that’s not the point. he only sighed and let you ramble about how the plushies in the machine were cute.

“you’ll help me get one right?”

“no.”

you knew it was a lie. 

by the time you made it to the arcade, you made a beeline to the new crane machine while rin got the tokens. he sighed again when he saw you beckoning him over, eager to play the scam machine to try and get a plushie that wasn’t even worth all the hassle.

“rin let’s go get lunch!”

no one was really surprised by your presence when you were by the door of the classroom, already anticipating your arrival minutes prior. it was exactly noon, meaning you’ll be by the classroom door waiting for itoshi rin to finish packing up to go get lunch at the cafeteria.

“no packed lunch today?” he asked, one hand shoved inside his pant pocket. you only shook your head, moving aside from the door to give room for rin to get out of the classroom, “not today, was too lazy to cook.”

as the taller male closed the door, everyone began to wonder as usual. someone as stoic and indifferent as itoshi rin hanging out with you, they thought of it as a strange combo but neither of you ever really bothered to care about how people perceived your relationship.

“i hope the strawberry cheesecake isn’t sold out yet.”

from the corner of his eye, rin saw the silver bracelet move along with your hand as you got your wallet out of your pockets. gaze lingering more than he should, “rin? you good there?” you asked but he only nodded his head. turning his focus on the corridor buzzing with students but every now and then, he’d take glances at you.

you always never bother pointing it out. you take pleasure in the simple normalcy routine with rin.

“sorry i’m hanging out with rin later! maybe next time?”

“i’ll pass for today, i promised rin i’d help him with homework.”

“i’m going to watch rin’s match, i’ll see you guys later!”

“oh right rin said he needed some new pens. be right back!”

“rin let’s go eat lunch! i packed a bento for the both of us!”

“not eating with itoshi today?” your friend asked as she pulled out the chair in front of you, taking out her own lunch and placing it on your table. you only shook your head, “already finished. he’s at practice now.”

her gaze lingered a little over your figure, you only tilted your head to the side, “is there something on my face?”

“no, no, it’s just…”

“just?” taking another bite of your lunch you patiently waited for your friend to ask her question.

“you and itoshi seem really close.”

you just shrugged, continuing to eat your lunch as she sighed. the both of you were enveloped in silence for a while before she asked another question.

“i’m a bit surprised you put up with him. i mean, didn’t you say you don’t really like people like him?”

that question made you stop chewing and begin to ponder. it didn’t take long for you to come up with an answer, “he isn’t so bad if you get to know him well enough.” you said with a smile. almost laughing at your friend’s face as she gave you a bewildered face.

“seriously? he didn’t brainwash you or anything did he?”

letting out a laugh, you waved your hand, “you watch way too many movies. no, he didn’t brainwash me or anything.”she sighed and just continued to eat her lunch. 

itoshi rin may not be the most likable student, but you like him. he may not show it but he truly does care. all does impromptu visits to arcades, tugging at your sleeve, arm, and even hand in some occasions to make sure you didn’t stray too far from him, getting you those plushies in the crane machine even if it takes hours, coming over to your place to help you cook lunch for the next day because he knows you hate the food in the cafeteria most of the time, giving you his jersey so you could wear it during his match. itoshi rin shows his affection in his own unique and simple ways.

they don’t know him like you do. they knew the rin who’s stoic, rude, disrespectful and arrogant. but you? the rin you know is kind, caring, sweet, a bit rough around the edges but he’s your rin. the rin you wouldn’t trade for the world.

if only they knew that he was the one that gifted you the silver bracelet that adorned your wrist – his name engraved on the inside – when he first confessed. and they’ll never know how there’s a silver chain around his neck with a ring – your initial delicately engraved on it – that he always wears no matter where he goes.

no one knows of your relationship. no one needed to know of your relationship.

rin from the very beginning was a private person, and you never minded. after all, why would you complain when you have him all for yourself?

© VXNUSLOGY 2024 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[wystiix]

"love is sour grapes"

❥ pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader ❥ synopsis: It's a rainy night and you're snoozing. Arlecchino just watches over you while thinking about your time together, and how far you both had come. ❥ cw: n/a ❥ additional tags: second pov perspective, reader is not traveler ❥ word count: 804 ❥ notes: hi hi so like ya i haven't played her story quest, but i wanted to write this dedicated to my bae (vel)!! i hope this isn't too inaccurate.. erm yeah. i was cooking this shit at 2am in the morning so take what you get. ❥ taglist: @honkai-freak (for u bbg) @mikashisus @tragedy-of-commons

According to the books, love is an intense feeling of deep affection. It is often portrayed as a positive feeling, from the butterflies fluttering in your stomach to the overall warmth that spreads throughout your entire being.

It can elevate you to the heights of bliss. At the same time, it can cut deeply enough to leave scars.

Arlecchino has experienced the latter. Her heart, if it still could be called that, had long been hardened like stone. What is love, if not a knife carefully pressed to her heart? She had avoided it for so long. The thought, the concept itself—it never dawned upon her.

Yet, here she was.

You slept soundly, snuggling in the sheets as you took off to the land of nod. Arlecchino simply observed you on the other side of the bed, watching your chest rise and fall to the sound of pouring rain outside. 

How would one describe such a complex feeling? Why did she feel all tingly whenever she thought of you?

She leaned in and brushed a few strands of your hair to the side, showing your peaceful, sleeping face. A slight prickle met her fingers and a warmth seeped through her chest as a result. There it was again.

It was almost hard to fathom—and pathetic—that people would go to any lengths for the sake of their beloved. However, now she understood. Now that you were here, she’d willingly hurl herself into a pit of barbed wires if you desired.

The faint warmth of your body coaxed her closer, unable to pull her gaze away from yours. Her eyes traced over your sleeping form, memorising the shape of your face that she so adored. She felt so… alive. Alive in a way that almost scared her.

What does it truly mean to deserve love? Is it something that must be earned like a hard-earned gift, or does it simply come to you?

Honestly, she wasn't sure herself. She didn't know why you had chosen… her out of all the people in Teyvat. Arlecchino didn't have to work for your love, no? She had already earned it according to you.

Deserving. That word left a bitter taste in her mouth. What did she do to deserve this peace, this unwavering affection? What did she do to deserve you at all? Nothing, she thought. And yet, you still chose her. Despite the amount of blood stains she had and the rough calluses on her hands, you still intertwined your fingers with hers, bringing them to your lips and pressing a tender kiss on each one.

Is love a blessing or a burden?

It was like a sour grape, once thought too sharp to swallow. Though, the grape turned out to be much sweeter than expected the more she chewed.

Perhaps, she'd be willing to bite the pain as well.

She scooted closer to you, her breath warm against your skin as she gently brushed her fingertips across your face. You stirred in your sleep, instinctively reaching out for her warmth, and she let you find her.

Silence enveloped the dark room as Arlecchino lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The rain pattering against the window mirrored the steady beat of your heart, grounding her in the present at this very moment. She stroked your hair lovingly, relishing the softness of it.

Soft, like fragile threads of silk. Her mind raced. That leaves her to ponder: what if she hurt you? What if the same hands of a Harbinger that had caused so much pain to others couldn’t hold you as gently as they should?

“I don’t deserve you.”

You didn’t seem to hear her. She felt you shift slightly once again, a soft mumble escaping your lips as your hand blindly reached out and curled around her fingers. Her fingers grazed your cheek again, gentler than the first touch as if she feared you’d slip away if she wasn’t careful. She pressed a fleeting kiss on your hair.

Arlecchino wanted to say so many things to you. How thankful she really was for someone to walk into her life.

She swallowed hard.

“Even then, I'm quite content it was you, I…” she paused, processing her thoughts.

The words were foreign on her tongue. She'd never spoken them before. However, the truth radiated from within.

“I love you.” 

The words slipped out, softer than she intended, but they felt right. They didn't have a bitter, sour aftertaste to it. It rolled off her tongue so, so easily. She wasn’t sure if you heard. If you didn’t… perhaps that was for the best.

She didn't deserve you. She never would.

But with the way you held onto her like an anchor, she knew one thing for certain—she would never let go of the one she cherished ever again.

[knnichs]

you were mine (but you were awful everytime.)

with kinich’s busy schedule, he somehow can’t find the time to even send you short letters on how he was doing.  or: watching your childhood friend disappear from your hands.

c. kinich & gn!reader ( platonic or romantic, not explicitly stated )

t. character(s) are childhood friends with reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, word vomit, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE .... LIKE WHO???, angst, hurt/no comfort wow i can finally use this tag, little to no dialogue, wc: 1.4k

taglist. @honeyney @pneumosia @tragedy-of-commons @gl4di0lus @ariadnehelx @azuresaqua @mikashisus -> join the taglist here!

