#and begins to uncover many of his secrets

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Stephanie had hit the jackpot. She had been heading back to base to get cleaned up after a fight with Condiment King, grumbling all the while. She stopped on a rooftop after some mayo from her hair had fallen into her face.

Suddenly, there was no mayo. All of the condiments that she was covered with were now on the rooftop around her feet. She didn't even see this kid approach. "Huh?" She said without thinking

"Sorry." The kid, who looked like adoption bait smiled sheepishly as he used the hand that had density shifted the food off of her to rub the back of his neck. "I thought you would like that stuff off of you."

Somehow she convinced him to help her with the aftermath of fighting messy villains in exchange for snacks, but in a move of petty revenge she refused to tell the other bats how she managed to get clean so fast and not smell like mustard for a week after.

This, of course, leads to the whole bat clan attempting to stalk her to figure out her secret.

[dragonagepolls]

Via @vulpixelates: #these results aren't shocking bc everyone thinks of wynne as a grandma but like #when do y'all think she had time to learn how to bake cookies glfkdjdjda

Via @deedeemactir: #everyone not saying Sten is wrong #he fucking LOVES cookies #and he’s so emotionally constipated that his way of showing you that he cares would ABSOLUTELY be making you cookies

[mistywaves98]

So about that Hello Neighbour idea... Guys don't take this too seriously 😭😭

Neighbour! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

¡Hello Neighbour AU!

¡Warnings!: NSFW, Sub! Reader, Implied non/dub con, Some praise, Use of 'Good girl' once!

You were so close, having already pried off the boards with the crowbar. All that was left was to insert the keycard and your hand trembled with anticipation as you held it up, ready to insert. Finally, you'd find out what your creepy neighbour, Scaramouche, was hiding in his basement.

That is, until a hand clamped around your wrist so hard you dropped the keycard in pain. You're whirled around to face him, an irritated but amused look on his face as he yanked you close. "You really can't take a hint, can you? I've told you so many damn times to mind nosy for your own good." His tone is low and mocking, indigo eyes trained on your frightened expression as he brings his face inches away from yours.

"It's about time I teach you a real lesson..."

The room is filled with the sounds of his hips smacking against yours along with your whimpers, creating an erotic symphony that makes Scaramouche's face flush as I meets his ears. His hand is pushing the side of your face against the door of the basement, your cheek rubbing against the wood with each thrust, the action almost mocking your now-failed attempt to uncover your neighbour's secret.

But is this really such a bad outcome? After all, his cock is stretching you out from within so good, filling you to the brim every time he buries himself in your warm, wet heat. Every time his tip nudges that sweet spot inside of you, you swear you're seeing stars as your nails dig into the scratchy surface under your palms.

You can't help but moan out his name as you get closer to release, your walls gripping him like a vice as your eyes roll back. Scaramouche hears the slight pitch in your voice, smirking as he leans in to run his tongue along the shell of your ear,"You sound like a slut, calling out my name like that. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was your plan all along... You're lucky you're such a pretty little thing, I don't normally fuck trespassers on my property..."

You can only choke out pathetic little apologies between gasps and whines, occasionally rolling your hips back to meet his as his free hand holds your waist in a bruising grip. The knot in your stomach is so tight now, just a little more... Suddenly your breath hitches as you feel Scaramouche sink his teeth into your neck. Biting so hard that blood begins to bead against your skin, which he's quick to lap up.

The unexpected action has you arching your back as you come undone, crying out as you practically fall apart under him. He watches in satisfaction as your juices coat his stiff cock, the red tint on his cheeks growing darker. He doesn't slow his pace, helping you ride out your orgasm as he brings both hands to grab your hips, angling them up some more as he sandwiches you between him and the door.

"Good girl, you look so pretty when you cum. But your punishment isn't over, we've only just started..."

[btsbabe7]

Keep Me (In the Shadows)

Word Count: 5.4k

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, impregnation

Synopsis: The walls of Hogwarts contain many secrets of their own, but on a late night, you and Draco Malfoy find yourselves uncovering one of your very own.

“Is it true,” Draco begins, voice ragged and rough around the edges, “that everything in this blasted castle resets at midnight?”

You watch the way the hem of his ebony robe propels on a soft wind over the dusty cobblestone tiles of the corridor. He remains a few strides ahead as he always does, walking quickly, yet aimlessly. He’d once told you it’d been his way of deflecting attention. If his eyes remained straight ahead, naturally he’d be unaware that you’re following his every move or anyone else for that matter.

So, you trail him inconspicuously, keeping your eyes glued to the empty corridor walls, the back of his robe, and his platinum hair with no real destination in your mind either. Your only goal is not getting caught alone with him this late in the night when students are forbidden to be outside of their dorms. If one were to stop you two, say a professor, you’d both lie and say you were returning to your respective areas. Draco’s speed walking would be believable enough.

“I’m sure there may be some logic behind that, but ultimately, I doubt it…”

“And you and Potter? Did that relationship reset at midnight? Better yet, what’s the logic behind that?”

Draco practically spits the words out in spite and you come to a sudden halt as they echo throughout the corridor. His words are far too large for a space so empty, for a space where perked, attentive ears may overhear or eavesdrop. In a corridor where lurking eyes may pry around corners in search of the next day’s gossip, you have to be careful. It’d happened before, not to you and Draco, but other students, and their secret escapades had been aired out to all who dared to listen over the next morning’s pumpkin juice. Yet, Draco cares more about this than the idea of being caught and the risk of detention. You can sense it in the way his shoulders and back stiffen with his walk.

Tossing your left arm over your right, you give the upper portion a soft squeeze while inhaling deeply through your nose. Dust tickles your nostrils and the faint smell of leftovers fill the air. You take in the toastiness of roasted chicken, the garlicky herbs that had been marinated into bite-sized potatoes, the sweet cinnamon sugar coating that had been dusted over pumpkin pasties and handcrafted pies, and the savory aroma of buttered rolls as they all congregate in a single whiff. With a sharp exhale through your mouth, you spew your thoughts.

“And who told you that? Your loyal gang of servants over this morning’s breakfast? Crabbe and Goyle? Zabini perhaps? Is that why you avoided me in Potions today?”

Draco stops mid-step and glances down at the obsidian leather crafting the wholecut Oxford shoes laced at his feet. His inhale is just as sharp as your exhale had been and he spins on the heel so quickly that the violent whip of his robe is enough to take your breath away, even several steps away. His eyes laser in on you and the space between your bodies suddenly feels smaller. Tighter. Suffocating.

His strides are few, long and confident, and you know he’ll land in front of you before you have a chance to finalize your true opening argument. With the click, clack, clicking of his expensive shoes bringing him closer, you whimper.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. I want to know if it’s true. Why they’re saying about you and Potter getting back together, dating again, and when you were planning to tell me. All these nights we’ve been sneaking about the castle together and you didn’t bother mentioning it,” he hisses the words in a rush and sneers at the thought of you with the oh so perfect chosen one while he’s left on the sidelines. “You didn’t tell me you were considering it, considering him again. You didn’t mention it on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower, not in stacks of the Restricted Section, not in your dorm nor mine, and certainly not here, in this blasted corridor. Why not mention it a week ago when y—“

“Don’t finish that sentence, Draco,” you snarl.

His brows pinch at the challenge, but your eyes go wide in alert from the words you know were close to escaping his lips. Lewd and shameful they would have been had they reached the atmosphere. You glance up and down the seemingly void corridor with those same wild, worried eyes. You know how things can be twisted to snare even the brightest and most innocent of witches, but the words that clung to his tongue wouldn’t need to be twisted in order to ruin you both. Your quick search is fruitless and you let out a shaky sigh while rolling your shoulders back.

“I was going to tell you, Draco, that I was considering it… considering him, again.”

“When?” He demands. “Or were you going to wait until my tongue was halfway down your throat? Again.”

“Before, of course! Merlin… What kind of girl do you take me for, Draco?”

“You and I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” Draco retorts and studies you smugly.

His lips seal in a tight line and fire and ice blaze in the depths of his eyes before he spins once more and storms off in a blinding rage. You watch as he strides off prematurely, before hearing you out. He mutters something about how he knew things were too good to be true as he continues down the endless hall. You watch the way his hand clasps the nape of his neck under his long blonde hair and he keeps it there for a good while.

Once you gather your own thoughts, you hurry your strides in an attempt to mirror him, but you struggle to keep up with his head start and longer strides. The perks of being tall, you remind yourself. When you do catch up, he’s almost at the very end of the corridor, a dead end anyways, but you snatch him to a halt by the hood of his robe.

Draco falters and lets out a guttural groan when the sound of a ripping seam cuts through the silence air in response.

“You’ll pay for this, Y/ln!”

You feel prepared now. You’re ready to make your argument, to stand your ground, to explain yourself. You know that you have the right words sorted out and that with Draco cornered, he’ll have to listen.

Until he turns to face you.

His pink lips are pulled into a grimacing tight-lipped frown and an indented line appears down the center of his forehead where his thick brown brows are drawn together. His eyes shift over your features erratically before settling on yours, sharp like a double edged dagger ready to pierce. Two furious, impenetrable walls of frozen silver. Your body frosts over and you shrink where you stand. You struggle to meet his gaze and chew on the inside of your cheek as your mind goes blank.

You can’t think.

You can hardly breathe.

And when Draco opens his mouth, you wonder how you’re still alive when your heartbeat is racing so rapidly that your chest could easily explode.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he seethes.

A violent flame dances behind the walls of ice in his irises as his gaze flickers over the features of your face in frustration. Your lips are reddened and cracked from nibbling at them in nervousness and your nose appears swollen and puffed as if you’re attempting to hold back tears. Draco would usually swallow his pride seeing you in such a state, but he needs answers, so he settles on the wildness behind your dark eyes before continuing.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “When he fucks you, do you think of me?”

Your eyes dart towards his and your cheeks grow unbearably hot. You choke on the words as if you’re the one who dared spout them out. You’ve never experienced Draco this livid. You’d never heard his words become this vulgar, at least not with you, and that makes you all the more nervous. You’d convinced yourself that these nightly escapades meant nothing to him, that you were nothing more than a girl he could use or discard at his own will. He’s Draco Malfoy for heaven’s sake, and he could have any girl he pleased, that had come with the territory of having power and money at your disposal. You’d thought tonight would be the last night when you’d received his owl and that he’d be alright with that fact.

Clearly you’ve never been more wrong in your entire life.

