berryless

[berryless]

Nothing quite pisses me off the way female leads with zero self-awareness in villainess transmigration manhwa do. Because they are generally good people—or, at the very least, are presented to us as such—they themselves do not outright torment others for fun. And because they are gentler, and kinder than original owners of the body were, they expect to be treated correspondingly.

Hence every time a character displays some kind of negativity against them because of the way the original villainess treated them in the past, they are shocked, irked and offended that someone wants to hold them accountable for the actions they, personally, did not commit. Which, on one side, is understandable. I, too, wouldn't want to face the consequences of the atrocities I took no place participating.

But, on the other side, is ludicrous, because you, the transmigrating female lead, just took over someone's body and their whole life. Their family is now yours. Their wealth is now yours. Their achievements are now yours. All of them, good and bad. Everything is yours now. And if you want to cherry-pick between those, well, tough luck, it's either all or nothing.

I do not mind the female leads being frustrated at the way they are being treated, it's okay to be disheartened when none of the good things you do are recognized, and all your mistakes are magnified, and all your actions are misconstrued as villainous. But, for fuck's sake, do rub your two last working braincells together to recognize that the owner of the body you currently reside in was the person who planted that trauma here. And while it doesn't make you personally responsible for that matter, you also cannot expect everyone to look past that past trauma, evilness and vile behavior, and suddenly be okay with you.

That's not how the bias works!!

[berryless]

Do you ever see a story, and think, hmm. All those troubles could've been avoided if they were a trouple. All those troubles. Just poof. Vanished. Gone. If they'd just talked it through three-way.

[berryless]

Sometimes I see a Dead Dove Do Not Eat tag, and think, Okay, chief. As you say, chief. You know best what you cooked there, chief. Thank you for the warning, chief, keep up the good work, and silently leave as if I was never there in the first place.

[berryless]

Floral Lullaby

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Aspen's coffin made of aspen Hollies ripe with Holly's blood Little sapling little baby You'd make such a lovely bud

Clover's mulching field of clover Aster's head's now asters' vase Little sapling little baby You won't win if we two race

Rosie rots in rosy bushes Cedar's pierced by cedar roots Little sapling little baby I can't wait to wolf your fruits

Rowan's gorged with rowan berries Willow hangs from willow tree Little sapling little baby You can't run away from me

Ivy's wrapped in shroud of ivy Poppies grew from Poppy's eyes Little sapling little baby No one's gonna hear your cries

Cherry's flesh looks just like cherries Hazel tastes like hazelnuts Little sapling little baby How I crave to spill your guts

Basil's soup goes well with basil Oakley's strung across the oaks Little sapling little baby Why you take so long to coax

Olive's eyes roll with the olives Laurels float in Laurel's stew Little sapling little baby Where should we bury you

[berryless]

4 seconds that altered my brain chemistry 😳😳😳

[berryless]

robin setting a bird with sunday’s color scheme free whilst sunday holds onto a bird with robin’s color scheme oh my god

[berryless]

When you brainstorm The Incident™ that changed your MC's life trajectory, while thinking about the villain responsible for it, and then the villain whispers in your head, "Oh, you're very wrong about this. It didn't happen this way."

And then he somehow makes everything ten times worse.

[berryless]

Sunday Mass BGM

Sunday (Honkai Star Rail) Fan SoundTrack

  ��¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Jann — Emperor's New Clothes

Bow and smile And nod your head Approve, applaud Agree, don't ever Question the decisions of The high almighty God society

You'll be as a martyr to me Dying for the crowd that you lead Pedestal for you to believe You're the only king

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Regina Spektor — Two Birds

Two birds of a feather Say that they're always gonna stay together But one's never going to let go of that wire (oh-oh-oh) He says that he will But he's just a liar

Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away and the other Watches him close from that wire He says he wants to as well, but he is a liar

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Mitski — Abbey

I am something I have been something I was born something What could I be?