A REQUEST FROM @ MIKASHISUS: i’m here for the valentine’s event >:3 may i req iris + evanesce + kalopsia + lacuna for kinich? 🤍 GARDENERS NOTE: RAY IM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU. THIS WAS LITERALLY SO INSANE TO WRITE heres me self projecting AGAIN!

more author notes at the end !

“You don’t think that one day we’ll be separated, right?” 

You played with the grass underneath you, plucking out one after the other and attempting to braid them together to create a makeshift crown. It doesn’t work, it unravels itself on your palm and the blades of green straighten itself back to its original shape. The sun was just setting, this was yet another boring day in the fields of Natlan. The boy beside you scoffs at your question, almost offended if you listen in real hard. 

“No. And I’ll make sure of it.” 

Kinich never liked to talk of the future. When you ask him of what he sees himself doing a few years from now–he would redirect the conversation and ask you to help him with some chores the tribe chief assigned him to do instead. He buries himself in work, even as a child, just to stop his mind from drifting to those kinds of philosophical questions. Who has the time for it anyway?

You, ever so displeased by his straightforward answer, pressed him even more. You wanted to hear more–what he thought of you, what he would do if you were ever to drift away from him, so you asked him: How?

He fell silent for a moment, looking down to his feet. Kinich fiddled with something in his hand before he turned to you, giving you a weak smile. The boy hands you a flower, white and pure, and sits right in front of you. 

“I’ll make a promise,” He raises his pinkie, tilting his head as he did–his bright eyes sure to be forever ingrained in your memory. “That I’ll promise to stand by you until we both die. Is that enough?” 

“But how will you make sure that you’ll keep that promise? Swear it.”

He reaches for your hand, trying to set up the pinkie promise ceremony to get this over with. 

“Then… I swear on my heart, I will be with you.”

You hook your finger around his tightly, as if trying not to let go of the moment. Kinich blocked the sun–but the orange glow reached the tufts of his hair and seeped through the black strands. He used his other hand to cover where the two of you linked, sealing the promise, and he let go.

“You better make sure of it–or else I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” You say, pointing a finger at him accusingly. He raises his hands up, surrendering to your wishes. 

Kinich has always been popular in the Scions. You remember the people who once made fun of him as a kid were now fawning over his looks now that he was older, you were really only the real person who stuck by him through the years. You were there when the other kids picked on him, and you were there even after he had gotten his vision.

But now? You could only wish to be a part of his itinerary. 

You don’t blame him, life as a saurian hunter is difficult. Yes, not many would go into that kind of profession, it’s cruel, but someone has to do it. Kinich had no issue choosing to go to that rabbit hole even when you explained to him multiple times that you were concerned about him going through all of that just for some pouches of mora. Well–the amount of mora you get per commission is indeed quite a lot, but there must’ve been some better way to earn it, right?

Day by day, you never fail to return to the same tree where the two of you had made that promise. An emptiness would fill your chest–one so painful you’re sure nothing or no one else could help fix it but him. You hold Kinich so dear to your heart that it’s difficult to imagine a world without him. What if you had never met? Would things have been different then?

The same sun would sink below the grass, the same gust of wind that greets you–brushing past your hair with the gentlest touch. The same tree would shed its leaves seasonally, and the occasional smell of nostalgia hits you hard. How you had missed lounging around here, under the leaves, with your friend. How you missed when days were boring, and your biggest worry was how you’d get home before it got dark and your parents would scold you for being out too long.

Kinich held your hand when you walked through the streets of Natlan once the moon rose, he held your hand when talking to the vendors in the market and you had no clue how to talk to them–they were intimidating, he couldn’t blame you. It’s a shame he was forced to grow up so young. He protected you as a way to heal his inner child–to give the love he never got. 

You just had to ruin it. 

You just had to be so selfish–to ask him for more time, just a few minutes more or seconds, even. Just a little more time to spend with him, just enough to watch the sun rise or fall, just enough to have one more conversation about nothing and everything. When he does give in to your requests–the two of you end up saying nothing, the silence speaks volumes, you’ve drifted apart. There’s nothing to talk about but the past. You know almost nothing of his life now that he seems so far. 

Those were the same eyes that looked at you with such fondness it was hard to express it in words. You remember the sound of his footsteps when he’d creep up behind you to greet you, you remember the messy handwriting he had when he was just learning–the random letters he’d give you throughout the day just to show you how appreciative he was of your presence. Because you were there when others weren’t, you made him feel loved when the others didn’t think of him as someone equal simply because of his childhood.

His name has always been on the tip of your tongue, a silent prayer of wanting to see him for just a second, swinging through the trees with the boxes in hand for his delivery. The bright yellow of his saurian companion, the brightness of his eyes, the sound of his voice. You had never imagined it would end like this, with him frustrated–your tears close to spilling, under the same tree you had spent time with the most, he would tell you how much you bugged him asking for time out of his very busy life. You couldn’t say anything but recall the times of your youth. 

“No one has the right to dictate my time,” He’d glare at you, his voice laced with something unfamiliar–for the very first time he was angry. “Even you.”

“You promised… you promised you’d stick with me until death. Does that mean nothing to you, at all?”

“We were kids, I don’t believe that counts–you know what? Give me a break. I already have so much to my plate that I don’t think I have the energy to do this.”

The situation was helpless. You didn’t trust your voice enough that you would retort with some witty remark like you used to as a child–you couldn’t shout back at him for being rude to you when all you’ve ever done to him was treat him with the kindness he didn’t know existed. Each word shared between the two of you were etched deep within your mind, he was a part of your soul. You couldn’t believe he would leave you this easily.

So you whisper–because you can’t shout, you can’t speak. 

“Don’t be a stranger,”

Your vision was blurry when he finally turned his back on you. You’re not sure if that was still him, stopping in his tracks, or if it was the tree swaying from the wind– almost mocking you of what just happened, giving the illusion that he was still here, that he’d be willing to salvage whatever the two of you had.

When you call out for his name, no one appears. He wasn’t there to lend you his bandana to dry your tear stained cheeks, stop you from roughly rubbing your eyes so it wouldn’t get itchy later. 

He was truly the only person that felt like home, and on the day of love–you had never expected for him to leave so easily. 

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

reblogs with comments are INCREDIBLY appreciated! go scream go feral idc i will eat all of them up and run away with a familiarly shaped reblog in my mouth, thank you.

DAWG THE WAY THIS WAS SO SELF INDULGENT UM the prompts reminded me of something that happened way back THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ABOUT IT SO I HOPE IT WAS SO BAD UMMMM i literally dont know how to put my feelings into words if u can tell LOL! anyway probably my first time ?? writing hurt no comfort or pure angst ... this is new TO ME !!!! i hope its ok !!

[formyaisonly]

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— like we were before

Track 25: started following you! 𓆩♡𓆪

💌 Thank you for being patient with me! I hope you guys will like the new update. I ditched my class the moment I finally felt inspired to write.

🔖 taglist: @swivi @whipped-for-fictionals @fatbootymuncher @sukisukiii @tiredslepz @sl-vega @aixaingela @c4ttheart @riyangiis @r4yyyyy @kunimylovee @kayla-drawz @pandaquick @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mikashisus @yuminako @samyayaya @sucroselvr @khoncore @tamikahoshiko @kunikuzushis-darling @animeobsessed56 @trulyylee @jayzioxx @carmwells @adres-tia @jiminscarmex @icarusthefoolish @rqyup

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡

[milksnake-tea]

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : The spar between you and Sunday goes in an unexpected direction - well, at least for Sunday. Life as a Hunter has taught you to almost always expect unexpected directions.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 6.5k

✩ TAGLIST : @felibrary, @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @fxngtasy , @emiken-070907 , @tragedy-of-commons , @boothills-usbport , @mikashisus , @lunaegrl , @cakechase , @keirenny , @romyoia , @bunnihunnii , @insomniac-hours ( TAGLIST IS CLOSED )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : hey bitches. guess who's back. FUN FACT THIS BROKE THE IMG LIMIT FOR POSTS ON TUMBLR BYE I HAVE NO IDEA IF ITS GOING TO HOLD UP ON WATTPAD (probably not. sniffles) BUT OMLLLL I REALLY YAPPED TOO MUCH W THE CHATS.... ALSO !! CHAT MSG ICON FOR SUNDAY CREDIT GOES TO THE LOVELY BUNNYCARROT ON TWT. ALSO KNOWN AS MY REASON FOR LIVING. also howre we feeling abt sunday release. IK I WAS GONE THAT ENTIRE TIME HE WAS DRIP MARKETED AND EVERYTHING BUT IN MY DEFENSE. i had to rewrite the sparring scene like 5 different times and the chat msgs like 3 times. so. erm. yeah ALSO ILL GET TO THE ALT TEXTS TMRW I SWEAR ITS JUST MIDNIGHT RN AND IM SCARED (of my mom) AND TIRED

ADDITIONALLY, I'VE HIRED BETA READERS !!! SAY HELLO TO GWEN AKA @tragedy-of-commons , VICTORIA AKA @theother-victoria , VISARA AKA @rainswept , AND MHIE AKA @iceunhie. GO CHECK THEM OUT THEY WRITE TOO and more consistently too sneezes BUT YEAH THEY'RE GOING TO BE MY VICTIMS I MEAN TEAM TO WHICH I YAP AND HAVE THEM EDIT MY SHIT <333 LOVE YALL

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In and out.