You watch his tongue glide across the smooth plains of his natural pink lips and the fire blazing quietly in the torches overhead reflect a glistening orange on the thin coat of saliva left behind. You fixate on his features, from those shimmering lips up to the bridge of his nose. Your eyes roam up to the very roots of his platinum blonde hair before retracing your gaze and focusing on his eyes once more. They’ve softened a bit, not from the fire in the torches, but from the fire now kindling between you two.

He lets out a scoff as if he’s annoyed by you, as if you’ve been the pain in his arse all along. Before your brain can register the noise that escapes the base of his throat for a second time, he delves into you.

His lips are the first part of his body that comes into contact with yours. They’re warm against yours and so pillowy soft that you can’t bear pulling away. Instead, you bring your arms up to his collarbones and allow your index finger and thumb to mold into the curved base of his long neck. His artery pulse wildly underneath your grasp and your heart warms at the rhythmic expansion. You love the feeling, the palpitating of thick blood quickening through his body, underneath his skin, all livened by your touch.

Draco takes the final step to close your bodies together more comfortably and brings his arms around your waist to mold you into the perfect contours of his slender body.

“I can’t stop,” he mutters against your mouth and drops his lips into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to stop, Y/n.”

He knows this will ruin you. It does every single time. With his lips against your neck and his words growing more desperate, lower and needier with each breath. You know exactly what he’s playing at. And yet, you allow your head to tilt back for more. More. More. And more. You’ll always need more of this, more of him. You rake a hand through the hairs lying against the nape of his neck. They’re course, yet silky in your gentle grasp and you close your eyes to the ceiling with a sweet smile as it drives him deeper into your flesh.

“Draco,” you purr.

He doesn’t bother responding with words. He only deepens the way he’s been working his lips against your flesh before allowing his burning tongue to trace a long column up the full length.

With this, you know exactly what is going to happen tonight and you take no desire in stopping it, not for Harry’s sake nor anyone else’s. In this very moment, it’s just you, Draco, and your desperate need for each other.

Need is a fickle thing and the need had begun long ago, long before your months of sneaking around to be together. It started when you were with Harry and Draco’s icy eyes would meet yours from across the room. Potions, the Great Hall, Herbology. Hell, even during their Quidditch practices. Somehow his eyes had always found yours in every room, and perhaps, some part buried deep inside of you liked it.

Every single glance had you feeling things Harry never made you feel during your three years of dating. It’s made you feel warm and dizzy as if you were going mad. Yet, nothing truly begun when you’d ended things with Harry. It’d been just before Christmas break. Harry planned to return home for its duration, so you had the comfort of knowing he’d be able to mend himself surrounded by those he loved, family and friends, while you stayed behind.

All your friends had called you mad when they discovered your frequent whereabouts—studying with Draco in the courtyards, his frequent smirks gifted across the dining tables during breakfast or dinner, his need to suddenly partner with you in Potions right after the break. You never truly expected them to understand the hungriness of your yearning for each other, that need for constant contact. Something in Draco’s presence had brought you back to a primal state of being, of craving and desire. Something feral melded in the deepest parts of your core and engraved itself in your very bones when his eyes met yours, but you couldn’t tell your friends that. So, instead of going behind Harry’s back, this is the alternative. This is freedom.

Draco takes a single step back and relishes the way you shiver when he releases a cool breath against the wet trail he’d left behind. He watches you slowly unravel from the ribbon of your high while shuffling out of his robe. Your eyes remain glassy and wide, glazed with lust as you work off his tie and snake it around your own neck before moving in to unbutton his shirt. The shiny black buttons are slick against your fingers as you round them out of each hole. One by one they expose a pinch more of his creamy white skin, so smooth and pale and familiar, and your mouth froths at the sight.

Draco manages to remove his belt from the buckle and unbutton his pressed trousers as you work at the buttons. By the time you’ve finished unhooking the last, his pants pool around his ankles with a soft thud. He backs you against an opening and hoists you up on the ledge of one of the many oversized lattice windows lining the corridor wall. Silver moonlight plays in the sharp grayish hues of his irises and you watch it as he focuses on you. He kneels to work your black stockings off and your stomach knots. He’s become quite the expert in doing this, managing to get the black fabric off and having your skirt and panties out of sight within seconds.

Draco smirks, a cocky smile that reflects his satisfaction after they plop onto the floor with a quiet thud. He drapes your legs over his forearms, hooking his arms underneath your knees, and stares into the void between your bodies. Your brows furrow as you study him. You swear you can sense worry creeping over his features. Perhaps the thought of you going behind Harry’s back has him rattled, or perhaps the idea of getting caught, even though you two never have before.

He relaxes his shoulders and lets out a sigh that would’ve gone unnoticed had you not been watching him. But the worry slips away just as quickly as it’d come, and in a few blinks of your eyes, the only evidence remaining is the gentle twinkle in his eyes when they finds yours again.

Murals of silvery grey fall upon you as the pressure between your thighs rings sharp. You need this just as much as he does. There are no games and the foreplay remains the small tiff you two just had as the aching pleasure of him slipping against you engulfs all your senses. You gasp in relief, eyes lowering at the feeling of his stiff sex gathering your sticky arousal. He teases your bottom lip with his tongue and grazes his chill breath over your warmth.

Draco watches you squirm uncomfortably on the stone ledge. He has to admit that this wasn’t the best place for sex and he hates the idea of your bare ass plastered on the dusty, frigid sandstone bricks, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t wait until one of you found a more respectful place to relieve yourselves. He couldn’t be bothered either when he’d led you to the stacks of the Restricted Section for the first time months ago during Christmas break, nor when he’d taken you in his dorm knowing his friend’s would be asleep in the same room. The list goes on, and yet, he needs you just the same now. He would’ve taken you in the Great Hall if he had to, would have risked everything to have lain you out like his own personal spread to devour whole. That’s how crazy you drive him, that’s how mad you make him feel, and he can’t wait another second. Not even when the idea of betraying Potter in such a way lurks heavily in the back of his mind, even after the whispers, the rumors of you two being back together. It’s the ultimate betrayal, but he cannot stop himself. He has no control over this.

Your mouth parts to let out a moan. As it does, Draco places his palm firmly over it, covering those beautiful lips and muting the sound before slithering between your decadent folds. His teeth sink into his bottom lip to rein in his own pleasure. You feel like a tight hug and he almost loses himself in the feeling. So warm, so comforting, so cruelly wet. Aside from the last fact, he’s sure this is what heaven feels like, what home should feel like, and he knows he can’t let this go. He can’t let this feeling of belonging be stripped away if he finally gets a say in it.

Your head rolls back with the first snap of his hips and you mewl softly. It’s only been two days and you’d magically forgotten how delicious and blissful the first taste of his cock is. You’d forgotten the pleasure in feeling his heat and hardness running deep along your walls and pulling your orgasm closer with each motion. He thrusts in again and your back arches. You watch your breaths fog against the exposed glass panes, weaving their own intricate patterns between ebony lattice, and it takes you back to the first time Draco had claimed your innocence.

On Christmas morning, after breakfast, you’d sent your owl from your dorm window with a letter that contained only two lines:

Restricted Section tonight.

Don’t be late, Malfoy.

Since that magical night in the stacks, you’ve never loved anything more. Every week for a month, you’d sought him out. It’d been pathetic, but you were unable to liberate yourself from the yearning of taking him again. Your need wouldn’t subside, even after you’d taken him. He’d turned you into this feral, insane being, and you found yourself chasing that body to body connection and the slow build up of your pleasure around his length endlessly.

Draco’s pants fill your ears with the sweetest melody as he plows into you, leaving no more room for nostalgia. With each violent rut of his hips, neither of you have the time to recover from the ecstasy prickling in your veins. The heat pooling in your core keeps your mind centered and your gaze focused on him.

“Draco...”

You watch him through heavy, lidded eyes, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip in a teasing grin as you watch his hips burst forward. The rhythmic sound of your skin colliding and his low howling heightens your senses. Suddenly, you’re keenly aware of the little ache unraveling like a ribbon in the pit of your belly, but also the bareness of his chest begging to be touched.

You glide your fingertips up the plain of his stomach, taking in the darkened hairs forming around the edges of his navel. You follow the faint trail up to his lanky chest, taking in the slight bit of muscle around his pecks before continuing up and over his shoulders. You curl yourself around him and trace circles over the bone when he falters closer. Beads of sweat form over the span on his forehead and you watch the way it collects like glistening raindrops against his scalp before trickling down streaks of his swaying platinum hair. You fight every instinct in order to spare him of the sensation of your fingers running throughout his hair and massaging into his scalp. He’d shutter in pleasure if you were to so, and right now, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Draco’s fingernails burrow into the flesh of your hips and you howl at the feeling, abandoning all prior thoughts. He thrusts forward. Harder. Deeper… Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. Then, again and again while a series of moans pour from your parted mouth.

“Tell me you won’t miss how good I make you feel?” He murmurs. “Isn’t that why you’re here tonight? Because poor little Potter cannot be bothered with pleasing his own woman? He should be treating you like the chosen one. Doesn’t he know you are?”

You bite into your lip again, but this time it’s to keep your mouth shut. You know there’s no use in telling him the truth, that Harry hadn’t as much as lain a finger on you in this way. Not once in all the three years you’d been together. Though, you know he’s wanted to. Draco is the only one that’s ever had you this way, completely defiled you, talked you down, brought you to your lowest and highest all at once.

Your eyes roll again as Draco steadies out his rhythm to catch his breath.

Surely the portraits will spread word in the morning of how they heard students moaning and followed the sound after seeing you and Draco disappear down an unlined corridor moments before. You’ll have to talk to Harry and admit it. That’s one thing you’re certain of. If you don’t, they’ll call you scandalous and Draco would get it worse. Dumbledore may even have to expel you faster than Professor Snape can chastise Malfoy for his lewd, unacceptable actions, in which his father, Lucius, will truly not want to hear about.

“Shit…” he hisses. His eyes snap shut and his lips tremor with his ragged pants. His nose crinkles and the movement of his hips grow erratic once again. With his grip tightening on your flesh, he lets out a low groan. “I’ve almost forgotten how good you feel. I might blow my load inside of you… teach you a lesson.”

“You will not,” you protest, straight faced and using all your strength to not react to the pleasure radiating throughout your body. “Draco, we can’t.”

“Or what? You’ll curse me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Draco sneers and leans down until his face is hovering above yours. He allows your ankles to rest against his shoulders, knees parallel to the ceiling. He watches the way you fight every instinct of pleasure, how you keep your eyes on his instead of allowing them to sink back, how you hold his triceps when you want nothing more than to have your hands grasping your aching breasts or to have them wrapped tightly around the base of his throat. He chuckles at the fact that you wish to moan, but your duty to privacy holds steady, keeps you quiet and whimpering instead of letting loose. And he watches in amusement as you slowly unravel with every swift and sharp stroke of his hips. As he does, he begins to realize just how much he actually cares about you.