There is a light that I can see But only, it seems, when there's darkness in me There is a dream that I sometimes see That only appears in the dark of sleep

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

IAMX — The Stupid, The Proud

God is dead, We get to sleep tonight, Walk with me into the truth, Out of your lies

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Jaymes Young — I'll Be Good

I'll be good, I'll be good And I'll love the world, like I should Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good For all of the times that I never could

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Mother Mother — Oh Ana

I'll be God I'll be God, I'll be God, I'll be God today Hold my head under the bath and breathe away Slit my wrists and watch that blood evaporate

I'll fake God I'll fake God, I'll fake God, I'll fake God today Hop up on a cloud and watch the world decay

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Eddie Vedder — Long Nights

Long nights allow me to feel... I'm falling...I am falling The lights go out Let me feel I'm falling I am falling safely to the ground Ah...

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Porter Robinson — Goodbye To A World

Thank you, I'll say goodbye soon Though its the end of the world Don't blame yourself now And if its true I will surround you and give life to a world That's our own

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

The Choir, James Whitbourn — The Lamb

Little lamb who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead? Gave thee clothing of delight Softest clothing wooly bright? Gave thee such a tender voice Making all the vales rejoice! Little Lamb who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Claire Boyer — Kitchen Fan Lullaby (Raw)

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Eurielle — City of the Dead

I'm scared of what's inside my head, what's inside my soul I feel like I'm running but getting nowhere Fear is suffocating me, I can't breathe I feel like I'm drowning, I'm sinking deeper

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

half·alive — creature

I am creation both haunted and holy, made in glory Even the depths of the night cannot blind me, when You guide me Creature only

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Isak Danielson — Silence

It's hard to look It takes a lot of courage to see But open your eyes You'll be standing next to me Forget the words, they don't know what they're saying To save us all, it takes a lot of praying We have to Speak into the silence We never wanted violence We have to stay, unite No one left outside For us to overcome the things that we have done I want to see the change before I die and lose my voice

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Phildel — Icarus

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Two Feet — Play The Part

An intermission of your fate Close your eyes, god gives, or takes it away You try and forget all your hate Anger thrives, trapped in a steel crate

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Thomas Newman — Any Other Name

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Anson Seabra — Trying My Best

I know you think I got it all figured out 'Cause I walk around like my head's in the clouds But I'm just a boy with his heart pourin' out of his head I wish that you could see the pain that I've seen All of the times I spent being not me I hope you know that it's not always happy in my head

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Kalandra — Brave New World

Close your eyes and sleep Ignore all the burdens that you keep Come whatever may They could never harm you anyway Waking from the dream Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in The end is what you fear The scent of embers lingers in the air It's like a web there is no escape from It's got you trapped, and you long for freedom Every wish, every dream was granted Never knowing what they demanded

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Liana Flores — rises the moon

Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end Sun digs its heels to taunt you But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same Rises the moon Oh-oh, close your weary eyes I promise you that soon the autumn comes To darken fading summer skies Breathe, breathe, breathe

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Кристина Дзейтова — Грёза*

*the title translates as daydream, reverie, etc

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Dругой Ветер — Сны про бесконечность

Сны про бесконечность. Это сны про бесконечность. Там, где дни вписаны в вечность Пролегла полоса. Пульс на мониторах Бьётся секундам вторя. Я - твой космос. Ты - моё море. Так поднимай паруса. Ты меня не спасёшь. Я тебя не уберегу. Словно выброшенными на берег китами, Нас найдут поутру, прибитыми к берегу. Нас найдут поутру с зашитыми ртами.

Rough translation

Dreams about infinity. These are dreams about infinity. Where days are written in eternity There's a line. The pulse on the monitors Rhymes its beats with seconds. I am your space. You're my sea. So hoist the sails. You can't save me. I won't save you. Like whales stranded on a beach, They'll find us in the morning, nailed to the shore. They'll find us in the morning with our mouths sewn shut.