Inhale through the nose.

Hold.

Exhale through the mouth.

Again.

Sunday closes his eyes and breathes. He adjusts his grip on his rapier, making sure that his grip is firm and that its tip points away from him. Alone in the training room, the silence is more than enough for him to think, and force away the voices the best he can.

He reaches, he calls, and he tunes into the very roots that govern the universe. The Imaginary Tree is life and reality itself. It illuminates, it breathes, and it grows. It curls around his fingers, and it gives. Life flows into his veins, strings of pure energy lying right beneath his fingertips, and he pulls.

Imaginary manifests in melodies and staffs, guided by his rapier and weaving into a somber song. He lifts his hand, drawing the sheets and forming the beginnings of a symphony.

His brow furrows.

Even now, with years of practice and honing his technique, there's something pulling at his chest, a strain on his halo that tells him that this is wrong. Even if the Tree accepts his call and responds in turn, he can never fully accept its embrace. It is suffocating, its hold, and it is oppressing.

It swallows him as though it were the Voracity, engulfing him in its jaws and consuming him, draining him of all that he is. It forces itself upon him - it eats away at him, and his breath is almost taken, almost snuffed, save for the small sliver of mercy that keeps him alive. It dominates the once carefully balanced conversation, and it commands him, trust me, accept me, join me, become me.

And Sunday has never been one to like being commanded.

A pleasant conversation morphs into a spiteful argument, a battle for the upper hand, venom dripping from each of their tongues as each tries to take control. As Sunday struggles against the roots, the orchestra becomes strained, the tempo becoming faster and faster, and all of the strings crescendo until it's loud, far too loud.

The strain in his mind transfers to the physical realm, and the staffs so carefully penned by his sword flicker and waver while his halo begins to glow in the effort to keep it all under control. His brow furrows and his movements become frenzied, frantic, until the Tree rebels yet again, and he's had enough.

Frustration flares and he brings down his hand and cuts off his connection with the Tree, tearing through the melody and ending the performance there. But then he realizes what he's done, and shame floods out his annoyance.

A sigh leaves him.

Losing his composure... how unbecoming of him. He forces himself to pay attention to his breath, and the hand that isn't holding the rapier curls into his palms, the familiar prick grounding him.

He should know better than to be so easily moved. He inhales deeply, raising his gaze to the ceiling, and exhales.

There we go.

If the orchestra won't obey, he will command them. They are forged from his very blood and tied to his veins. They are him, in a sense, and he will not stand for a civil war.

He raises his sword once more, and to the orchestra, he speaks - Again.

And this time, he leaves no room for argument.

His rapier is a guide and a scripture as Imaginary drips from it once again. With the orchestra in toe, he begins to move.

Combat to him is not unlike a dance, in which the participants are himself, his opponent, and his sword. He has learned the hard way that brute strength, as much as it would be useful, is not his forte (spending one's life asleep does wonders to their physical state), and so he must rely on precision and observation to gain the upper hand.

He steps, swiftly and with purpose, and the Tree is his partner. Wisps and streaks rise from where his feet had once touched the ground, and with every stab at a fictitious enemy, the Tree strikes with him in the form of diamond stars and sound waves. Sweat beads at the back of his neck and his hand trembles with the strain of keeping the Tree under control, but he stands firm nevertheless.

But then he hears a squeak - an awfully familiar squeak, belonging to a companion he hasn't seen since the fall - a companion that only appears on two conditions: if they are called upon, or if he is in danger.

And he didn't call upon anyone.

There's a tingle on the back of his neck, and he swerves and narrowly avoids a stab towards his eyes. His Echoes rush to his defense, swarming his assailant and driving them back in a storm of gold lights.

He hears his attacker splutter with surprised laughter as the Echoes bat at their face angrily, some even ramming into their sides with their heads or tugging at their clothes with what little strength they have. It takes him a second before he realizes just who his companions are attacking.

"Enough," he commands. The symphony dissolves as his rapier lowers and his other hand raises to placate the swarm. Immediately the Echoes retreat to his side, keeping their nonexistent eyes on the person before him, to which he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Was that really necessary?"

You bat away at one last belligerent Echo that was particularly keen on head-butting your cheek (it does absolutely no damage) before turning to him with that smile of yours.

"Just testing your reflexes, princess."

In your hand is the sword that nearly stole his sight. A thin taper of obsidian steel, it lies loosely in your grip. Veins of neon blood ran through its blade, its color far too bright for Sunday's liking.

But the hue seemed paler than from when you briefly fought with Blade; it isn't as acidic nor as blinding as back then, but it still unnerves him nevertheless.

You throw his Echoes a brief glance with a chuckle. "I've yet to see those before. Are they new?"

"No." Sunday shakes his head. He pets one with his finger to calm it down, as the majority were still baring their metaphorical teeth towards you. "For as long as I can remember, these little ones have been by my side. They're... rather protective."

"I can tell," you hum a laugh. Taking a step forward, you test your luck with the strange creatures. Many back away defensively as you approach, although one or two linger curiously. "Aw, aren't you the cutest?"

Sunday sighs as you pinch one of the Echoes. The doll unleashes a flurry of squeaks as you toy with it, stretching and squishing it like a stuffed animal while its siblings squeak furiously and swarm you again.

Reaching into the crowd, his arm parts the figurative sea and grabs you by the scruff of your neck. With a tug and a pointed look, he pulls you out of the mob's fury.

"Please refrain from teasing them, doctor," Sunday reprimands softly. "I'm afraid they can only take so much before they become overwhelmed with anger."

"How terrifying," you reply cheekily, shrugging off his grip. "But that's a tough request. Just look at them; can you really blame me?"

To further prove your point, you reach out and scratch a nearby Echo under where its chin should be, your smile widening as it struggles to decide between squeaking in indignation and purring in content. Eventually, however, it gives in and leans into your touch, vibrating happily as you scratch it.

After a few minutes of this, Sunday clears his throat. Last time he checked, you were here to spar, not play with his familiars, even if the sight was admittedly endearing.

You spare him a glance, he returns it with a pointed look and raised brows. Thankfully, you get the message and release the Echo without any objections.

Sunday glances to the Echo as it returns dazedly to his side. Raising his hand, he allows it to hover just above his palm.

A silent conversation unfolds between the two of them, with Sunday raising a brow and the Echo assuring him that it was fine - even if he can sense its content, it never hurts to make sure. His halo glows momentarily, before he lowers his hand and dismisses his familiars.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asks in mild amusement, turning back to you.

"Mhm," you hum with a smile, eyes still lingering on the spot where the Echo used to be. "How about you? Ready?"

Imaginary sparks on his rapier, but Sunday pays it little mind. "As ready as I can be, I suppose. But shouldn't you warm up?"

You shake your head. "It isn't necessary. You'll see when on your first mission: You have to be ready to fight at any time and place. Warming up is a luxury reserved for beginners and athletes."

And then, as if to prove your point, Sunday sees you move before a flash of black cuts through his vision, and only by instinct is Sunday able to dodge. Only this time, you don't stop with just one strike, no, it's one after the other and Sunday curses internally and meets you with his rapier.

If Blade is a raging torrent, then you are a lightning storm. You move with the speed and viciousness of a viper, never staying in one place for too long and focusing the majority of your power into swift, seemingly never-ending stabs. It's methodical and almost surgical, the way you jab and twist and cut away at him with terrifying precision, but it's a dance Sunday can get behind.

Strike, shift, dodge, parry, strike again.

It's a rhythm that Sunday eventually falls into once the initial shock ebbs away into an afterthought. He grits his teeth and pushes through, his feet never setting on the ground for more than a second before he's forced to jump aside once more.

And for a moment, his gaze locks with yours, and a brief smile slips onto his lips as he finally finds his figurative footing. Slowly, the dance turns into his favor, and he begins to push back, daring to strike back and attempt at hitting you - but you are too quick, too experienced, and like Blade, he is unsuccessful.