“Tell him you’re mine,” Draco demands. “Tell me and tonight you’ll tell him so I can spend all day showing you how well I treat my personal possessions.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease. “Is that right, Draco?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You let out a sharp giggle and rope him in closer by the back of his neck, so close that you can take in every breath exhaling from his lungs and pull them into your own. You watch the way the iciness in his eyes melts away and glaze over with something more warm and comforting. And your core ripples at the possibility of something more than lust looming between the both of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re this close already,” he complains, truly embarrassed for you by the look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Mmm… I think I am,” you whimper and grasp the lapels of his crinkled button up to yank him a breath closer. “Fill me up, Draco…”

He scoffs.

He is truly embarrassed for you, but you wish he could see himself panting, slicked with sweat, eyes soft, and looking so sexy whilst buried between your thighs. He’s the portrait of pathetic and you know you should make him beg.

“Beg,” you croak and yank him down until his lips are just above yours.

You throat stings, sore and scratchy from attempting to leave it shut as Draco plowed through your slick folds one thrust at a time.

“You’re insane,” he chuckles and glimpses down at your reddened lips.

“Only for you,” you whisper and swallow a moan as you caress the sharpness of his cheeks. “Make me yours, Draco.”

His lips tug into a sharp smile and he presses his lips against yours hard and hungrily. He’s tired of your games. Perhaps he realized that much sooner than tonight and the thought of losing you had become too unbearable for him.

“Fuck,” he huffs into the sticky air between the both of you before reclaiming your lips.

“Love your cock being buried inside of me, Draco.”

You finally moan against him. After all, you aren’t evil enough to keep edging yourself when you’re both this close. He pulls his mouth away, panting heavily as he plants his palms on either side of you and stiffens.

“Are you finished?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means. It only confirms that he’s serious now, serious in showing you exactly how he takes care of what’s his.

He glances down at his hardened length, only the tip remains hidden inside of your depths, and the rest gleams in your sticky, sweet arousal. He wants to taste you, but more than anything, he wants to bury his load deep inside of you. He wants it so deep that it doesn’t dare to trickle out. He doesn’t care about the consequences this close to graduation; he only cares about you filled to the brim with a piece of him, no matter what it is.

He thrusts inside and watches the way you swallow him greedily. Then, repeats the action again and again in a rapid rock of his hips. He senses your falling apart—legs trembling against his body, eyes softening to a roll, your arousal warming to slick wetness, scorching hot with each plunge. He takes pride in his string of thrusts, delivering them in a steady rhythm. Though, he wishes to tear you apart, your freed moans keep him from doing so. They guide him and keep him steady like music in his ears.

He grasps your chin and pulls your lazy gaze back to him.

“Keep your eyes right here, darling,” he demands sternly. “I want to see the way they roll when you release.”

With clenched teeth, you attempt to snatch your chin back, but he keeps his grip firm and your maneuver hardly wavers as he picks up speed with a groan and chuckle.

“You thought I’d let you dominate me?” He teases, his chuckle cutting through your moans. “I almost had you convinced. But don’t forget, my love, I’m always in control. No one tells me what to do.”

You whimper as he presses a thumb into your mouth to pacify you before ripping through your depths. His thrusts grow quicker with each second and you have no time to recoup from the pleasure prickling through your veins and pulsating in every corner of your being like liquid fire. Just as your eyes begin to roll, Draco snatches your jaw, showing just how much in control he truly is.

“I wish Potter could see how well you take me,” he pants cockily. “Just imagine if he knew the way I fit inside of you. So perfectly, if I do say so myself. You should see the way your cunt grips around my cock. You should see how wet you are for me. I dare you.”

You hum against his thumb and the vibration ricochets through you in a deep wave as you dare to glimpse between your thighs. You catch sight of his cock, a pulsing red with a vein so thick that it looks as though it hurts, and your arousal coating the surface in a glistening sweetness. Draco watches with you and your head spins.

“It’s been two days since I’ve felt you tightening around me. I can’t wait to feel it again.”

You keep your lips clasped tightly around his thumb. Your mind can hardly think of a quip, let alone find any words to overpower him. You don’t want to. You focus on the way his cock feels slipping in and out of your depths at different lengths, growing unsteady with each sway of his hips. You focus on his silver eyes staring into yours and his mocking grin as you finally come to terms with the fact that you are his. You’ve always been his. He’s just known it much longer than you have.

A bead of sweat drips from the tip of his swapping bangs and plops against your bare stomach. Draco chuckles and slicks his damp hair back with one hand while using his thumb on the other to massage the moisture into your skin. He presses in with a bit more pressure in attempt to feel himself plunging in and out of you. He keeps his thumb pressed firmly against you and steadies himself until he feels the motion underneath it. In and out. In and out, bulging at the center of your tightening core.

“Perhaps one day you’ll write about how well you take me,” he purrs. “And we’ll fill our library with books on our lovemaking.”

“I’m sure such books already exist,” you gasp, recalling all the steamy muggle romances you’d read over the summer.

“Then you’ll read one to me one of these days. Share your findings?”

“I’d rather show you,” you whisper.

He smiles, almost faltering before regaining his composure and finding your hips again.

“Draco?”

“Mhm?”

“Tell me I’m your favorite,” you mutter and buck up against him.

He stops suddenly and his nails dig deep into your pillowy flesh. You feel his cock twitch deep inside of you and you smirk when his eyes land on yours again.

“Being sneaky are we?” He muses and rams into you.

His palm finds your mouth again just before a bloodcurdling moan slips out.

He does it again with a teasing smile.

Then again.

And again.

And again until you’re whimpering and trembling around him. You reach for his forearm, but he denies it and presses into you harder.

Your eyes roll and you grasp the ledge underneath yourself, but it’s too hard. You go for his wrist, the same one allowing his hand to keep you almost silenced. You shiver around him and your thighs go limp against his thrusts. It’s not long after that his pants turn into a sharp hiss and a new heat overwhelms you.

Draco falters on top of you and stares straight into your eyes as he fills you up to the brim with his warm seed. You search his eyes for any form of deceit, but you find none. There never has been, not when it came to you and him.

His hand slowly retreats and you let out a loud inhale, taking in the dusty air of the corridor before slinging your arms around his neck and rushing your lips against his. He tastes of tart apples, salty sweat, and the sticky strawberry taste of your lipgloss. You never knew you needed to taste such a combination, but if it came from him, you’d take it. You’d take it all.

“Y/n,” he mumbles.

“Yes, Draco?”

His eyes focus on yours as if the stars he’d once seen dancing around your face are slowly subsiding and the cloudiness of lust and desire fading.

“You truly are my favorite,” he breathes and runs a hand through your curls before peppering your lips with kisses. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

And somewhere deep in your gut, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you hear those words, especially since you’d forgotten to confirm cc that it had only been a rumor going around the school, mere whispers. Someone had lied about you dating Harry again, but you don’t mind when the result of it brought Draco crawling back to you.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

[suuuupernovaaa]

Relief ft Benjicot Blackwood

Benjicot is to be married off, and you don’t believe it is to you.

Tags: fluff, arranged marriage, lots of fluff, not proofread

The grease from the bird coats your fingers as you pick at your food, pushing it around the plate but not eating.

“Y/N!” your sister hisses, chiding you for the mess you’re making, and you cannot offer her anything in response but a childish eye roll.

“Stop that,” she whispers. “You blame me, but this is not my doing.”

Though she’s right, you fear you will hate your only sister until your final breath rattles in your chest.

It is you who has loved Benjicot Blackwood since you were practically babes.

You who has spent your years teasing him, learning him, meeting him in secret as - even though you still kept your maidenhead - the two of you spending time alone was improper.

It is you who knows every freckle on his face, has the brown of eyes his memorized so that you see it when you close yours, and can smell his scent in the wind on cold days.

Yet you know, by the end of this night, your sister will be betrothed to him. Not you.

Everyone whispers of it. A union between your great houses. A lord and lady to wed. Your sister is older and must marry first, and Benjicot is heir to the stewardship of these lands, and so it will be the two of them united.

Wiping your hands on a napkin, you rise and excuse yourself. Your parents sit even now with Ben’s parents, bartering the union, and soon it will be announced. You exit the hall and find yourself outside, the chill in the air raising bumps on your uncovered arms. The guards in the courtyard glance at you, and then away.

No one stops you as you cross the muddy courtyard and through the open gate under the quickly setting sun. Just ten minutes, you tell yourself. Ten minutes to gather your composure, and then you can return.

Ten grows to twenty, and thirty, and the chill is bone deep before you return to the fort. Unable to bring yourself back to the banquet all, no matter how you will be chastised for it later, you make way for the guest quarters, aiming to cry yourself to sleep.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice hollers as you begin to round the bend in the stairs. You stop, and turn to see Benjicot charging up after you, breathless. “I have been searching everywhere! Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out,” you reply.

“Out? You left in the middle of dinner.”

You shrug. “Why does it matter? I am sure no one else noticed.”

You try not to be touched by the fact that he did. After all, he won’t be yours much longer. The thought grips your chest, spreading like black ink out to your limbs, and you feel exhausted by it. You just want to lay down away from everyone and forget even your own name.

A smile spreads across Benjicot’s face, a familiar, cunning smile that sends chills down the spines of his enemies, and up yours.

“Everyone noticed you left. How can they announce my betrothal, if my betrothed is missing?”

The words don’t quite make sense in your mind when you first hear them. “Missing?”

You ask. “My father made to announce that we are to wed, and a panic ensued when you were found not present.”

“You and I, to be wed?”

He simply nods.

“But, my sister?”

“I spoke plainly with my father, and yours. Your sister has many prospects for her hand, and we will wait until she is married to proceed with our ceremony, but I would have none but you.”

Your heart, heavy almost moments ago, flutters in your chest.

“We are to wed?” you ask again, and Benjicot cannot help but laugh. Instead of answering, he wraps a strong hand around the back of your neck and pulls your mouth firmly to his.

“You are to be mine, as you always have been,” he whispers against your lips, and you fall into him, a sob of relief escaping you.

“Hush now,” he chides as he places kisses all over your face, still cold from the outside chill. “No tears in the face of good news, my beloved.”

You throw your arms around his waist, and he holds you tight to him, tucking you into his warm chest.

“They are happy tears,” you manage to say into his coat, and he laughs again, the sound more beautiful than any you’ve heard before.