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Radiohead — No surprises

A heart that's full up like a landfill A job that slowly kills you Bruises that won't heal You look so tired, unhappy Bring down the government They don't, they don't speak for us

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Searows — House Song

Sound it out to an empty house Was it just like you had before? Savior pulled from an open mouth Did you want to be something more? Something is rotten inside of me I have to find it and cut it out, cut it out

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

bo en — My Time

おやすみ おやすみ Close your eyes and you'll leave this dream おやすみ おやすみ I know that it's hard to do

  ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

Kendrick Lamar — United In Grief (Intro)

I hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime Tell them, tell 'em, tell them the truth I hope you find some paradise (tell them, tell 'em the truth) Tell 'em, tell 'em, tell 'em, tell them your- I've been goin' through somethin' One thousand, eight hundred and 55 days I've been goin' through somethin' Be afraid

[berryless]

[berryless]

lost in translation

[berryless]

(post 6th chapter, return to the NRC; drabble with 'hugs' as a theme)

"Malleus…"

Freya stood there, choked and teary-eyed, and before Malleus knew it, he was in front of her, looking right into her face, searching for changes that occurred in those days she was missing, learning her features all over once again. She didn't gave him a chance to thoroughly study her, falling headfirst into his chest. Everyone was busy talking and celebrating the return with each other, screaming, and crying, and holding their friends close, and after thinking about it, it occurred to Malleus that considering their relationship, he was also entitled to behave this way. Though he could stand skipping the screaming and crying—he have had enough of those since century and a half ago.

His fingertips grazed her back before Malleus awkwardly hugged her, and Freya flinched, breathed warmth into his shoulder, grabbing at the lapels of his uniform.

"You have no idea how much I regretted not kidnapping you to go along," she sighed softly, nuzzling into him.

"Kidnapping me? You say most humorous things." He chuckled as his hands encircled her back. "As if you are able to force me do anything against my will."

Freya looked up.

"Is that a challenge?"

Malleus raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want it to be?"

She thought about it.

Last person hugging him was Lilia. He was muscle and bone, even after retirement, and Malleus knew he could stand being hugged back and not breaking. With Freya he had to be careful. Her softness made Malleus keep his arms taut to avoid bruising her.

"I think I like it more when you're doing things willingly," Freya decided. She hugged him close, rocking from leg to leg as she breathed hotly into his shoulder.

Malleus thought himself resistant to heat, but it crept through the layers of fabric, under his skin, scorching his heart. Without thinking he held her closer, fingers sinking into the welcoming pliancy of her flesh.

He remembered Ramshackle at night, when she wasn't there: quiet and bleak, lying in ruins. Same as it was before she came here, and yet not feeling the same.

Malleus folded around her, lips pressed against the crown of Freya's head.

"You should kidnap me along next time you disappear."

She laughed.

"I thought I cannot force you do anything against your will?"

"Hence why I am preemptively allowing you to do so."

"My, how generous of you."

"Glad you understand."

[berryless]

We are 94% funded!

With almost 700 backers, 9 days to go, and only 2k left to reach our main goal! 🥹💜 We can't thank you all enough for the support!

We are almost there! Every bit helps, so please consider supporting our Kickstarter if you haven't already! 💜

⭐ Support our Kickstarter!

[berryless]

I think Malleus's beauty should be some kind of uncanny valley beauty. Yes, he's attractive, but he's too attractive for a human. Too symmetrical. Too smooth. Too polished. The kind of beauty if ancient marble statue stepped down from its pedestal and mingled among common people. Standing out in any kind of crowd like a sore thumb kind of beauty. Not belonging to this world kind of beauty.

And that makes his relationship with Yuu, who's (arguably, depending on personal headcanons) the epitome of being human, even more visually interesting. Not only do they have no magic—they're not the only one in the world without it, it's not that uncommon. They literally fell into this Twisted Wonderland from a 'real' world. No one can be any more human than them. With flaws and imperfections typical for humans to have, with limited life span, with little signs of life and aging Malleus would not have for many long centuries.

And still they find each other, and find each other beautiful in their own way.