But he's keeping up, surprisingly, and that is enough for him. For now.

At least, that's what he thought.

Once you see that he's acclimated, you switch up the tempo. What was once a waltz morphs into a violent tango. You duck under his arm and jab and then-

He hears a pop. And for a second, there is nothing.

But then comes fire. It burns and stings and eats away at his flesh, and he feels it travel from his extremities all the way to his abdomen, circling, concentrating, enveloping that specific spot.

Sunday gasps and lurches back, hand already clutching his wound before he registers what has happened. He looks down, expecting the worst - he expects blood warming his hand, he expects flesh and ripped skin, he expects a gruesome scene.

But when he tentatively removes his hand, breath rattling his chest, there is almost nothing. There is blood, yes, but not much - only the slightest bit beading at the miniscule incision you've made in his stomach.

He furrows his brows, his mind running at impossible speeds to comprehend what had just happened. First is shock, then there is bewilderment, and then betrayal and then anger and then bewilderment again.

There is not a single hint of remorse on your face. No, your face is an undisturbed lake, already poised to strike again - and you do. This time you scrape his shoulder - but Sunday doesn't let you hit a third time.

The gold of his eyes gleams, and the next time he swings, Imaginary coats his blade and a slash of sound fires. With the shock from being stabbed still lingering, the attacks aren't as strong as he'd like, but they are enough to fend you off until he's recovered.

At least, that was the plan.

Just when he thinks the fire is over, lightning strikes. His body seizes up and he doubles over, coughing hideously into his already sullied hand. His rapier dematerializes. The glow snaps away from his halo and his eyes and his powers are deemed null. Every nerve is set alight, frenzied and panicked, as the rest of his body locks into stone.

"Wha-" Sunday clamps his mouth shut, appalled by his own voice. It slurs and sounds as if it'd been passed through a filter, nothing like what he is meant to sound like.

If you have an answer, he doesn't hear it. But he sees you, he sees your lips moving, and then it's your shoes scrunching up against the floor, and then it's your sword, and he realizes-

Panic seizes him, and then dark violet floods his vision, tinged by hints of the sun but bespeckled by the stars. He can't see, he won't see, his mind racing too fast to process whatever his eyes are telling him. His heart pounds in his ears, and all he can hear is the sound of his own breath.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Is he dying? It seems so. But he doesn't want to die, he can't die, not without the dream, not without that paradise, not without seeing Robin one last time.

And with that thought, the paralysis breaks. Sunday gasps as strength surges into him and he regains control of his body, and he nearly topples over as his knees almost give in from under him. But he manages to catch himself in time and avoids yet another humiliation.

He clutches at his chest, catching his breath. His body still quivers, and yet, he can stand just fine. The venom's sting begins to subside - although not completely, but enough strength has returned so that he can push it to the back of his mind.

But most importantly, he's alive. His hand, the one that isn't dirtied, trails up from his chest to his throat, feeling at where the edge of your sword should've cut. But there is nothing to be found. His skin is intact, with no sign of blade or cut.

"Wow, you've been holding out on me. I'm almost offended."

Sunday flinches at the sound of your voice and he whirls, only to not find you anywhere. His brows furrow in confusion, before you speak again-

"Up here, princess."

Sunday turns, and immediately his mind blanks. He blinks. Then he rubs his eyes. Then he blinks again.

"What in the world...?" he mutters.

At least you seem to be as confused as he is, although fond pride graces your smile despite it all. But that's not the confusing part - or at least, it isn't the most confusing part.

You hang upside-down from the ceiling, dark, vivid indigo thorns binding your feet together and your arms to your side. Your damned sword is still in your hand, but with the vines wrapping around you, you can't make any use of it.

"You tell me," you quip back, shaking your body slightly so that you can swing around like a punching bag. Sunday leans back to avoid you smacking into him. "I mean, they're yours, aren't they?"

What? Sunday shakes his head. "That can't be right. I've never even seen these before. Are you sure you didn't accidentally self-sabotage?"

Your face falls flat into a deadpan. "If I were that sloppy, I wouldn't be here anymore. These vines are yours."

"No," Sunday insists. "My abilities lie solely in the Imaginary, never Quantum. I've never..."

But he has,Sunday suddenly remembers, trailing off. You raise a brow.

"You do know that people aren't confined to one single element, right?" With a flick of your wrist, your sword slashes through the vines, the shreds of Quantum falling to the ground. You land on your feet and catch the handle of your sword in one fluid motion. "Take me for example. When using my sword, I'm of the Physical element. But any other time, I'm of Quantum."

You bend down and pick up a stray vine from the ground. It flickers and warps in your hold, a new constellation shining in its branches whenever you move.

"Webs's got something similar going on - She's both Lightning and Fire," you say idly as you come up to him. "So I'm not sure what you're worried about."

"That's not the issue," Sunday sighs. He steps back when you offer him that stray vine. "I have always been Imaginary. That other element- No, those powers, I have avoided using them for a reason."

As much as he wants to tear his gaze away from those vines, he can't. They glimmer back at him, inviting but patient.

No.

"So you��have seen these before." Twirling the vine around your finger, you raise a brow at him. "They're pretty decent, especially to have caught me off guard. Why don't you use them more?"

Sunday sighs.

"They originate from the Harmony. And, well," he breathes an awkward laugh that doesn't quite meet his eyes, "my relationship with Xipe isn't the greatest as of right now. It wouldn't be wise to call upon THEIR blessing. Not unless I want to provoke the wrath of an Aeon."

It isn't the complete truth, but it is enough to get the message across.

And besides, he thinks, Xipe is... weak. Strong for the many, but weak for the few. If Sunday wants to survive in the kind of environment that the Hunters call their norm, he can't rely on such a Path.

No matter how right it feels.

And yet, despite that thought, there's that little nagging voice in the back of his mind. The memories of his earlier practice resurface briefly in his mind.

"If that's what you want," you hum. You let the vine fall from your wrist and dissipate into flickers of light. "But if you ever need help with controlling those things-"

His clipped tone comes out harsher than he intends. "No. You've helped me enough."

But you hardly react. "Suit yourself."

Sunday blinks. He straightens, expecting something more, but all you do is start playing around with your sword, presumably readying yourself for another round.

"Aren't you going to attempt to persuade me otherwise?" he can't help but question.

You snort, flipping your sword into the air. "You're not a child; I'm not going to make your decisions for you."

Catching the dark handle as it falls, you point your blade at him once more, and Sunday instinctively takes upon a defensive stance, rapier poised to protect.

"But, if you want advice," you say, "there's a saying we often go by: 'When you have the chance to make a choice, make one you know you won't regret.'"

Sunday stills.

A choice?

His mind flashes back to the script Elio had given him.

At 22:38:10 system time, the reigning kingdom of Alfeasa-VIII will fall. [Name] will dispense multiple gas bombs at the banquet. They will give you one gas mask to give to a person of your choosing. Whoever you choose will become the next ruler of Alfeasa-VIII. I trust that you will choose wisely.

Always with the choices, it seems - ironic, considering that he never had much of a choice when it came to joining the Hunters. His options were them and the IPC - it didn't take a genius to see which was the safe option.

But... No, that wasn't fair. Up until Elio had spoken to him, he had been completely willing to lay his head beneath the guillotine, to atone for his sins and to accept his punishment.

He had chosen this path.

And Elio had chosen him.

And soon, he must choose a fate for an entire planet.

That's why he is here, after all.

He doesn't need a weak Path such as Harmony - he won't need it. He refuses to.

And with that, his mind is set.

Seeing how he straightens, tosses aside his dirtied glove for a clean one, and brandishes his rapier towards you once more, you smile approvingly.

"Ready for another round?"

You needn't ask. A step, a lunge, and a swing of his wrist, and the dance begins once again.

—

Unfortunately, you never did stop with the stabbing (something about him just "having to get used to it", which he isn't happy about). His entire body is littered with the smallest of scratches, cuts, and punctures from where you've nicked him, and he's pretty sure that half of what runs in his veins is venom instead of blood.

Movement spurs in the corner of his vision. Kicking off of a nearby exercise machine, you leap into the air and bring your sword down upon him in a one-handed strike, but unlike before, Sunday is ready for it.

He jumps out of the way and summons his Echoes at the same time. With their support, strength returns to him, and the Imaginary tree's whispers fear his ears once more. The orchestra sings, and their tune shoots out in sharp flickering missiles towards your landing figure.

But you are quick on your feet and easily maneuver around the projectiles, slipping and swerving like an otter does through water as they shattered around you. The veins of your sword glow, and so does the outline of your form.

His Echoes squeak in warning and he just barely manages to tilt his head in just the right direction before he hears the wall crack behind him.