“I am hurt that you thought I would let you go so easily, my dove. Come. Dry your face, and we will go show them all how happy we are.”

And indeed, you do. There are huge for everyone. Your father and mother, your sister with tears of relief in her eyes, and your future family as well.

Benjicot steals you away once the congratulations have ended, to join the dancing. You feel lighter than air as he spins you around and dips you down low, whispering kind words and dirty promises your ears all the whole.

When the night is ended and you must part, he kisses you again. “Sleep well, wife,” he whispers, and you blush.

Sleep does come, eventually, and your dreams are filled with your betrothed.

[polydeuces]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; You linger in Dexter Morgan’s shadows, close enough to feel the darkness he hides so well. You know his secrets, his rituals, the thrill he keeps hidden from the world. Silently, you wait for that perfect moment to step into his path—so he can finally see that he’s been hunted all along.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (688words) mentions of cults, stalking, potential violence, intrusive thoughts, and elements of psychological tension.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He was supposed to be the predator.

You’d watched him for a year now, the man who walked through the world with an all too familiar blend of invisibility and quiet command. Dexter Morgan, a blood–spatter analyst by day and something far more dangerous by night. But those were his surface-level disguises. You’d begun to peel back the layers, unraveling the nuances of a man who navigated life in the shadows, just as you have for so many years now.

It started innocently enough—fleeting moments when you’d caught sight of him on the crowded Miami streets, merging into the sea of faces like he belonged there. But you knew better. You knew what it was to wear masks, to walk amoung people undetected, unseen and unnoticed. There was something about him, the way he looked at the world, made him all the more intriguing.

So you watched. Carefully, hidden, with a patience you’d honed over years of practice, you observed him as he slipped out of his office at night, slightly tense in his gaze, focused, distant, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Often times, you’d follow him to the places he frequented; his home, abandoned warehouses, places where the thin line between light and darkness blurred. You learned his routines, the way he’d pull his signature black gloves onto his hands, the way his eyes would sweep across the streets with a meticulous attention to detail before stepping into his own hidden rituals.

It fascinated you.. his dance, this performance between worlds. His life was a careful balance of precision and secrecy. And then there were his victims. You’d seen him work, watched from the edges as he sized up those he deemed worthy enough. You hadn’t intervened— after all, it wasn’t about them. It was about him. You needed to understand his purpose, what drove him and what rulebook or code tethered him to this life.

You began to study his life beyond the night as well, picking up pieces of Dexter Morgan, the man, the father, the blood-spatter analyst, the widower, the mask. You’d slip into his world unnoticed, lingering at places he went during the day; you listened to his colleagues, his sister and the casual comments that painted a picture of someone, friendly, yet distant, the “nice guy” who kept to himself.

You learned his patterns, his preferences, even the small, old habits he indulged in when he thought no one was watching. You uncovered the Dexter he showed to the world, the façade that kept his true nature hidden.

But you could see it—the subtle tension in his jaw, the guarded look in his eyes that surfaced when someone got too close, the small tells of a hidden life. The knowledge inside you—the kind of intimacy that was both exhilarating and forbidden—you knew him in a way no one else did, knew him not by the lies he told, but by the silence he kept.

So, you kept waiting, biding your time. You wanted him to know that he been seen, that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. You wanted him to understand that he was no longer the only one who lived by a code of shadows. You watched him for countless nights—slipping in and out of his world like a phantom, leaving a sense of unease that you knew would begin to gnaw at him.

Until finally, one night, you decided it was time.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

note; i have a taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show.

[reality-detective]

This 👇 was on a Julian Assange channel I follow.

BOMBSHELL! Kamala Harris on the Run! White Hats Track Her Every Move as Trump’s Return Signals the Fall of Deep State Puppets – GITMO Awaits!

Kamala Harris, once the Deep State’s rising star, is now running for cover. After Trump’s 2024 victory, her world turned upside down. The tables have turned, and Kamala is the hunted.

The White Hats are closing in, determined to bring her to justice. Her role as a puppet for elite manipulation is over, and she’s on a one-way path to GITMO. Every hidden action, every deal she struck in secret, has now come to light. She’s no longer a vice president; she’s a fugitive running from the truth.

Kamala’s True Role Exposed

For years, Kamala’s rise was orchestrated to serve the Deep State’s agenda. Her carefully crafted image was nothing more than a mask for elite interests. Behind the public’s view, she was maintaining the Deep State’s grip. But the 2024 election changed everything. With Trump’s win, the patriots gained the power to bring truth to light.

Kamala’s allies and covert connections are now unraveling, and the White Hats are relentless, exposing her network. Her connections to the CIA, FBI, and other shadowy agencies have turned into her greatest liabilities.

Nowhere Left to Run

Kamala’s escape routes are gone, and her elite handlers can’t protect her. The White Hats track her every move. This isn’t just about an election—it’s a strategic takedown of one of the Deep State’s most embedded operatives. And the destination is set: GITMO. She isn’t just another official—she’s a symbol of betrayal, a puppet of globalist interests now facing real justice.

GITMO Awaits: The End of Kamala’s Reign

The facility at GITMO, a site for traitors to the nation, is ready. Kamala’s undermining of democracy and her ties to globalist operatives are being exposed. This isn’t just punishment; it’s about reclaiming America’s integrity. Patriots have uncovered her schemes, her role in destabilizing elections, and her betrayal of the people.

Trump’s Direct Orders

With Trump’s return, the military is acting with purpose. His orders to bring Kamala to justice are not about vengeance—they’re about dismantling every figurehead of the Deep State. Trump’s military allies are ready to see this mission through. Many who once protected her are now cooperating with the White Hats, understanding the stakes.

Kamala’s Fall Sends a Message

Her capture isn’t just personal; it’s a warning to every elite operative who thought they could manipulate the system. The White Hats won’t stop until every corrupt figure has faced justice. Kamala’s downfall is proof that Trump’s America won’t tolerate treason. Patriots everywhere are seeing the truth unfold.

Justice for the People

Kamala’s arrival at GITMO is more than symbolic—it’s the restoration of justice. She represented a corrupt system, but now patriots are reclaiming their nation. Her day of reckoning is near, and the people are watching. This is only the beginning; Trump and the White Hats are dismantling the Deep State piece by piece. In Trump’s America, betrayal will not go unpunished. 🤔

- Julian Assange

[bookwyrminspiration]

Unraveled: B&N Virtual Event Summary

There are no unraveled spoilers; since we're re-covering a period of time we've already seen, there are references to specific events in Stellarlune

Shannon Messenger was accompanied by B.B. Alston, author of Amari and the Night Brothers, who asked the questions

Enjoy! (Quil note: this might be one of the best ones, lads 👀)

Shannon has pre-release jitters. Even though she's done this so many times, she'll never not be nervous

It's a different book with a different POV. She's just as excited as she is panicked. "I contain multitudes!"

Why is this 9.5 instead of 10? Why a Keefe book? Is this part of a bigger story or just a fun bonus? It's a little of both. Keefe fans are gonna love a whole book about him, but Shannon never would have taken attention away from the main story if it wasn't essential for the series, since everyone's anxious for book 10.

Be patient! She's never written a 10 book series before. She's "trying to build a bridge while crossing it."

Keefe wasn't just eating human food having fun, though Shannon would've written 800 pages of snacking if she could.

What he got up to Shannon planned/outlined that it would all come out in book 9 when he was back, but, "No, Keefe is not ready to share these secrets. There's reasons why he's gonna keep this hidden."

"That's a problem for future Shannon!"

But then everything future Shannon tried with book 10 didn't quite work. This is Keefe's story, and KOTLC is limited to Sophie.

In order for Sophie to know, Keefe would have to sit down and talk it out with everyone, and he wasn't quite ready to do that when Shannon needed him to.

So, special 9.5! So we can live that time with Keefe, see what he does, where he goes, who he meets, what he uncovers.

This way readers will be much more familiar with it when we get to all that in book 10--for the first time ever, readers will actually know more than Sophie!

Shannon confirms we're getting Keefe's middle name--she debated with herself, thought about keeping that secret forever, but she wants there to be big pay-offs in Unraveled. And what book could be more perfect for this?

Was it hard to write from Keefe's POV? Usually his voice comes super easily, so Shannon was expecting it to be word-vomit. But throughout the book and especially at the beginning, he's not himself. Everything he's been through has changed him, made him afraid of himself, more quiet and reserved. How does she balance making this interesting when her jokester character won't talk!

It was interesting diving into his head to see where he's at and why he's acting different. And it was interesting flipping it--Sophie's a fish out of water in the Lost Cities, but this time Keefe's the fish!

She had to keep reminding herself all this stuff familiar to her is new to him. "Flaming Hot Cheetos??? Is that food...????"

How has Keefe changed the most since book 1? In some ways he's lost his confidence. He's discovered a lot that's made him question if he's good, if he's causing problems, if he's putting people at risk. In his head he's not nearly as much the casual, lighthearted guy he seems.

He's also matured. He really had to step up and say, "Okay, it's time to take action. I can't just goof around. I've got the fate of the world on my shoulders in some way too." He's also trying to protect his friends and feels very personally responsible. His burden is a lot heavier than it used to be.

What's his favorite part of the human world? He definitely enjoys the human pop culture. Seeing how humans depict elves, certain (not all) human foods.

Lot of fun for Shannon as a snacker, but he's vegetarian, which makes it harder. He can't have fried chicken--but not every scene is about food.

Any places Shannon knew she had to send Keefe? She prefers to write places she's been if possible; in fantasy, if you can get the real accurate, it makes the fantastical that much more believable. So she started with places she's been, but she hasn't been nearly enough to cover all this. So she included places she'd like to, places she knows other people have been so she can get details from them.

(itty bitty seriously small spoiler from Shannon) Keefe starts looking for libraries, so Shannon googled cool libraries and went down that rabbit hole.

Keefe's been crushing on Sophie since the moment they met. What's does he like the most about her? (Lot of hearts in chat). "Keefe appreciates that Sophie is such a different perspective. He really sees that she doesn’t necessarily see herself accurately, but he understands her. He can see why she’s harder on herself with her upbringing, the bad thoughts she heard. He realized she doesn’t always understand herself."

He’s also really impressed by how brave and strong she is, and how she’s willing to risk her life and do the thing when everyone's like Sophie don't do the thing! And she’s like I must do the thing! Keefe thinks, “Wow can’t stop her from doing the thing!" It'd be great if she stopped ending up in the healing center, but he appreciates her for doing it despite the consequences. Admires her for it. He really wants to be worthy of how amazing he thinks she is. (More hearts in chat)

Can we confirm Keefe's POV of the kiss? Yes! Shannon almost wasn't able to do it. Unraveled was supposed to release November 12, but then her kids, "caught every possible virus they could possibly catch." Plus, publishing takes time, so they had to move it back. Those extra days allowed her to squeeze in the bonus story and she had a lot of fun writing it.