That's the kind of MalleYuu I want to see more of.

[berryless]

kiss kiss fall in love before things get unapologetically worse

[berryless]

Dead man's dead name

Boothill x @lefossile's Original Female Character Fanfiction (PWP, NC-17 || 1.5k words || smut, fluff, dream sex, a tiniest littlest sprinkle of dirty talk which is really just normal Boothill talk with synesthesia beacon turned off)

Summary:

If intellitrons dream of electric sheep, what should a man mostly dead, mostly metal, very little of flesh and skin dream of? Boothill keeps to himself when it comes to dreams, because what is there to talk about, anyhow, it's not getting the present any different, and why are you asking anyway, you son of a nice lady? What he dreams of is not anyone's motherfudging business to know. … He dreams he is a real man, of blood and flesh, all limbs and organs present; he dreams of being able to feel with his whole body, and not just remembering what a thing it is to feel. He dreams of Taylor. And none of those things are for her to know about.

Read this work on Archive of Our Own.

Taylor flinches when his teeth scrape the nape of her neck, and he laughs into her skin, palms casually picking up and holding her breasts.

"Would you look at that… Someone's damn eager, ain'tcha."

He catches her hardened nipples between his fingers, feeling the way she shudders, squeezing into him from delicious friction between fabric and skin.

"██████…"

His name falling from her mouth is sweet and moist like a freshly baked cupcake. When she calls on him, her mouth opens up in a pretty circle, then stretches, teeth biting on her lower lip to say it right.

"Say it again," he asks without a thought, and Taylor listens.

He frees one hand for that, to catch her chin, finger pressing her lip down.

"Again."

"██████."

"Again…"

She moans the name into his mouth as he leans in to kiss her, stealing it from her lips, licking it clean with his tongue, swallowing it inside and keeping it in his stomach, a beating pulsing thing, his own living music box playing the same maddening melody on repeat.

"You say it so good," he whispers into her ear, arm squeezing her in his embrace, pressing Taylor close to his chest, skin to skin, bodies glued to each other until the barrier between them melts, connecting their flesh together. "So fucking good, baby…"

She laughs, but chokes on a sob as soon as his hand finds its place between her thighs, and he cannot help but hold her tighter when he feels how readily she spreads her legs for him.

She calls him more, moans it, stretches his name until it becomes one long trembling sound, a high note, a song without lyrics that hits the apple of his heart all the same.

"Yes… Yes…" he sighs into her shoulder, into her neck, her ear, lips pressed hot against its shell. "I know, I know. Like it, don't you? Your pussy's dripping wet. Melting right on my fingers… Heh. Bet it tastes just as sweet, hmm? Lemme check it real quick."

He drags his fingers out of her and catches them in his mouth, sucking in the taste of her, and Taylor gasps into his forearm, bites into it, eyes wide and dark, glued to his lips, hungry, eager. It's impossible not to strive to impress the audience that watches over him with such rapt attention he feels the heavy weight of her gaze on his skin. So he makes a show of licking clean each finger for far longer and more thorough than it was ever necessary, and yet Taylor still eats it up.

Fucking adorable.

He squashes her cheeks and drags her in for a kiss, messy and quick, a swift punch of affection against her puffy bright lips.

"What does your sweet pussy want, hmm? Ready for a ride? Or should I stretch you some more?"

His hand cups her stomach, giving it a light squeeze.

"Promised me…a ride of my lifetime," she reminds him, breathless, pushing closer until her lips are kissing his palm. Such a gentle thing she is. Hard for his heart to take it without cracking open.

"That I did," he hums, gaze caught in the trap of her tender warm eyes, drowning like insect in amber.

He lifts her up, holding under her knees, spreading her open.

"Lend a helping hand, will ya?" he asks, kissing her shoulder. "Guide my cock where you want it, sweet."

Her roughened palm rubs against him, the scratch of her callouses forcing him to flinch and curse into her skin, sucking the swear right in mixed with her sweat, leaving only a red dot of it like a censored ink mark.