With a start, he realizes that you'd thrown your sword. Blood beads at his cheek at where it had grazed him. But that's the least of his problems. You're still running at him, after all.

You jump and aim a kick towards his head. Sunday's wings unfold rapidly and he winces as pain slams his joints, but he manages to propel himself out of the way so that you hit the wall instead. Without so much as missing a beat, you grab and wrench out your sword and kick off the wall towards him.

Obsidian meets silver in a fierce clash. Sunday grunts as you press forward, having to use both of his hands to keep his rapier steady against your attack. Rapiers were never meant for blocking, but you leave him little choice.

The standstill persists for a short while, and Sunday realizes you're waiting - waiting for more of that godforsaken poison to kick in. And just as that thought passes through his mind, lightning attacks again, and he jolts, tasting iron.

And that is enough for you to quickly change the tune of the dance.

Maintaining full eye contact, your blade slips from the clash and throws him off balance. Instead it comes up from under, and its handle scrapes against his palm just enough so that you can once again knock his rapier out of his hands and off clattering against the floor. There is a cold sensation against his chin, and Sunday realizes that it's your sword.

He sighs, raising his hands in yet another defeat. With a hum, you step back, and with you goes your sword.

"That makes five now," you hum, fishing out a vial of concerningly colored liquid and tossing it to him. Sunday sighs as he catches it.

"I can hardly call this fair," he mutters, unscrewing the vial and downing it like a shot of vodka. The antidote burns similarly to the alcohol, but rather than being bitter it is sweet like fruit tea - which he appreciates; alcohol was never his favorite beverage, and will never be. "You know, most would call using poison dishonorable."

"Good thing I'm not most people. Wanted criminal, remember?"

Sunday rolls his eyes as the cuts and aftershocks from the poison ebb away. You will never stop bringing that up, will you?

Before he can retort, both of your phones ping. At first, you elect to ignore it, pushing it to the side in favor of opening your mouth to speak. But then it pings again, and again, and again until you get the point and let out a frustrated groan.

"I swear, if it's Elio telling us to buy ink again," you mutter, fishing out your phone. Your brows raise. "Nope, it's worse."

"Who is it?" Sunday asks, grimacing as he flexes one of his hindwings. He must've opened them too quickly back then and pulled something in the process.

"Webs," you reply, already typing out a response. Your sword dematerializes and you walk off to sit down on a nearby bench against the wall. "Let's take a break - oh, and let me see your wing while we're at it."

Pausing, Sunday blinks at you. Was he being too obvious about it?

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he makes his way over to you. This time, however, the pings are more frequent and somehow, more heated, if that makes sense. You're probably arguing with Kafka, or... whatever the two of you do. You're fine enough on your own, and Kafka is... eerie, at best, but put you two in the same room, and Sunday wants nothing more than to bolt.

And to think he's going on a mission with the both of you in a week or two.

He sits down with the injured wing hanging limply towards you, already dreading his future. Almost instantaneously your hand is upon it. A gentle swipe of your thumb over where he's pulled a muscle or two, mending the fibers there, and the lazy yet methodical sifting through his feathers in search of other injuries, and Sunday instantly relaxes, a dull hum thrumming in his chest as he moves to get his phone.

But then, because apparently this universe wouldn't be happy if Sunday didn't suffer at least once every day, he catches sight of the hand he'd coughed into a while ago, and he freezes.

Technically speaking, he knows that his hand had been protected from the grime, and the only dirty thing is the glove sitting in his inventory. He has already replaced the sullied glove, there is nothing diseased on his person anymore.

But it doesn't stop his irrationality from suddenly pulling the already clean glove tight against his fingers.

It's not tight enough - yes, it is, Sunday, you can see the outline of your hands, you can feel it, it's tight enough, you're fine, nothing touched you- But what if it did? What if he coughed something out and it seeped through the glove and it touched his skin and now he's dirty and he should wash his hands- No, calm down, you are fine- but he doesn't know that, should he check? He should check.

Sunday nearly pulls up the wrist of his glove, until his thoughts assault him again- What are you doing, Sunday? Are you crazy? What if they see? You're dirty, you don't need to-

He pulls the glove back on so harshly it might've torn. But it doesn't - he makes sure of that, adjusting it yet again until the voices begin to quiet down enough for him to think properly.

"You okay over there?" you ask suddenly, glancing up from your phone. Sunday's mind starts running again, but Sunday himself appears to be calm.

"I'm fine," he assures, customer service voice resurfacing unconsciously. You raise a brow.

"If you say so," you say, clearly not convinced. Sunday prepares himself for an interrogation, but you return to your phone and drop your hand from his wing, evidently done with your treatment.

Sunday flaps his wing reflexively, pleased to find that the ache is no longer there. His phone vibrates in his hand, reminding him of why the two of you were sitting down and not sparring in the first place.

The second he opens the group chat, he's immediately assaulted with spam messages that make him regret opening it in the first place, and all thoughts of his gloves meld into the background noise of his mind.

Sunday lets out an exasperated sigh along with a shake of his head.

He can already feel his brain cells shriveling and withering away. Who was it that said that the Stellaron Hunters were a terrifying terrorist group, each capable of destroying entire empires with a mere pull of their finger?

Especially Kafka - she was the Hunter with the highest bounty and the most infamous out of all of them. Sunday had already long lost any expectations he had about you, but at least he still had some respect left for the quite frankly, creepy enigma that was Kafka.

Now, he isn't so sure.

Still, he can't deny the amused smile that was slowly creeping up upon his lips. He sneaks a look behind him, no longer feeling your hands on his wings, and he finds a similar grin on your face, a snort escaping you every so often as you play up this charade with Kafka.

A sharp pain smacks his shin. Sunday hisses and glares at you, to which you only smile at him from the corner of your eye.

"Hey, you're supposed to defend me," you chastised, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Not give the local pyromaniac a reason to attack me."

Sunday rolls his eyes with a smile.

"I'll defend you when you replace this shirt," he says, tugging at the high-necked collar that hugs his form. At least, it did. Now it was littered with cuts and tears in the fabric, all done in by a certain medic. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make much use of it now."

"Hold on, pyromaniac's yelling at me." You quickly type out a few paragraphs in your defense.

Once you've (somewhat) escaped Firefly's wrath, you set the phone down and assess the damage you've done to Sunday's attire. Even if his wounds were now healed and the poison neutralized, fabric wasn't something you could heal.

You raise a brow. "How many of those did I get for you?"

"Five," Sunday answers automatically.

"And the old man has never torn up a single one? I find that hard to believe, considering how rough he can get."

Sunday cringes, his abdomen aching from the mere memory of all the times Blade has drop kicked him there. "To be honest, I'm just as surprised as you are."

You squint at that, before your phone pings again and you check it. Thankfully, it isn't another onslaught of messages from Firefly that you need to defend yourself from, and so you don't pay it much attention.

"I'll ask Webs to stitch it up for you," you say, patting him on the shoulder. "Unless you want me to head back to Euphrosyne and raid them of their entire stock."

Much to his horror, Sunday almost considers it. But then he comes to his senses and shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure?" You prop your elbow on his shoulder, leaning into him. "It's doable, just give me ten minutes, a couple of bombs, and-"

Sunday pushes your face away with his finger, his ear wing coming up to act as a shield between you and his face. "We are not committing bioterrorism on an innocent planet."

"Who's we? Technically, it's only me, and that planet isn't exactly innocent, if you know what I mean-"

"[Name]."

You raise your hands in surrender as he narrows his eyes. "Alright, point taken. Oh, also, Webs's talking to you. Might want to answer before she starts calling you a homewrecker again."

"We can't have that," Sunday chuckles.

...What did he just get himself into? Sunday slowly turns to gauge your reaction, to which you only shrug, which isn't helpful at all.

"You'll be fine," you say. "Probably. Most likely. 50-50. Depends on the hour. Depends on how much she's had to drink."

He raises a brow. "How comforting," he says dryly.

You pat him deftly on the back before standing up and stretching. "It is what it is. We should go, though. Wouldn't want to keep the good lady waiting."

He moves to follow you, but before he can stand up, his hand comes to touch his throat, and he remembers the shirt, the shirt ruined by your hands.

Panic takes him by storm. He can't be seen like this. You are one thing - you've seen his wings at their worst, mangled and messy, but Kafka is another. Kafka is a higher up. Kafka is a senior. Kafka, in a way, is his boss outside of Elio.

And if she sees him like this, untidy and messy, he'd throw himself out into the cosmos and accept his death there.

But he doesn't have time to go into his room and grab a jacket, does he? Not if you're to head in at the same time, and he refuses to be late or have you wait outside his room while he changes into something more suitable. But what other choice does he have?