She knew she couldn't continue the book past when he leaves the human world, but she knew readers would really want it. She understands if you skip to the end to read it first--and there shouldn't be too many spoilers if you do, but she still recommends going from the beginning.

Why did it take Sophie and Keefe so long to get to the kiss? Did you know it would be in Stellarlune or did it happen naturally? Shannon tries not to pre-plan emotional things because it makes it feel forces. As the author she's in charge of the plot, not the emotions. Every time Sophie almost dies, that's her, but how Sophie feels about almost dying is all Sophie.

So anything emotional like this, Shannon's checking in with Sophie, and, "She really wasn't ready to see this was an option for her--she really was in the Great Foster Oblivion. She had no idea that Keefe liked her, and she wasn't the type to start developing feelings without having that piece of the puzzle. She genuinely thought Keefe was just teasing and was a flirt with everything. She didn't think it was something to take seriously."

She also had her eye on someone else for quite some time, so the story had to wait until Sophie was ready to take that step. Shannon discussed it with her editor a lot

Every week they have a zoom meeting to talk through the plot. They thought Stellarlune was probably the book for the kiss, but Shannon didn't know for sure until she got to that chapter. She's very proud of Sophie for being brave enough to take that step and bring the walls down.

The fact it took so long and tortured readers wasn't on purpose--"Torturing my readers is fun, but I wouldn't do it unnecessarily!"

It was interesting going back to write the kiss from Keefe's POV. She was worried as she did that though Sophie was ready for it now, what if Keefe wasn't? But, "then it was like oh, no, nope he’s on the same page." Keefe was screaming "FINALLY!!!" in his head.

How different is KOTLC now from how you first imagined it? The problem they're dealing with is fundamentally built into their world--it's not just an evil villain who decided to take over. "Multiple rebellions are going on because there are some fundamental injustices that have been ignored and ignored and ignored. And two groups have said enough is enough."

She always knew they'd have to reckon with this--in some ways they have, but there's more to come. But she also always leaves room for ideas to grow. Her first ideas aren't her best; they're too obvious. Now she's had a lot of time to think Keeper through.

Even still, she worries about doing it justice and, even with a plan, never knows for sure what will happen until she sits down to write it.

Shannon returned the question to B.B. He said the same thing--at a certain point as the story grows, you can really do so many more things, you have so many more villains. It builts the characters and relationships.

Shannon takes a moment to recommend B.B.'s series, Amari and the Night Brothers. She can't sing it's praise enough. "After you race through Unraveled, race through this!" There are 3 books out with 2 more to come. Maybe more.

10 books is a lot--how does Shannon do it? This is part of why she has those weekly zoom chats. But she's constantly going back to look things up, making lists of unanswered questions, listening to the audiobooks. It's all daunting. "It's all chaotic. Wonderful, glorious chaos. That's what I'm telling myself."

Readers are anxious to get back to Keefe and Fitz. How awkward would a conversation be now? Oh yeah. They've had to be around each other since all of that, but that haven't had to openly acknowledge it. But Shannon can feel the scene on the horizon and can't avoid it forever--though Keefe would love to. "Peace out!" Given Fitz's temper, Shannon fully expects there to be yelling, but sometimes he surprised her. We'll see once she gets there.

When Shannon gets too specific in outline, it sucks the life out of her story. She needs to know the rough order of the plot--this threat, then this thing, this this reveal. But the little emotional beats are more up to the characters. Talks this through with her editor too.

Can you tell us anything about book 10? Would love to be like it exists and it's coming out tomorrow! Sadly, still writing it and doesn't know the exact release date. She promises she'll get it to us as soon as she can. Obviously we left Stellarlune on a huge cliffhanger and Unraveled answers some questions but doesn't deal with it at all.

"Keefe's secrets...secrets do have a way of coming out." He can't hide them forever and it'll take something big to motivate him to come clean. "Wow, that's the most non-answer. I swear answers are coming!"

Is there any news on the movie? Earlier this year they announced Warner Brothers got the rights and Emma Watts is the producer. Currently Emma is working hard to get everything behind the scenes in a row to give the movie the best possible chance it has to get greenlit and made since it'll be so expensive.

Shannon thinks this team is one of their best shots at it happening. There's still a bit of finger crossing, but it anyone can make it work, it's Emma Watts.

Shannon is NOT writing the screen play. She's got book 10 to write, plus she doesn't think she can be objective about the changes that'd need to be made to adapt it. She's too attached. She wants to give input and suggestions, but wants something with more screenwriting expertise and distance from the story.

B.B. doesn't want to write his screenplay either--it's a totally different skill.

What's your best advice for new writers? Ooh, okay. 9 times out of 10 when a young writers asks for advice, Shannon asks "Have you written your book yet?" And the answer is no. They're just thinking about writing a book. So her advice: focus on writing! Finish that book! You can't be a writer unless you write! Then revise and revise and revise. "The work is not done when you get to the end."

When you have the best book you could possibly have, then think about next steps and publishing. But for now...write!

Shannon returned the question to B.B., who says to read widely. Read as much as you can to build up your story skills. Find what you like. As KOTLC readers, we've seen in the story how to develop characters and plots and arcs.

He also says don't put pressure on yourself. Write for the fun of writing, so even if it never goes anywhere, you still have something you're proud of.

"Once it's a job it's a job. It's different."

Shannon doesn't find books on writing helpful for her; they're procrastination. Instead she reads and asks herself what's working and why--why am I enjoying this so much?

She learned the most from books she didn't like. She asked herself why she wasn't into it--which doesn't mean there was anything wrong with it. It was personal preference, which helped her find her writing voice. She likes a lot of dialogue, a lot of humor, cliffhangers, etc.

School may ask you to read things you don't like; as a writer, take it as an opportunity to pick it apart and find out why.

How do you come up with character names? Baby name books. By the time she had to name her own kids, she was already an expert. She likes names to match the character.

Sophie was going to be named Alexandra because it means helped and defender of mankind, but it was too on the nose. She wasn't an Alex, or Alexis, or even an Alexandra

Sophie means wisdom, which is what she gives to her world. "No pressure, right?"

Fitz is from Fitzroy, which means son of the king, and his family is almost like royalty.

"Keefe means handsome. *shrugs* So. Obvious there." The book she got it from said "good-looking one" specifically.

It's the same for B.B. He likes to look at the year the character was born and what was popular, too. Amari means inner strength, and a big part of her story is learning she's more than where she's from and to believe in herself

How does it feel to write from a new POV? Would we maybe get a Fitz book? Shannon's learned to never say never. The story could throw her another curve ball, she might do a short story in his POV. If the story dictates she needs to step into anyone else's shoes, she will. "I've gotten this far by trusting the story."

Who was Shannon's favorite author/book when she was 12? Shannon grew up before the big children's media boom, she she didn't have a lot of options. She did like the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

"You have no idea how lucky you are there's so many great stories out there. Different POVs, more characters that look like more people--though still need more work on that front."

For B.B., he was a huge fan of Charlie and the Chocolate factory--but he also didn't have much to pick from.

When Shannon was around 12, she also fell out of love with reading. She had a 7th grade teacher who was very strict about reading "at your level." And she decided Shannon was at college level, so kept giving her older books like Crime and Punishment, Little Women, etc.

While Shannon appreciates the classics, they weren't what she wanted to read, and it turned it into a chore. She went from a kid who took stacks home from the library to someone who only read if it was an assignment. (Shocked faces in chat).

Shannon firmly believes in letting your kids read what they want. That doesn't mean don't encourage them to broaden their horizons, but don't take away things they love. That's how you kill someone's love of reading.

B.B. gives props to Shannon for the female main character; it's one of the reasons Amari can exists--"well Shannon did it and it worked."

Shannon's very glad Amari exists. Keeper got a lot of rejections with coded wording that made it very clear female main characters were not as marketable as boy heroes. And she wasn't an instant success--it took about 5 books to gain momentum, and a lot of that was teachers, librarians, book sellers, and the kids themselves telling their friends to read it.

Any info on the graphic novel? Part 2 is definitely coming and in the works, it just takes time. She's seen some tentative cover sketches, might see more soon, and is very excited.

Team Fitz or Team Keefe? Even though Shannon's written a whole book from Keefe's POV *she holds it up backwards, then upside down, then gets it right* and has a Keefe cutout in the corner *moves the camera so we can see him--he was gonna be in the background but it looked creepy*, she truly is Team Sophie. If she ever got a tattoo, it's say Team Sophie. But she's terrified of needles so never will.

People think they kissed so it's settled, right? "Well, the series isn't done yet. Sophie could change her mind." This goes back to what Shannon talked about with letting the characters dictate the emotions.

What first inspired Keeper? A lot of things. Hilariously, it started as a short story. Epic fail--she's what, 8,000 pages into her short story? She was working on a different book and got stuck, so decided to get to know a side character.

The side character she chose was Fitz. For some reason, she doesn't know why, the plot was he'd meet a little girl and realize she was an elf.

But "Guess what, you're an elf!" was a terrible ending and she couldn't stop thinking about it. What happened to that little girl? How could she not know she was an elf? Why would they hide her?

A few weeks later she knew "yeah, I gotta switch books." She couldn't get it out of her head, but it was daunting because she knew it would be a massive project. But that little girl would not go away.

What was the inspiration for Amari? Doing pre-med stuff is long and boring, so he was looking for something fun. He thought about Men in Black and what if there were supernatural creatures living amongst us. He was working on the world and one day Amari popped into existence.

Has Shannon ever made the Keeper recipes and what's her family's favorite? Shannon actually developed the recipes herself, which wasn't something she ever thought she'd have to do. It took a lot of baking fails, but her favorite is anything mallowmelt--but she always warns people it's SO sweet. Good, but a few bites is enough sugar for a week.

Planning any non-Keeper series? Shannon doesn't know what she'll do once she's done with KOTLC. She'll definitely keep writing because she loves telling stories, but she's so immersed in Keeper all her other ideas are on the back burner.

B.B. thanks Shannon for being so inspirational with her work and how she interacts with her fans--he learned a lot from her. Shannon says B.B.'s always one of the top people she loves to do events with.