"Such nice hands you have… I don't mind 'em 'round my thing all year 'round."

She laughs at half-assed compliment and covers him, pressing against her wet pussy. He rocks her lightly, cock dragging slowly between her folds, delicious mix of soft flesh, and thick slick, and rough touches.

"Fuck, feels so good…"

"Don't come yet."

"I won't, I won't. Have to save 'at till I'm inside you."

"Mmn."

"Scared I'll be done too quickly? Don't fret, baby: if I promised, I will deliver. You're not getting off this ride so soon."

She squeezes around him as soon as his tip enters, and he kisses her shoulder again, whispering for her to take her time, because he's not going anywhere, and that she's doing so well, taking him in strides, a literal handful. Taylor laughs a little, this kind of moist, almost sobbing sound, and sinks onto him, ass firmly sitting on his lap. She presses a hand against her own abdomen, and he waits, letting her get used to him, mouth never shutting up, spitting praises.

"Such a good girl," he drags into her ear, and Taylor shivers, falling onto his chest, palm hugging his neck. "You're ready?"

"Yeah…"

"It's okay, I'll start slow."

He moves her with ease, like he's used to the weight, like he's so thoroughly, achingly familiar with the feel of her in his arms it costs nothing, except it's everything—her pliable flesh hugging him snuggly, squeezing so tight, her soft sweet mewls sobbed through raspy gasps, his name on her tongue again, chewed gum between her teeth, filling her mouth same way his cock fills her, lewd and hot. Slowly they fall into motion, action so natural like they've done it dozens of times, connection of bodies echoing into sparks, little burns against their hearts, emotional love bites that scar the flesh, dance of blanks and dots that spell this moment into a silent song for later, for when they're not one solid piece anymore, but still want to remember the now, the present, the moans and the curses, the little tune of names knit into one another, picture perfect still of the moment they're in.

* * *

Boothill wakes up in the middle of it, mouth hot and dry, mind still foggy from pleasure. It's goddamn inconvenient in moments like this that he can't just jump right back into the vivid picture in his head and complete it right, helping himself rubbing it out of his system. He grabs the hipflask and takes a swig, thoroughly swishing his mouth with malt juice. Not the finest kind, this one, but to find it in those boonies at all is already a feat like no other. Though his tongue's still working alright—one of the few things that works of what's left of his flesh—the booze ain't hitting the same those days. There's no effect to it other than the taste, the blissful cloudiness of mind and thought it used to grant him stays forever out of reach no matter how much of it Boothill pours down his throat.

"██████."

The sound falls from his mouth like a rusty bent screw, useless and unrecognizable.

Boothill winces the same way a person with acute bad tooth does—one of the few things he won't experience that he's actually grateful about.

On her tongue it sounded so right. Like it was meant to be put in her mouth.

Before he can think this through, Boothill pulls out his smartphone.

"It's sunrise soon, so rise and shine, baby. Or fall asleep. Not sure what planet you're on right now, so I'll trust you'll choose right thing to do by yourself. You're a smart one, right? Right. No need for me to tell you the obvious. Don't have much else to tell ya, though. Just…thought to leave you something to wake up to. Or to sleep with. Again, whatever you need. That's all. I'm going."

He doesn't say he misses her or something equally sticky and presses send without adding a goodbye. He's not a big fan of those, not that he has lots of people to say them to.

"██████," he tries again, a barely audible whisper as he stares at his phone, waiting for message to be delivered—the connection in those backwoods crawls slower than half-crushed caterpillar. The signal wriggles slightly, sending signs of life, and the annoying running circle continues to spin, spin, spin.

It still doesn't sound right.

It's a dead word, dead name of a person long gone. Ghosts shouldn't say it. Of course it won't fucking sound right.

He puts the phone down, chin pressed against his knee, eyes staring at the wall before him like it's covered in holy scriptures. There's nothing on it, save for a little hole left by a fly he shot with a toothpick evening prior that zooted around the room, not giving him a chance to power off and refill the batteries.