He begins to dig at his palms again, but this time, the pain fails to ground him. If anything, it makes his raging thoughts even worse as he thinks, thinks, and thinks of what he can do, what he could do- By THEM, this is why he always made sure everything was in order before he left the room. But you had to ruin-

His fingers dig harder at that thought. Irrational anger is swallowing him, and he tries to drive it down- It's a spar, Sunday.A spar with real swords, no less. He should've expected this. He knew what he was getting into- But for you to stab him? Wait, why is he still sitting down? Stand up, move, already, you idiot- Why did you have to ruin him like this?

He looks up, halo beginning to glow despite his rational telling him to step back and just breathe, only to get smacked in the face by a ball of thick fabric.

"Wha-" He sputters and takes a step back, indignance and pure, utter, bafflement replacing his anger at record speed. Catching the fabric as it falls down, Sunday's eyes widen as he realizes what it is.

"Are you done freaking out?" you ask dryly. Your sword has reappeared in your hand and there's tatters of cloth on the ground by your feet. "Put that on if you're so worried about looking decent."

Sunday turns the hoodie around apprehensively. It isn't the one you bought for him - it's too bright in color for that, and Sunday wasn't one to wear this color if he could help it. Not only that, but the fresh cut where the back is supposed to be is ragged, making it obvious that the hoodie wasn't tailored this way.

You didn't have to... His brows furrow. Why did you do this? For him, of all people- and what you said, before, did you notice yet again?

That won't do. He's never been this bad before. He needs to relearn what made him Sunday, Head of the Oak Family. He needs to relearn the art of performance, needs to remember how to push down weakness and cover it with expensive paint.

"Did you wash this?" he blurts out, tearing his gaze away from the hoodie. You snort.

"Just the fact that you asked me that tells me a lot about how you view me. What the hell. After I just cut it up for you, too?"

"I apologize. It's-" Sunday inhales, wondering how in the world he was going to word this without sounding paranoid. "It's a habit of mine."

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms. "Yes, I washed it. It's straight from the inventory, so don't worry, you won't catch anything."

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know," you chuckle, "no need to get all worked up. Now are you coming or what?"

Sunday hastens to throw the hoodie over his head, patting his hair into shape as he follows you out of the training room. With his body still admittedly warm from the sparring, it's uncomfortable and admittedly disgusting to have such a thick sweater over all of it, but he'd rather melt covered up as opposed to being exposed in such a disheveled manner.

"Are you sure about this?" he still asks as you step into the hallway. "With all this sweat-"

"I don't care, princess," you sigh. "You don't even have to return the thing. Mercy knows how many hoodies I've got in my wardrobe - letting go of one isn't an issue to me."

Sunday's hand comes to grasp at the neck of the hoodie, feeling the fabric. He looks away from you, his gaze falling to the constant motion of his feet.

"I appreciate it," he murmurs, wings coming up to cover some of his face. You hum.

"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for."

Sunday feels his cheeks warm slightly. His wings shift further up his face. "Friends... That is what we are, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you say as if it were obvious. "What else would we be?"

He shakes his head, his wings unfurling to reveal his soft smile. "No, this is enough. I was simply caught off guard, that's all."

You furrow your brows. "To be called a friend? That's... concerning."

"Don't look too far into it."

"I'll tell Elio to ring you up with a psychiatrist."

"Please don't," he sighs. You snicker.

"No promises."

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence after this, with the only sounds being the gentle pit-pat and tapping of your footsteps. Sunday spots a new graffiti on the wall that separates your door from Silver Wolf's. This one is of a raccoon, one that oddly looks similar to that one grey-haired Trailblazer with the baseball bat. Beside it is an Origami Bird that resembles Silver Wolf. As the two of you pass, a vividly orange flower snaps playfully at him, but unlike the one he's yet to replace, it doesn't seem hungry. It placates under your touch.

"I wasn't lying, by the way," you say suddenly. Sunday glances at you with a tilt of his head. "About what I said in the group chat. You're doing better than any of us expected."

"Thank you?" Sunday isn't sure whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. The corners of your eyes crinkle.

"I'm being serious. I'm surprised you were able to fight through my poison at all, even if it was a mild one. Any other person would've given up the second the paralysis hit. But you managed, somehow. So good on you."

Sunday stiffens. Not knowing what to say, he merely gives you a nod of appreciation. His footsteps slow slightly as you come up to Kafka's mahogany door so that he stands behind you. As you raise your hand to knock, he feels a slight prick at his wrist - and this time, it isn't of his own doing.

As subtle as he can, he risks a glance down at that hand.

The pointed edge of a thorny vine peeks out from under his sleeve, the dark purple taunting as it sways ever-so slightly.

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[starcharmed]

﹢IGIIAMVOGI??? ：weird, am i right? - multi-ending smau with writings

SUMMARY: shit happens, huh? who knew that NOT taking the cramped bus on your way home would lead to you having the same fate of almost every webtoon protagonist? now you’re stuck in a university with characters of a game you only downloaded for some pretty scholar. you’re going to have to navigate your newfound life while stressing over majors you NEVER would’ve picked in your past life. will you finish university or will university finish you?

STATUS: ongoing | CW: death, mentions of death, university majors, kamisato ayato, mentions of drugs and alcohol | TAGLIST: OPEN | all dividers are by @/cafekitsune. keep in mind that this fic is not a harem and each character that is a romantic interest will have their own ending with the reader. profile picture credits are here.

🪴 PROFILES

student government. volleyball team. student newspaper team. multicultural. academic. book club. tba.

ACT I

prologue. 0.1 keep in touch.

ACT II

to be listed.

ACT III

tba.

TAGLIST : @tragedy-of-commons, @meigalaxy, @sketcheeee, @ellieloverrr, @mikashisus, @bluberrybxba, @keiiqq, @shadowqueen09, @shyentsmissingink, @k1n1chswif3, @wystiix @synqiri, @https-sourlimes, @lowkeyren, @sickpatientt, @3lectraheart, @sukisprettyface, @strryskys, @vitanye, @kamiboo, @raeson, @wehklog, @arraxthatsonjah, @ik33ponmakinc00ki3s @kiokiee, @aixaingela, @atlatcaheart

[zynari]

𒄬 CAUGHT IN THE FLASH

― scaramouche x fem!reader

― 12. manifesting

previous ⎯ masterlist ⎯ next

NOTES: I LIED. I SAID FROM THE LAST CHAPTER THAT I WILL POST SCARA POV NEXT. I'M SORRYYY

NEXT CHAPTER HOPEFULLY!! 🤞

SYNOPSIS: in which, a twenty-year old college student who also works as an on-call staff at an event management company finds herself in trouble when a picture of her with the popular guitarist of the famous band "cr4ze", went viral.

TAGLIST (open) :

― @skyoverkill1 @kichiyosh1 @saechiro @tired-jaz @sketcheeee @lily-lmao @sicuit @raiden-d-arya @heusalettle @lightyagamifan @featuredtofu @illu-fu @vi0let-writes @bethleeham @kadesworld @d4y-dr3am3r @jayzioxx @samyayaya @peachystea @scaraenthusiast1 @sl-vega @lalalaloveallmydays @chemiru @strangeauthorrascalfreak @squigglewigglewoo @vaniolla @mikashisus @alatusorrow @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @sukisprettyface @automaticpatroltragedy @arraxthatsonjah @mickey-d-luffy @3lectraheart @rifran @dxrling-xing @yejiswifex @000yukono @trulyylee @eternallykira-143 @faerie-soirxx @potteraep @ciellez @444neapolitain @sukanips @usagiarchive @kazufavor @lez-zuha @anqelkoz @vitanye

[neiwuyu]

01:14 ⌗ HIGH VOLTAGE TICKLE ME ELMO ˎˊ˗

BACK ⌇ MASTERLIST ⌇ NEXT

TAGLIST [ OPEN ] : @saechiro @atlatcaheart @strawberyaye @ashfrommars4 @kinichval @rhinluvr @geolover @e-dollly @nymphxie @trulyylee @kazumiku @sketcheeee @woofwoofwolf @mikashisus

A/N : here’s to the end of arc 1!!🥂 onto arc 2!!!!! i’m actually super excited for some of the events happening in arc 2 but it means i actually have to write dialogue…….. ough -1hp -1hp -1hp -100hp…. nvm that tho!!! christmas special will be uploaded tomorrow at 12 pm per usual :3

[bellstrung]

about.

• this is a selfshipping + oc blog!

• likes: cats, halloween, autumn, hot cocoa, oktoberfests, german food, winter + snow, matcha, sports, night drives, rock + punk music, earthcore, goth aesthetic, all manners of mythology

• dislikes: bugs, summer + hot weather, bullies, hate anons, needles, hospitals

• interacts: @larkwinged ; writing: @mikashisus ; rbs: @duskforge

rules and boundaries.

