kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man
"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"
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The defintion of hell is knowing a show is incredibly well-received in its first season, but if people don’t become machines churning out tweets, content, and rewatching 24/7, there’s no likelihood it’ll get a chance to tell its whole story. This shit is madness. Shows in different genres shouldn’t have to pit-battle for dominance. First seasons are MEANT to be baselines establishing worlds and characters, not complete storylines. The idea that this golden age of television has turned into “get it done in one or get out” is revolting.
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CW: Yandere Themes,
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Just a quick thought: Yandere!Sunday who is a galactic pop superstar.
He sees you at one of his concerts during a slower song when he looks up from the piano keys, floating in a sea of faces. Instantly you stand out to him. There's something chimerical in this moment, he thinks.
When he finishes up the set, quickly moving backstage to prepare for the next set, he makes a decision: he has to know more.
You get invited backstage after the concert, truly a dream. He sits on a plush light grey sofa, calmly smiling at you as he does to all his fans, but his golden eyes glitter and swirl with unreadable emotions. You've intrigued him.
Every moment that passes after this meeting seems to topple over like dominoes placed by a steady and swift hand. Invites to secret sessions turn into tickets offered over social media. Slowly, Sunday pulls you into his world, makes you his greatest muse. When the songs on his latest album are picked apart, atom by atom, the analysts surmise that there must be someone. And when Sunday responds to these allegations at a concert with a sly smile and a glint in his eyes, his fanbase erupts, demanding to know more.
But they will know nothing, Sunday thinks as he walks backstage, taking off his mic and his opulent outfit. He returns to his hotel room that evening to see you, safe and sound, your breathtaking eyes still painted in strange shades and hues from when he sung songs meant just for you.
He asks you if you would like to go to Penacony with him to watch him sing in the Charmony Festival, and you reply with bright eyes and a smile on your face.
One day very soon, Sunday will sing a song that will send the entire universe into an eternal dream. But in this moment, your beautiful, foolish mind completely ensnared by his siren-like voice, he feels like he is dreaming.
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