It will never sound right. He knows. He knows it all too well.

And yet a part of him, a little one that Boothill tries to choke and squeeze into the furtherest corner, still wants to hear same thing spelled by her lips.

[berryless]

Weekend worth of all at once

Sunday x Original Female Character (Angst, PG || 1.3k words || Sunday POV, Stellaron Hunter Sunday AU, before Charmony Festival and a timeskip later, some goodbyes and apologies are made)

⤝ previous part

Read this work on Archive of Our Own.

"I thought you were booked all the way until the end of the Charmony festival. How come you're here?" Sejal asked, face surprised, but she still leaned closer, pulling him in, and Sunday let himself fall into her embrace, trying to remember the feeling.

"I managed a few minutes to spare," he said quietly, soaking in her presence. His voice didn't tremble, his hands didn't waver, and yet an aching, bone-deep bitterness spread inside his chest at the thought that this will be the last he'll see of her.

"You okay?" Sejal's voice was as soft as her fingers threading through his hair, and Sunday chased the touch, eyes half-lidded.

"…I'm ready."

He always was, his life long set on the course of orchestrating this moment. Whether he was fine or not did not matter in the grand scheme of things so long as he could fulfill his purpose.

"Don't push yourself too hard, hmm?" Sejal pressed his head down to print a kiss on his forehead. "I know the festival is important, but you're even more so."

Sunday couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"I'll try," he lied.

"Good." Sejal cupped his face and held hers against it, speaking gently into his lips, "I know you can do it. You worked so hard for it. Even if some mishap will happen, no one will disparage the effort you put into this."

He looked at her intently, right into her smiling clueless eyes, right into her wounded weary soul that still found in herself a sliver of kindness to spare for others.

"It will be perfect," Sunday promised, covering her hands with his own. "I'll make sure it is."

An eternal paradise of safety and happiness for everyone at the expense of a single sacrifice—such price was barely worth mentioning.

"I believe in you," Sejal laughed and kissed him, and Sunday tightened his hold on her, tippling the essence of this sole last moment like a hopeless drunkard chasing the high.

It wouldn't get any better for him. Not for him.

But it would—for everyone else, and that's all that mattered.

"See you in a dream."

It wouldn't be him there, but if it was important to her, if he was important, Sejal would find him in her paradise. Sunday hoped she would.

"Or not," Sejal smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "For such an occasion I might actually use my waking self to congratulate you when this all ends."

Sunday smiled back, not feeling his lips.

"Don't," he said softly, fingertips ghosting her cheek. "Sleep well. That's all I want for you."

"You're not part of the script," Sunday said slowly.

"Surprise guest appearance."

Sejal stepped out of the shadows and bowed to him, her leathery tail making a graceful curve in the air. She looked the same way she did at Penacony, she acted like nothing had changed since then, even though everything did, and Sunday couldn't just close his eyes and pretend to believe it, because the time for dreams had passed.

He was wide awake now.

And he would stay awake until the time for curtain call comes.

"Why did you wake up..?"

"I never planned on sleeping forever. Penacony was always no more than a dream, bound to end sooner or later."

"Why are you here then? You should've left me in that dream."

"Is that what you want..?"

"…"

Sejal cupped his cheek, and Sunday fought against himself to turn away from her instead of leaning into her touch. His fingers ached, his fists squeezed tightly.

"Please…" He asked her quietly, barely above the whisper, hoping Sejal would understand him without words, when he wasn't sure what he begged for himself.

She did not.

"Please what?" Her hand slid to trace his ear. Sunday had to take a sharp breath of air, backing away from her touch only to feel her fingers catching his wing, palm pressed against his head. "If you want me to leave, you have to say it properly. Because right now…"

Sejal tugged him closer, cradling his stuttering, breaking heart with her hand.

"You don't sound like you want that."

That would be because he did not.