• dni unless i’ve given u this url. i only want a select few following and interacting with me here.

• rbs will be turned off consistently to preserve my privacy. anon asks will be off.

• with selfships, i am sharing unless stated otherwise. i am non-sharing with venti, firefly, and dahlia.

• please soft-block to break mutual. i won’t think it’s a tumblr glitch, i’ll know u broke the mutual. if there’s a case of an actual glitch, kindly lmk via my inbox !

• although i ship with a few men, please do not ship me with any men outside of my current existing selfships. my self inserts may not all share my irl sexuality, but it still makes me uncomfortable.

• please keep me out of drama. i don’t care nor need to know about that shit, and i definitely don’t need to be involved. unless i come to you to console you and i willingly ask what’s up, don’t come to me and dump it all on the table.

• do not, and i repeat, do not copy any of my selfship, self insert, and oc lore. not only is that cringe and reveals you have no ideas of your own, but i have spent MONTHS and YEARS working on everything. everything i come up with is my own, and if i catch you copying me in any way, i will hard block you immediately. no exceptions.

• all issues you may have with me are to be handled in private and must stay between us. any involvement of a third party will result in an immediate block. the matter is ours and ours alone. it’s no one else’s business.

• if i am to believe you are subposting about me, i will address the matter in private. if you lie or i believe you to be lying, it will result in an immediate block. if i am told by someone else that you are vagueposting/subposting about me, i will block you immediately.

** i don’t believe in second chances. you cross my boundaries = immediate block. doesn’t matter who you are or how tight-knit our bond is.

[larkwinged]

about.

• first and foremost, this is a selfshipping blog! but it is also an oc blog. i spend most of my time yapping about my ocs, or alternating between selfships and dropping some lore!

• likes : cats, halloween, autumn, hot chocolate, oktoberfests, german food, winter + snow, matcha, sports (mainly soccer + volleyball), diet pepsi, spicy ramen, night drives, rock + punk music, earthcore, goth aesthetic, all manners of mythology

• dislikes : drama starters + spreaders, bugs, summer + hot weather, bullies, cowards who send hate on anon, bright mornings + being woken up early, hospitals

• writing acc: @mikashisus ; rb acc: @duskforge

rules and dni.

• anyone is free to follow this blog, as long as you are respectful about my selfships and my ocs.

• if you’re uncomfortable seeing oc content on this blog, pls block both oc tags. if you don’t wish to see yumeship content, my blog is not for you.

• please do not come here to start unnecessary drama. there’s a reason i stay in my own lane, and it’s to avoid all that petty shit. don’t involve me where i don’t belong.

• when it comes to selfships, i am sharing unless stated otherwise, and doubles are more than welcome here. non-sharers, if we are doubles, feel free to block me!

• basic dni criteria. don’t be an asshole, don’t be weird, don’t be a bigot. that’s it thanks.

regarding selfships and ocs.

• anyone is free to reblog my posts about my selfships and/or my ocs! you’re more than welcome to send in asks, as well!

• i welcome art for both my selfships and ocs!

(NA) AR 57 wanderer + xilonen main ノ 663904128

(NA) TL 70 firefly + castorice main ノ 600572816

[mikashisus]

wanted to write for tartag tn but ended up editing a few chapters of ‘my war’ instead

and now i kinda wanna rewatch s4 of aot bc of it… ITS BEEN FOREVER UGH I MISS MY AOT HYPERFIXATION 😔😔

[vxnuslogy]

— 1:43 coincidences.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: kinich wasn't one to indulge in the creative waters of writing or english. but for a chance to know you, he'd willing jump into the ocean.

— warnings: none

— author's note: this was supposed to be for his birthday but i got lazy half way through so yeah. this is also a part 2 of 11:11 wishes and i highly recommend you read this one first!! art credits to @.n249g on twt. | 2.3k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @mikashisus @https-sourlimes ; if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the forms in my pinned!!

english—writing class to be specific—was one of kinich’s least favorite subjects in school. not to say that he didn’t appreciate books and stories, he just simply preferred the more straightforward subjects like p.e. and math. he never really could wrap his head around the ideas of using so many literary devices to make a statement sound flowery. why can’t author’s simply say that the sky was blue or that the sun has set? kinich, more often than not, found them all unnecessary.

until you, that is.

kinich met you by coincidence during one of his basketball practices. a loud shout of his name from the stands and an enthusiastic mualani made him cringe internally as his teammates wiggle their eyebrows. with a roll of his eyes, kinich drops his water bottle on the benches and readied himself for whatever mualani wanted to do. his head curiously tilted to the side when he caught sight of you. 

you and mualani were the same height, you held her bag in your arms as you scroll through your phone. kinich must have stared a bit too hard. you looked, meeting his eyes with a curious but embarrassed gaze. suddenly all the metaphorical pieces of literature he once found exasperating had an entirely new meaning as you flashed him an embarrassed smile. he found himself captivated–unable to look away even when mualani came to obscure his view of you. with a heavy breath, he tried his best to keep his attention on her words, but he ended up missing the way your lips turned upward and eyes turn into small crescents. 

it would’ve been cute, dare he say romantic, with the way you kept stealing glances at him. kinich felt a certain itch at the back of his mind to at least smile back, but he never got the chance to. not when a stray basketball flies past his head and nearly hit you all the way from the stands.

“hey! watch it!” mualani shouts. hands gripping the metal bars tightly, ready to jump down and pick a fight with the player who had nearly hit you. 

kinich stood there, baffled and perplexed about you. he found your way of tugging at mualani’s arm amusing as she yells and points an accusing finger at ororon. you shake your head with a sigh and offer him an apologetic smile when he should be the one doing that. with his own heavy sigh, kinich turned around and crossed his arms, a scolding look in his eyes as everyone avoided his gaze. 

“kinich you better put your team in place or i’ll do it myself!” the volleyball captain in the stands yelled with an angry huff. she copied kinich’s pose and narrowed down her eyes but she simply looked like an angry kitten.

kinich’s ears picked up on your airy giggle and felt the hairs on his arms rise. karma must be coming back to bite him in the ass because now, at this very moment, he wished he’d paid enough attention in english class to find a way to describe the way you captured him with just one glance.

much his teacher’s surprise, kinich finally began to participate in english class. he would raise his hands to answer questions and when called, he’d try to answer even if he struggled. all of his classmates concluded something must have happened—you can’t really blame them for being curious, after all, kinich only took interest in very few things. 

he began to frequent the local bookstore too. drifting from one aisle to another, eyes skimming over the spines of the books he once took for granted. ironically, he found himself indulging in a newfound fascination with how words worked. a certain wish deep in the columns of his chest to find a way to describe you in the same way. that’s when kinich ceased all his skimming. ever since that day, he’s been thinking about you, more often than he should.

he knew you and mualani were close—attached to the hip with the way you grew up together. the council president would often brag about your achievements as if they were her own during breaks from meetings. mualani always had something to say about you—all ranging from nice, embarrassing, and intriguing. you also ate lunch together. kinich would always notice how mualani packs extra lunch and when the bell rings, you’re always outside the classroom. bag slinged over your shoulder, a book under your arms as you entertained yourself with your phone. 

during all of these times, kinich’s eyes will always slide over to your figure. trying to capture your mystique on paper with his rookie capabilities in writing. and for the second time, he must have stared too much because you ended up catching his stare. your eyes glossed over the opened book on his desk, the many sticky notes with messy notes, pens and highlighters matching the book cover, and how he keeps tapping his pen on his notebook. his finger’s twitched, heart lurching forward into your arms when your eyes twinkled with familiarity of his actions.

he was doing an activity for english class. and that’s when it all clicked into place. 

you flash him a smile as mualani tangled your arms together and tugged you to the direction of the cafeteria. no wonder your laugh sounded so familiar, it was the same sound he heard during english when he paid attention to everything but the lesson. the book under your arms had the same colored annotations as his and even the blue bracelet on your wrist looked familiar. you were the student sitting a few seats back from him. 