Once again, she is begging everyone to read Amari and the Night Brothers. "Please, please, please read them! Oh and I guess read Unraveled too. *accidentally holds it upside down again*"

��Tomorrow it's out in the world. Thank you for your faith in me and I can't wait for you to learn all of Keefe's secrets. It's gonna be an adventure.”

[wiz-writes]

In Out of the Yinshan, you play as a spy sent to infiltrate a well-known Manor in order to recover a legendary sword.

Yet the mission turns out to be more than you bargained for as you find yourself walking on thin ice and questioning your loyalties, all the while an invisible hand keeps pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

Genre: wuxia, romance, mystery

Rating: 15 for some dark themes

Last update: 9 May 2024

Play as a man or woman.

Customise your appearance and shape your new persona.

Train and improve your skills to reach new heights of power.

Build friendships or start a romance with one of four characters.

Navigate your new life as a guard of a noble, explore the Manor and uncover its secrets.

Be mindful of both your words and actions to avoid suspicion and keep your head a little longer.

Let yourself be swayed by a desire for freedom; or remain steadfast and loyal to those who made you.

You are one of the Yinshan Society - a tool sharpened to perfection to be then used by your Elders as they see fit.

Your life is not your own, that much you know. However, that changes nothing about where your loyalties lie. For you, Yinshan has always been a light in the darkness.

So when your new mission brings you to the famous Hua Manor in search of a legendary sword, you take on the challenge of becoming someone else - someone you never had the chance to be.

You quickly adapt to the Manor's ways, training and fulfilling your duties while keeping a low profile as you begin your investigation. But the mysterious incidents that follow your arrival have everyone, including you, on edge.

Your past has taught you not to trust anyone, yet the more time you spend in the Manor and get to know its residents, the more your conviction starts to waver.

Is Yinshan truly all that your life amounts to?

DEMO

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THE PRODIGY

Su Feixia (F)

The only child of the Su family, Su Feixia is considered to be both smart and beautiful. She excels in literature and music, and she has more than proven to be capable of taking over her parents' business. Yet despite her privileged upbringing, she continues to be humble and kind.

You are her guard, accompanying the young lady to the Hua Manor.

THE GUARDIAN

Wei Qing (M)

One of the residents of the Manor, Wei Qing is a high-ranking guard that has lived there for a few years, steadily climbing the ranks through training and hard work. He puts his duty above all else, which has earned him respect, as well as a rather fearsome reputation.

He is your superior in the Manor, overseeing your training.

THE HEIRESS

Hua Lingyun (F)

The oldest of three children of the Hua family and their only daughter, Hua Lingyun spends most of her days training with weaponry and running from her responsibilities. She is to become the head of the family, which is something she's having trouble coming to terms with as she enjoys having her freedom.

She takes care of the Manor guests this year, in place of her sick father.

THE TEACHER

Xu Yuan (M)

A bit of an enigma for most of the people living in the Manor, Xu Yuan is a master swordsman of few words. Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he's been staying in the Manor for a while and that he appears to be a good friend of Master Hua. However, his cold and distant personality manages to keep his many admirers at arm's length.

He is in charge of your weapon training.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Orla's Non-Bat Comic Recs.

Hello folks, in light of the 'all published comics are BAD' wave that has been swept everywhere recently I would like to share a collection of comics that are good actually and are generally isolated (you don't need a spreadsheet to read them).

1.) Impulse (1995)

Why: This is about a neurodiverse coded teenage refugee from the future who cannot live with his blood family in the 20th century due to circumstances that are beyond his control. It is about learning to adapt to a world that doesn't make sense, and learning to love it too. As time goes on Bart learns how to love and he discovers who he is and what is important to him really. All the while some of the most chaotic things happen that you may ever see in a comic (Bart tricks the whole school into getting into a brawl and drives a car off a cliff). Primary themes: Found family (for real), loss, immigration coding, neurodiversity, foster homes, friendship, self discovery, school. Trigger warnings: child abuse, ableism, ptsd, gangs and gun violence (a shocking amount) mental illness. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. Reckless Youth - collects Bart's first appearances from The Flash plus issues #1-#6 in Impulse. Flash/Impulse: Runs in the Family - collects Impulse #1-#12 plus supplementary issues from The Flash. Mercury Falling - Collects the entire Mercury Falling arc.

2.) Jack Kirby's New Gods (1971)

Why: This is the epic that started it all with Darkseid as he scours the earth in search of the Anti-Life Equation. It is about many deep layers of history involving the New Gods, the divide between New Genesis and Apokolips. In desperation to stop an endless war Darkseid and Highfather of New Genesis agree to a pact - to trade sons and in return a long period of truce and a ceasefire would pass between worlds. Highfather agreed, trading his son for Darkseid's whom he raised with love on New Genesis. Orion, years later, is a god of war and he fights for New Genesis and he fights for Earth, undogged he persists in vanquishing Darkseid's evil wherever it dwells. But Orion has a secret, and deep shame, for he experiences anger and wrath like no other on New Genesis but there is deep compassion and love that tempers it. As Orion fights for Earth he uncovers many secrets about himself, and at his side is his 'friend' Lightray who knows the darkness in him but never turns away. Primary themes: war, anger, ptsd, secrets, space opera, family, anti-war, malice, self discovery Trigger warnings: ptsd, this was written in the 70s but was pretty liberal for its time, still has some awkward moments that are slightly sexist and racist (mostly with names of black characters Vykin the Black and Black Racer which some people are uncomfortable with). Available in Trade Paperback: Complete. 1 book. Jack Kirby's New Gods - Collects all issues of Jack's 1971 series plus Even Gods Must Die and The Hunger Dogs. NOTE: Jack Kirby's entire Fourth World epic with Mr. Miracle and The Forever People is also highly recommended and is part of the New Gods tale. All 3 series has been complied into one massive trade called Jack Kirby's Fourth World, and all are available individually as well. Either way you might be able to find these at your library, or on Hooplah.

3.) Orion by Walter Simonson

Why: Decades after Jack Kirby wrote his final chapter for New Gods Orion finally gets his solo where he faces his father on Apokolips and steps up as its ruler. Now the leader of Apokolips Orion begins the arduous task of cleansing it of its malice and cruelty, a feat that is not easy and even more so when he does it without aid. With sinister deception at every turn Orion struggles and finds himself being tempted to use the very force that he was sworn to protect everyone from; the very anti-life equation itself. Primary themes; deceit, temptation, rebirth, life and death, redemption, mercy, compassion, love, forgiveness. Trigger warnings: torture, sexual assault implications. Available in Trade Paperback - Complete. 2 books.

4.) Barda by Ngozi Ukazu (NEW!!)

Why: This is a graphic novel and is a retelling of Barda as she comes to understand love and what she really wants from her life all while navigating the cruelty of Apokolips. Primary themes: love, cruelty, malice, torture, imprisonment, hope Trigger Warnings: torture, execution. Single complete graphic novel.

5.) Superman: The Harvests of Youth by Sina Grace

Why: This is a heartbreaking coming of age story about Clark Kent as a teenager in Smallville as he finds his place among his friends, family and himself as an alien during a time of death and hatred. It is a young Superman story that is incredibly relevant today in an age of internet toxicity and leaves you feeling hopeful. This blends some elements from Smallville (the show) but tweaks them to make this its own unique bubble world that feels believable and fresh. Primary Themes: toxic masculinity, incels, bullying, suicide, capitalism, teenage coming of age, teenage romance, high school Single complete graphic novel

6.) Superman Smashes The Klan by Gene Luen Yang

Why: In the 1940s the Superman Radio Show released the story "Clan of the Fiery Cross" that told a terrifying story about the KKK targeting a Chinese-American family that moved from Chinatown into Metropolis white-dominated suburbs following WWII. This is a graphic novel that is based on the same story. Primary Themes: racism, identity issues, internalized racism, police brutality. Single complete graphic novel, and also has 3 separate novels.

7.) Bad Dream: A Dreamer Story by Nicole Maines (New!!)

Why: This is Nia Nal's solo and origin story that has been confirmed to take place in the main verse for the current comics. Nia was born and raised in a small heavily isolated Sanctuary where aliens live safely. Even among dozens of alien species Nia is still seen as different as she is the only person who is trans. To complicate everything even more, Nia inherits her people's precognitive powers when her sister Maeve was raised her entire life to accept the powers into her. Terrified of her new powers and destroying her family by revealing them she inherited them instead of her sister, she flees from her hometown to Metropolis where she for the first time in her life meets other queer people. But there is a threat to her family on the horizon, and in order to protect them she must go back and face her fears. Primary Themes: transphobia, self discovery, xenophobia, acceptance, fearfulness, family, secrets, deceit. Trigger Warnings: see above, also internalized queerphobia. Single Complete Graphic Novel

8.) Static: Season One

Why: This is a modern retelling of Milestone Comic's Static as bullied nerd Virgil Hawkins comes into his powers at a protest when police discharge an experimental tear gas. The gas leaves many of his classmates dead, but some like him gain amazing powers - unfortunately some other people, like his bullies, also gain powers. Caught between law enforcement, capitalism, and the complexities of being a new teenage superhero Virgil works to uplift his community and stay strong within his nerdy friend group. This series is heavily based on the Static Shock TV show so fans of that show will be delighted with familiar faces, and names. And yes, Richie Foley is gay. Primary Themes: racism, police brutality, bullying, anger, frustration, dehumanization. Trigger Warnings: See above Available in Trade Paperback - Complete in Static: Season One which collects all six issues. Note: We also have its sequel Static: Shadows of Dakota out as well.

9.) Superman: American Alien

Why: This is a collection of short stories about Clark at varying stages of his life that range from funny to incredibly heartfelt. Primary Themes: finding ones self, self discovery, compassion Trigger warnings: I cannot think of one Available in Trade Paperback - Complete as Superman: American Alien which collects all 7 stories.

10.) Legion of Super-Heroes: Post-Zero Hour Reboot

Why: In the 30th century R.J. Brande Industries creates the Star Gate System, finally connecting the galaxy closer than it ever had before. Travel that once took months or years to complete now could only take hours and with it came the United Planets with Earth as its home headquarters. In an effort to promote the United Planets and unify the galaxy, the Legion of Super-Heroes was formed by Brande as a peacekeeping unit and an inspiration to cooperation. Sadly, it was co-opted by political parties and turned into a draft for talented teenagers to serve, or risk their planet's enrollment in the U.P. Over the course of over 200 issues teenage super heroes are given unfathomable responsibility and power while unifying to protect their galaxy and friendships while combating xenophobia and political corruption. This series is everything people wanted TTv3 to be but never got. Primary Themes: Dehumanization, loss of autonomy, death, life, space, technology, capitalism, political corruption, manipulation, deceit, hope, romance, found family Trigger Warnings: See above plus ableism and teenage pregnancy. Available in Trade Paperback: Partially. We have 2 volumes called Legionnaires which collect approximately 20 issues, plus extra content, of this run. We also have various other trade collections such as Legion Lost in its entirety.