Still, Sunday clasped her wrist in his grasp, pulling her hand away from his chest. Sejal allowed him to do it without any resistance, just as she always did, and somehow that made it harder to let her go. To completely push her away, even though he should've done that.

Because Sunday was certain—if he'd ask her, she'd leave without a fight.

"…What do you want from me?" Sunday said quietly, feeling her pulse through his gloves. "I have nothing of value to give."

Sejal sighed.

"I would've tried to swoop the whole package, but I guess the Slave of Destiny struck you a deal first, so there's not much—if anything—left of your free time, yes?"

"…Why would you want that..?"

She tilted her head and looked at him like that was the most foolish question Sunday could ever ask. Even though it was completely logical.

"I am a wanted criminal with a price that's only going to rise in the future," he reminded her of the obvious.

Sejal frowned, her hand slipping away from his wing.

"You don't think it's the price for your head that I'm after..?"

…When it dawned on him that prior to those words, he never even considered such possibility, Sunday himself was startled. How could he, a man always wary and cautious, one that was used to plan for all outcomes, not think of something so obvious..?

Sejal tensed in his grasp, his silence echoing in palpable hurt in her eyes, and Sunday immediately knew that this was the moment: the crossroads of his destiny where he had to make the best possible choice.

And there was only one both good and ruthless, that was best for Sejal, that was kind, and selfless, and just. That Sunday of the Oak family would not hesitate to make, bearing the minute pain for her cloudless future.

But he was not that person anymore.

"…Will you be satisfied with just my head..?" Sunday asked, watching her, attuned to notice the minute changes: the way her shoulders rounded, her gaze softened, her lips curved. Just one short phrase, and she was back to that familiar languid self, supple and pliant, a person shaped of liquid metal that melted into the touch—and slipped through it with no less ease, no matter how tight you tried to hold them.

"It's been known to happen," Sejal murmured, smiling at him, and when Sunday discerned the underlying meaning, he couldn't help but look away, hiding the lower part of his face under his wings.

"I take it you're here to tease me," he said curtly, glancing at her.

"If that is all I'm allowed to do…"

His fingers trembled around her wrist, and Sunday let go of her, but without delay Sejal's tail roped around his leg, its pointy end slipping under his thigh strap, not pulling him close, but not allowing him to run away either. Not that he planned to, but what insidiousness this was—to use her own body as a leverage, knowing all too well he wouldn't want to hurt her.

"I'm not," Sejal said softly, catching his hand and intertwining their fingers. "But it's the easiest part to do."

"Then what would be the difficult one..?"

He watched her thoughtfully, heart heavy and firm, ready to take a blow Sunday knew he deserved.

For a very long minute Sejal held his gaze before leaning in to hold him.

"…I'm sorry," she said quietly, and this kind of soft punch he never expected took all the air out of his lungs.

"…Why..?"

"…I believe in you. I know you can do it."

Sunday stiffened.

He couldn't possibly forget those words when they were among the last few she said to him at Penacony.

"I'm sorry."

[berryless]

Weekend worth of all at once

Sunday x Original Female Character (Fluff, PG || 970 words || preening, kissing, memories, Stellaron Hunter Sunday AU, a pinch of angst (?))

next part ⤞

Read this work on Archive of Our Own.

"I miss your wings," Sejal would say, and Sunday would stare at the message for long enough to blur the last six letters.

Still, he would write, "Interesting you only mention one part."

And without missing a beat she would answer, "Others adjacent parts are also welcome to visit. If you remember to grab them, I might even kiss you."

"Only if?"

"Hmm. Tough question. Fine. Kissing is still on the table even if only one thing comes."

"You spoil me."

"Someone should."

They never talked about their feelings or their future, that plural, shared between them two 'they' remaining quiet and illusive. As if agreed in silent acquiescence that nothing born out of the dream could last far into waking.

Given that those last years in preparation for Charmony Festival Sunday was spending with his life as it was on a timer, it fit him just fine.