“what a coincidence,” he murmurs, shifting his attention back to the activity due tomorrow. but his mind betrayed him for the second time because instead of writing down his interpretations in the notebook, the word “beautiful” was instead jotted down. and kinich isn’t talking about the book.

dismissal hours and kinich did not mix well. while others packed their things to go home, he stayed behind to work with the council on the bulletin board. with a thud, he dropped to the floors as the others laugh. mualani ruffled his hair and promised they’ll be quick today, which he highly doubts with the way there was paint on her face and poorly hidden paper planes made out of spare papers. he shook his head in amusement and started getting to work.

by the time the clock hit 5, everyone had bid their farewells and kinich was left alone boarding the last bus of the day. he mindlessly paid the bus fare and looked for any available seats. the grip on his school bag tightened ever so slightly when he caught sight of a familiar mop of hair and blue bracelet in one of the seats. like a sailor being captured with a siren’s song, kinich made his way to you and cleared his throat.

you look up at him with the sun in your eyes. and he wonders if you’re aware of them. “is this seat taken?” a beat of silence passed before he caught the way your eyes widened and shook your head no. kinich swore he could hear the drumming of his heart as the sun sets behind you, casting a golden glow that makes you even more captivating.

“oh no, no! not at all,” you stammer out with a crooked smile. kinich nods in thanks and sits down. this must be the awkward presence of a blooming crush the books he’s read were talking about. he wanted to bury his head in his hand in sheer embarrassment. of course he concludes he had a crush on you as you’re sitting next to him. of course he just had to be awkward as you steal glances at him every now and then, trying to think of a way to strike up a conversation.

“are you done?” you ask and kinich has never reacted to a sound so fast in his life. “with the book review i mean.” another smile, another reason for kinich’s heart to beat. he cleared his throat and looked away, muttering a soft yes under his breath. you don’t speak another word after that and kinich curses mualani for sleeping over at a friend’s house today. 

now, kinich wasn’t one to abuse his position as a council member nor did he ask teacher’s for favors–but there’s a first for everything. with a knowing mualani behind him, he takes a shaky breath in and knocks on the faculty door to excuse his english teacher to ask to be partnered with you.

it was such a bizarre and surreal feeling. kinich was simply about to go to bed after basketball practice when mualani had decided to blow up his phone with messages and screenshots. conversations with you filled with all capital messages, numerous exclamation marks, and sobbing emojis he began to associate with you began to fill his mind as his heart started to expand. 

“ I WISH HE’D BE MY PARTNER FOR THE BIOGRAPHY PROJECT 😭 😭”

kinich never paid any attention to the project despite having more interest in class—he didn’t have any particular interest in anyone, except you. so for you to wish to have him as the subject of your written creativity, how could kinich resist? and there wasn’t any difficulty in convincing your teacher too. a poorly executed excuse of maybe having your creativity rubbing off on him was all it took for the two of you to be paired up.

when he leaves the faculty, mualani greets him with a knowing smirk, her hands behind her back as the two quietly make their way back to the never ending task that is the bulletin board. the girl made sure not to point out the excited glint in his eyes and how a smile threatened to spill from his lips when you passed by and waved at her.

“you’re such a goner,” mualani teased with a shake of her head. she only stuck out her tongue at him when kinich tried to kick her shin. but he didn’t try to deny anything, all he could think about what kind of questions he’ll ask you in the span of a month.

“blue. you were wearing a blue bracelet when we first met and i really liked it.”

“and”

“it suits you”

“is that a weird thing to say?”

it was embarrassing how quickly kinich closed his phone and put it on silent mode. that was something so unlike him to say—even his punctuations and spacing of messages felt out of place. but could you blame him? that damn blue bracelet complimented the tone of your skin, how light seemed to bounce off it and become a magnet–begging for him to hold. 

and was it wrong of him to assume you liked green because of him? he noticed earlier this week that your gaze lingered longer whenever he wore his jersey jacket and this one hoodie xilonen gifted him. “the color reminded me of a calming walk in the forest,” you had said when he sat down in front of you as he asked why you were staring (leaving out the part of the giddy feeling he’s captured your undivided attention with just a piece of clothing. he then wonders what you’d look like if you were the one to wear it.)

could you give his poor heart a break? after all you nearly injuring yourself trying to make it to class wasn’t on his agenda for the day (but he’ll never admit how nice it felt for you to cling to him). he never meant for your fingers to brush as you picked up the papers on the floor, nor did he mean to look away so quickly—missing the way your cheeks turned pink.

kinich’s gaze flickered over to that blue bracelet again as you checked your appearance on your phone, then it moved to your bag, and like a sailor following the north star, he took it from your back and said, “let’s go to class.” his voice was quiet—dare he think shy—as he covered half of his face with a curled fist. 

you denied his offer to bail you out of a lecture from your teacher and he promptly agrees. but kinich knows, deep down in the ocean of his heart that you won’t get in trouble when he’s by your side. maybe it was the adrenaline–or maybe just you–he loved to chase. he took steps and steps in your direction to pluck a stray leaf stuck in your hair. he doesn’t miss the whiff of your perfume—woody with hints of citrus and some cinnamon in the mix.

you smell like sunshine and the partner he wants for the rest of his life.

after the biography project, kinich finds himself sitting with you in a park after classes got canceled. you asked him to push you on the swing set and he complied without much of a fight. 

“i wish you’d be my partner for this project, and wouldn’t you know, it actually happened.”

“oh, i know.”

kinich laughs, something he does more with you, at your dumbfounded expression. the realization that mualani had snitched on you and that he went out of his way to make sure it happened like you wished for sent your cheeks ablaze. kinich loved the sight of you under the afternoon sun as he goes in front of you, on one knee like those cheesy prince charmings in stories you always gushed about.

“be my partner for life, that was my 11:11 wish today.”

if you were to ask kinich what his favorite season was, he would answer summer within a heartbeat. summer was the season when you met, the colors of the sun bathing you in all his favorite colors as you cheered him on from the stands during basketball matches with his name on your back. the many ice cream runs where you both complain about the heat, or when you drop by the council room to try and cool off because the ac is stronger. summer had you in it, but kinich wouldn’t mind experiencing the other seasons with you too.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[tragedy-of-commons]

do you have any recommendations for genshin fanfic writers?

thank you for asking! i always do! 🐈

@theother-victoria - writes a really good alhaitham!!! actually became mutuals w her after i realized i read one of her fics on ao3 months ago. it was this series (that recently just concluded) so i'd recommend checking it out if it fits your bill!

@aviiarie - my go-to for platonic content! i don't actually engage much w genshin anymore but their writing always keeps my inspiration alive (and the aroacespec brainrot...) if you check them out, no strings attached would have to be your introduction.

@mikashisus - eydis is exceptionally talented and dedicated. i haven't read much of their genshin stuff, but i know that if you want to read any venti or a good smau, they're the one you gotta see!

@strxnged - FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUAAAAAASDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i mean. june writes a breaking-into-your-house-and-sucker-punching-you great tighnari and i feel spoiled when i can't read anyone else's version of him anymore... tread carefully. having said that, you must MUST MUST read the roots of ambition!

here are some honorable mentions of some mutuals off the top of my head that also write genshin :)

@akutasoda, @staarri, @lowkeyren, @mitsvriii, @vxnuslogy, @wystiix, @ughscara, @kazuhaiku ^^

ao3 is such a different can of worms,,, but i don't want this to rot in my drafts for too long. might reblog later for all that good stuff!

(explodes into confetti) ok bye thumbs up. also if u don't want to be tagged let me know and i will exile myself accordingly

[m1ckeyb3rry]

okay not sure if these have been done before but 🧸, 🐝, and 🍬 for the ask game maybeeeee

i don’t think they have been so you’re good!! (ask game)

🧸 what’s the fastest way to become your mutual? wait lowkey idek 😭 i have the self-confessed worst following to followers ratio ever (i think i just followed my hundredth blog like. yesterday.) because i just never follow people?? i couldn’t say why it’s just not on my mind…sometimes i go through the people that follow me and follow them back if they post things i’m into so that’s one method 🤔 i don’t really follow people who exclusively reblog though so having a pinned post and posting your own writing/art/thoughts also helps!! or like i’ll follow people if they’ve been commenting/sending asks on my posts a lot and don’t talk too much about things i’m not into because it’s like ok you basically know my life story atp might as well be mutuals KJSDHFLSK

🐝 tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them i have so many wonderful friends both on this app and off of it i can’t possibly list them all HAHA my best friend in real life (who is very much not on tumblr or even in fandom really) was the first person to read my writing and encouraged me to post it so definitely her because i would never be on here without her!! and hmm i think @mikashisus and @anqelically are like two of the ogs they’ve been here since the aot days 😭 they are both wonderful writers and even more wonderful people who have great taste in fictional characters (i can say this is a fact because we all like the same characters especially angel and i HAHA)

🍬 post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character hmm i’m p sure i have posted most if not all of my unpopular takes about bllk because you guys don’t scare me enough so i won’t go over them for fear of feeling excessive LMAOO but one of my unpopular jjk opinions is that i don’t really like geto and think it’s silly that people will do ANYTHING but accept that he was in fact a bad person and responsible for his own actions