11.) Ascender and Descender by Jeff Lemire and Dustin Nguyen

Why: Tired of superheroes? These are two separate series that follow the same story about a young companion robot named Tim who was assigned to be his human brother's best friend and companion. Unfortunately, during a mining accident his entire colony had to flee and leave him behind as they attempted to escape toxic gas. 10 years have gone by since then, and a lot has changed in the world since he was shut down. Mostly being 95% of all robots have been destroyed and are targeted for destruction after a mysterious robotic alien force attacked all sentient worlds and obliterated the populations down to catastrophic levels. All Tim wants to do is find his brother Andy, but what has become of Andy in 10 years, and what will happen to him in 10 more years after they reunite? This story takes place over 20 years as Tim and Andy both grow and change, as they face the challenges before them and unravel the mystery of the Artificial Intelligence that swore to destroy all organic life. Oh, and magic is also involved too. Primary themes: hatred, violence, abuse, xenophobia, forgiveness, found family, brothers, dehumanization, life, death, magic, balance, manipulation, deceit, mysteries, will probably remind you of Mass Effect. Trigger Warnings: see above Available in Trade Paperback: the entire series is available across multiple books.

That's all I have for now folks, I'm tired of writing.

[animeredhead101]

Tim Drake/ Danny Fenton Masterlist

Completed

Mesmeric Revelation by DisillusionedDanny :

Danny couldn’t stop the future. That much was true. Despite not cheating on his CAT and doing every single thing by the book to make sure that this future was not a reality, it had happened anyway. The nasty burger had blown up. His parents, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, they were all in the building when it happened.With his friends and family dead, Danny goes to the only place he thinks is safe. The infinite realms.As Danny attempts to move on from the tragedy he manages to get summoned by cultists, build a new family for himself and even find love. Not all in that exact order.Tim Drake thought getting kidnapped by cultists was probably the most annoying thing to have ever happened to him. Little did he know it would also be the best thing to ever happen. Word Count: 71,980 Complete Its very heartwarming with a dark tone in the beginning. I enjoy reading this as a comfort fanfic.

Shovel Talk by SummersSixEcho :

When Tim decided to tag along on a road trip with Danny to meet his parents, he was kinda ready for the shovel talk with his friends and family. But bringing out the secrets buried in Amity Park? That’s another kind of shovel talk Danny hadn’t prepared him for. Word Count: 71,396 Complete

Bitter, had the Heart by CastrianAmore :

Tim is the only one consistently watching. Thus he’s the first and only one to notice one more body following the streets like the bats do. A kid with all black hair and white motifs and an attitude problem that reminds him a tad too much of Jason. It was a shame Jason was adamant that he “didn’t know anything”, what a liar right?But the streets of Gotham listened and the name on everyone’s lips playing like a discordant harmony was one word: Distortion. Not that Tim knew what it meant yet, but Danny would make sure he would. If Danny lived long enough for Tim to find out. Word Count: 182,548 Complete

Tim Jr. Coffee Machine Extraordinaire by PaperPuffin :

Dick worried his lip between his teeth as he looked Tim over. His little brother was standing, zombie-like, in front of the Cave’s coffee machine. Not that the act was unusual for Tim. Just… the thing was, Tim had been doing better. Word Count: 2,330 Complete

Wanted: Dead and Alive by Astereae :

“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked. OR Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months. Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May. Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however. And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all. Word Count: 121,281 Completed

On-going

Family introductions by Half-dead Ham(Grima101) :

Danny and Tim have been dating for about a year now, figuring out their relationship between Tim’s vigilante duties and Danny’s Ghost King responsibilities. Danny is taking a small (unauthorized) break from his paperwork to find his bf flat on his ass sick trying to go on patrol. The only way to stop him was to take his place, and Danny was lucky they're the same size.

Word Count: 14,070 On-going

An Interesting Family Tree by Scififan33 :

Danny's life in Amity Park wasn't perfect, but it beat his old life. The GIW and Fenton parents didn't make things easier but at least ghost attacks had lessened since he was named Prince, to be crowned upon his twenty first birthday.He'd run from the League almost a decade ago, risking getting their attention, and for a stranger? It was insane. And yet he still got on the plane to Europe to find and warn one Tim Drake that he was being targeted. Word Count: 68,348 On-going This is one of favorite fanfics, I love the interactions of Danny and Tim throughout the story. I also love how the author writes two story lines together. I love both Fandoms and to read a story were they work well together is always a treat!

Tim Drake's I.E.F (Invisible Eldritch Friend) by Half-dead Ham :

The last thing Tim expected while getting stalked was to get used to the unseen creature and how they started taking care of him. He expected even less for them to be the same age

Word Count: 72,042 On-going

I find it hilarious that the bat stalker gets stalked and they some how make it into a funny Rom-com.

Till Death and Beyond by Scififan33 :

Danny and Tim have known each other for a year, have been dating for months, and are very happy. Sure, Tim would prefer if his boyfriend let him help him at least get a nicer apartment, or even an internship at WE but Danny won't let him. Dating Tim is not keeping his head down but as far as everyone knows, Danny Fenton died with his parents and sister. Danny Nightingale has no links to him, thanks to Tucker and Technus' magic.But there are still those who would love nothing more than to get their hands on Phantom, despite his not having been seen in a long time.And why is there a vigilante bleeding out on his apartment floor? Word Count: 79,279 On-going I love the fic for the fact that we talk about how the bat-fam treats Tim. Like he is such a sweetheart and he is not treated they way he should be. Like don't get me wrong I love the fics were Damion and Tim get along and fix their relationship but the way they interact this would not have occurred and to see this in this fanfic and Tim recognizing that its not okay was amazing. I also love that Danny doesn't take any shit from the bat-fam, hes likes fuck with Tim and see what happens. Defiantly one of my top 5!

The Rebirth of Tim Drake by Bewitched_Forest :

Tim gets turned into a halfa after an incident with a newly spawned Lazarus Pit, electricity, and Ra's Al Ghul. When he awakens, he finds himself in the Ghost Zone. Taken to fellow Halfa, Danny Fenton, he travels to Amity Park where he learns with the help of Danny and his friends just what he has become. And how being a Halfa has made him one of the most hunted beings in the world.

Not Abandoned! Updating will just be whenever I feel like it cause I got burnout.

Word Count: 57,663 On-going

My Name is Not Wounder Boy! by CrepuscularCryptid :

Casper High's juniors go on a trip to Washington DC every year. This year it's Danny's class's turn. Absolutely nothing goes wrong. Nothing. Shut up, Tucker. ************* Wherein Danny meets Wonder Woman, fosters diplomacy between the Living and the Dead Realms, and eventually gets a new haunt. Word Count: 44,832 On-going

The Price Of Peace by JoyLess_Nightsk :

The Juistria League - the alliance of the major countries of the continent Juisitria - has long since stood for peace. Unfortunately there is one country that is a thorn in their side whenever they try to solidify that peace: The Infinite Lands, a country of barbarians to the north where the only reason they survive is the magic in the air. Where the magic is so strong that even children develop a talent, which they themselves call "the blessings of the dragons". The country that, last time the Juistria League had tried to negotiate, had waged a war more brutal then anything seen before on them, for over a decade - right until the moment a rebellion caged him. Not long ago, his murderer took the title. And now, that very same newly crowned High Chief demands negotiations of them. Bruce would rather die, would rather see Gotham and all of Juistria in flames than to allow that man to take one of his children. Tim, however, makes another decision before he could say that. Now, everyone has to hope Phantom will be happy with the boy… Meanwhile Danny is just too stunned that they actually agreed to that to do anything about the sudden engagement. Word Count: 50,397 On-going I usually am not a fan of fics like this but I kinda love this but just the fact that their are so many miscommunications between the Gotham and Infinite Lands. It definitely a great start and I cant wait ti read more!

Rated M

A Grave Affair by OnlyHereForTheSnacks :

Tim was used to life taking unexpected turns. It was just another part of being a vigilante. Sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes an immortal assassin sells you into an arranged marriage to the Ghost King for a piece of jewelry. (Lots of plot. Smut in Ch.3. Mind the tags) Word Count: 14,744 Complete

Seeing Double by Wraiith(Jayyydez) :

"You remember that conversation we had about me being able to duplicate?" Tim's brow furrowed even more. Which conversation-? His mouth dried all at once, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. Oh. Oh, Ancients and Gods alike, help him. Danny was having this conversation with him. He was having it with him right now, and Tim felt more awake than he had in days. Word Count: 7,752 Complete

Skin of Your Teeth by halfgone(milkywxy) :

Tim can't bring himself to lie about his secret identity anymore. When he spills his secret to his boyfriend, Danny, many more secrets are soon to follow. Some with interesting results. Prompts: Tim Drake |Eldritch Danny| Teeth Word Count: 7,065 On-going

[xiao-zhen]

Uncovering the Connection ★

Don't you just love how the monkeys are immediately attached to Macaque? There must be more to it; they had to have been attached beforehand. Here's my take on that. (Fanfic)

As Mk approaches Flower Fruit Mountain, he heads towards the tiny house where he knows Monkey King sometimes resides. Upon entering, he finds the Monkey King sitting in a relaxed pose with a small clay pot of tea in front of him. "Ah, so that's what brings you here today. We didn't have training today, huh?" Mk nods in agreement and hesitantly begins, "Umm, actually... I wanted to ask you something." 

Monkey King's eyes light up with curiosity as he leans forward. "Ask away! What's on your mind, bud?"

“Uh, it's about Macaque.”

His excitement momentarily fades as he hears the question about Macaque. He leans back, his expression becoming serious.

"Macaque, huh? What do you want to know about him?" 

Mk fidgets nervously in the cozy confines of Wukong's house, the warm sunlight filtering through the wooden slats and casting playful shadows on the floor. He senses a subtle shift in the Monkey King's mood, the lighthearted atmosphere around them taking on a more serious tone. 

With a hesitant glance at Wukong, Mk takes a deep breath and continues, “Well, I was wondering... Why are the monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain so attached to Macaque? They seem really fond of him.”

As Mk speaks, he can't help but look around at the various trinkets and artifacts that adorn Wukong's home—each one a piece of history, perhaps reflecting the bond he shares with his fellow monkeys or his journey to the west. He thinks about the bustling chaos outside, where the other monkeys play and chatter, their joyful sounds trickling in like music. Mk noticed how they look at Macaque with a mix of admiration and affection, almost as if he holds a unique place in their hearts.