Still, bits and pieces of affection managed to slip through the layer of preterition, and each time he swallowed them hungrily, pecking Sejal's fingers for crumbs until they bled. Whatever she was giving him, couldn't be enough to satiate him, but Sunday never asked for more.

What right did he have for that?

Even if his heart would skip a beat when she would tackle him in the doorway as soon as the door was closed, warm and soft and sweet and kissing his head off until everything before him swayed, and he had to hold onto her, hugging tight, fingers digging into soft hips, leaving imprints.

"That was quite the greeting," Sunday said, hiding his shaken breath in Sejal's cheek as he pulled her closer.

"I think it was appropriate level of excitement to display since I'm getting the full package of real you," she laughed, but Sunday suddenly felt guilty.

Because as real as he could be with her, it was never in full.

She caught his wing between her fingers, ruffling the feathers.

"Oh, someone looks ready to hatch."

Sunday blinked.

"What?"

"You growing new feathers, right? Come on, I'll help you."

He let himself to be led into the room and pinned against the backrest with Sejal straddling his lap.

Only then the words returned.

"That's the reason you mentioned wings?"

"Mmm-hmm… Noticed it last week… Now, don't move, I don't want to hurt you."

Sunday opened his mouth to stop her, but nothing came out. His hands that found perch on Sejal's hips pulled her closer as he leaned his cheek against her head. Her nose almost touched his wing with how close she inspected it. Sunday found it hard to breathe with her smothering him this way, but didn't complain.

He was long used to taking care of himself. Not that it was hard with mirrors around.

Still, he remembered the childhood. Mom's soft touch and Robin's restless pinches—little she was always eager to free him as soon as possible. Sejal felt like neither. She held him close and firm, trapped in her embrace, her touch heavy, but not unkind.

"Heh. All ready."

She pulled away, but Sunday didn't let her, holding the back of her neck as he kissed her. Sejal first froze, but soon melted into his hold, her arms snaking around him, scent of her warm slightly wet skin and clean soap enveloping him like a second hug.

"Is that a display of gratitude, or you trying to change the topic? Because I only checked one."

"I can do that myself," Sunday finally said, his fingers trailing over Sejal's cheek.

"I know. I just want to do it for you."

They came so easy out of her mouth, those words.

Sunday caught them with his own lips, mulling, biting them over, rolling them on his tongue.

Many people were ready to do things for him. He hardly needed asking for volunteers, just assigning things were sufficient enough.

He never asked Sejal, though.

Whatever she was giving him, she was always the one deciding to share, pulling and pushing the line of admission, letting him in step by step.

Into her dreams, her body, her waking self, her touch, her…

Sunday couldn't bring himself to think the last word, even inside his own mind.

It wasn't fair of him to think about it. To want it. To ask for it.

Whatever Sejal was giving him should've been enough.

Except it never was, no matter how wide he opened his mouth.

"Hmm, seems someone's ready to welcome their new feathers," Kafka laughed, lightly ruffling his wing. Sunday flinched, pulling it away to cover his face.

"I can do that myself," he said calmly.

"Suit yourself," the woman smiled, leaning against the table he was sitting at. "But if you want some help, little bird, you know you can ask for it. We don't bite."

"I'll make a point to remember."

"No nervousness before your grand debut?"

"It would hardly be my first time following the predetermined script."

"Hmm. Good attitude. Keep it."

He didn't need instructions to do as such.

After dealing with the feather, Sunday washed his hands from keratin dust and looked in the mirror to determine whether or not he needed changing the suits.

In his pocket laid the phone with two named contacts, opened with draft letters consisting only of ellipses.

Sunday pulled it out to check them both, but didn't write to neither.

Silverwolf could probably restore the history of his communications, but Sunday could never ask for that.

Everything that was left at Penacony belonged to the past, and it was where it should stay.

Still, his finger slid over five pointed letters, pausing on the last one before leaving the app and turning the phone down.

No matter how wide he would open his mouth now, nothing would fall into it, and that was the way he chose for himself.