Mk shifts his weight, feeling the warmth of the wooden floor beneath him. “Is it just his strength that draws them to him, or is there something more?” he muses aloud, his curiosity growing. He remembers how Macaque used to live on Flower Fruit Mountain and currently too is in the process of moving back, and how Macaque seems to effortlessly get affection or tackled from the group of the mountain’s monkeys especially the younger cubs. 

Wukong could only sigh softly, his eyes lost in memories as he gazes at the trinkets that surround him. "It's not just his strength, Mk. Macaque might appear aloof, but he has a way with the younger ones, especially the cubs. It's almost as if he brings out a protective, nurturing instinct in them." He pauses, taking a sip from his clay pot before continuing, "But there's more to it than that. Can you keep what I'm about to tell you a secret?" 

Mk nods vigorously, a mix of anticipation and curiosity in his eyes. "Of course, Monkey King! I won't tell a soul."

Wukong leaned in closer, his breath barely a whisper as he spoke. "The bond between Macaque and the monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain is profound, intricately woven into the fabric of his past." A haunting look crossed his face, eyes clouded with memories as he continued, "Macaque... He once called this mountain home for many years, a time that shaped him in ways few truly understand."

Mk momentarily got confused. “Wait. . .he didn’t always used to live on flower fruit mountain even before the best friend breakup?” 

Wukong leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. "The connection between Macaque and the monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain runs deep, rooted in the events of his past." A wistful expression takes hold of his features as he continues, "Macaque... He once lived on this mountain for a significant part of his life, you know."

 "When Macaque first came to the mountain, many years ago, he was more open, more friendly. The monkeys, especially the younger ones, took an instant liking to him," Monkey King recalls, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "He would spend hours playing with the young cubs, letting them climb all over him and treating them with an unexpected tenderness," he continues, his eyes distant as he delves deeper into the past. 

"But then," Monkey King's expression darkens for a moment, a flicker of pain and sorrow in his gaze, "something happened. Something that changed Macaque, making him more reserved, more solitary." 

“Is it that thing that happened, the one I have no idea about because you two refuse to talk about it, but it’s clear that you’re both still a bit bitter?” Mk exclaimed, his exhaustion evident as he struggled to understand the tension hanging heavily between Wukong and Macaque. Wukong responded with a somber nod, his expression a mix of regret and resignation. "Ah, yes. That’s a crucial part of it," he said slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "Our friendship... it didn’t end well. There was a deep betrayal that shattered both of us, especially Macaque, leaving wounds that run deep." Mk gazed at him, his eyes pleading and curious, conveying a silent desire to uncover the truth of what really transpired between them.

"I know, I know," the king said, his voice tinged with a weariness that spoke volumes. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of unspoken memories heavy in the air. "You've approached me about our falling out on several occasions, and I truly wish I could divulge the details. However, this is a matter that Macaque and I must confront in our own time, away from prying eyes and restless hearts."

Mk's lips curved into a slight pout, a hint of disappointment shadowing his expression as he lowered his gaze to the floor, the vibrant colors of the surroundings fading momentarily from his focus. However, lifting his eyes once more, he turned his attention to the Monkey King. Wukong, noticing the glimmer of disappointment in Mk's eyes, responded with a warm, reassuring smile, as if trying to infuse some light back into the moment. "Hey, don't look so down," he encouraged, his voice carrying a gentle tone. "There's so much more to the story. Macaque's history on Flower Fruit Mountain goes a little deeper than just our fallout."

"After our friendship ended and Macaque… well, I suppose he came back," the Monkey King says, his voice tinged with sadness. "He wandered for a while, but eventually he found his way back to Flower Fruit Mountain despite everything that happened. I don't quite understand why he could return so easily, but the monkeys always seemed to welcome him back with open arms, no matter our past."

Monkey King straightens a bit, his eyes lighting up as he dives into a vivid recollection of the monkeys' lively behavior. "Ah, the bond between the monkeys and Macaque runs remarkably deep. When he first returned to Flower Fruit Mountain, thanks to your efforts, Mk, the monkeys wasted no time in welcoming him back with open arms. The younger ones, in particular, reacted as if time had stood still; they scampered toward him with uncontained joy, climbing over him with the same carefree exuberance they had displayed in the past, eager for his presence and playful companionship." Yet, Mk couldn’t help but wonder how Macaque managed to create such an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity among them.

Wukong let out a soft chuckle, a glimmer of admiration flickering in his eyes as he spoke. "Ah, that’s a tricky one to pinpoint. Macaque possesses a remarkable affinity for the younger monkeys. There’s something almost magnetic about him; they’re simply drawn to his presence as if enchanted by an unseen force. He has this unique ability to connect with them on a level that transcends words, creating an aura of safety and comfort that wraps around them like a warm blanket."

"He might not always express his feelings outwardly, but deep down, he truly cares for them—albeit in his own aloof manner," Wukong continued, his tone softening, laden with affection. "You see, he’ll allow them to climb on his back, their tiny fingers gripping his fur as they playfully chatter away. He’s always watchful, ready to protect them from any harm that might come their way. The monkeys, especially the young ones, possess an instinctive ability to sense his unwavering loyalty and trustworthiness, which fosters a deep bond. It’s no wonder they feel so comfortable around him, their innocent hearts instinctively reaching out for the warmth he offers." 

The Monkey King leaned back, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he regarded his companion. "You know," he said, his voice rich with intrigue, "if you truly wish to understand the bond that Macaque shares with the monkeys, the best approach is to observe him in their company. Experience speaks volumes, after all." He paused, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And don’t underestimate the power of curiosity—perhaps you should consider asking Macaque directly. Though, be warned: he might not reveal his secrets easily." With a slight shrug, the Monkey King continued, "If you manage to coax him out of his shell, however, you just might catch a glimpse of the hidden ties that bind him to the monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain. It’s a connection shrouded in mystery, but worth every effort to uncover."

Wukong leaned forward, a touch of seriousness in his eyes. "Just be prepared, Mk. Macaque can be a bit prickly, so don't be surprised if he shuts you down or deflects your questions. He's not exactly known for being an open book, you know?" With a touch of seriousness in his eyes he continued. "Just be prepared, Mk. Macaque can be a bit prickly, so don't be surprised if he shuts you down or deflects your questions. He's not exactly known for being an open book, you know?"

Mk burst into laughter, recalling moments when Macaque had been nothing short of closed off and aloof. Wukong couldn’t help but grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, trust me, I’m well aware," he replied, his tone playful. "Macaque has a remarkable knack for shutting people out when he feels like it. Yet, beneath that gruff exterior lies a flicker of warmth, particularly when it comes to the monkeys. It’s a side of him not many get to see." 

"I've seen moments, brief as they may be, where Macaque let his guard down around the monkeys," he continues, his smile softer now. "A gentle touch, a small smile, a word of comfort or protection. It's clear he cares for them in his own aloof way."

After his insightful conversation with Monkey King, Mk thanked him and stood up, a determined gleam in his eyes. As he walked out of Monkey King's tiny house, he set his sights on finding Macaque. 

Mk was having some trouble trying to locate Macaque as he realized something quite obvious. Mk chuckled to himself as he realized his oversight. "Ah, of course. Where there's monkeys, there's also likely to be Macaque. Of course, why didn't I think of that?" With the unmistakable chirps of monkeys serving as his guide, Mk headed in the direction of the lively commotion. He navigated the familiar landscape of Flower Fruit Mountain, following the sound of laughter, chirps, and the occasional ruckus. As he drew closer to the source of the noise, Mk could see the vibrant scene unfold before him. The monkeys were engaged in a lively game, their cheerful chatter filling the air. And sure enough, perched on a nearby tree branch, was Macaque, lazily watching over the monkeys. 

Mk paused for a moment, taking in the scene. Macaque looked at the monkeys with a mixture of both annoyance and affection, his expression a contrast to their boisterous energy. He seemed to have a sort of aloof but devoted attitude with the mischievous creatures. 

Mk's rushed approach was abruptly halted when he stumbled over a pesky rock, causing a few of the monkeys to startle in surprise. One particularly brave cub, in a surprising turn of events, landed right on Mk's face. Macaque, who had been perched on the tree branch, raised an eyebrow in confusion as he witnessed the unexpected scene unfold. 

"Well, that's one way to make an entrance," Macaque commented with a dry tone, his eyes flickering with amused annoyance. He remained nonchalantly perched on the branch, watching Mk and the cub with an air of aloofness. The cub, unperturbed by the fall, clung to Mk's face, chattering and giggling with innocent glee. Meanwhile, Mk, still recovering from his tripping debacle, clumsily attempted to untangle himself from the cub's unexpected grip. 

Macaque leaned back against the tree, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, good luck with that. Those little ones can be pretty clingy when they want to be. Especially that one. "

Indeed, the cub on Mk's face had wrapped its tiny arms and legs around his head, seeming quite content to stay there for the time being. As Mk struggled to dislodge the cub, Macaque chuckled slightly at the sight. "You might as well resign yourself to having that little bundle of mischief attached to your face for a while," he teased.

Mk shot a desperate look at Macaque, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Help? A little? Any advice on how to get this little one off my face?"

Macaque feigned a sigh, crossing his arms. "Oh, you're asking the great Macaque for advice on how to handle a small cub? And here I thought you were a disciple of the Monkey King."

Despite his sarcastic tone, a hint of playfulness glimmered in his eyes.

Macaque hopped down from the tree branch, approaching Mk and the cub. "You're being too gentle," he smirked, observing Mk's struggles. "They respond better to a more firm approach." As Mk continued to struggle with the stubborn cub on his face, Macaque gracefully swooped in, his tail extending with calculated finesse. With a swift and practiced move, he used the tip of his tail to gently pry the cub off Mk's face.

The cub protested slightly, letting out a small whine, but relented under Macaque's firm, yet gentle touch. Macaque held the squirming cub in his arms, and turned to Mk. "It's all about firmness and confidence. If you're too hesitant, they'll walk all over you." The cub in his arms now calmed down, chittering softly and clinging to Macaque instead.

As soon as Macaque held the cub in his arms, the mischievous little creature's attention shifted to his tail. Without missing a beat, the cub scampered up the long, shadowy limb, clinging onto Macaque's tail with a tenacious grip.

Macaque rolled his eyes at the cub's antics, but a small smile tugged at his lips. The cub now perched on Macaque's tail, it looked at Mk with big, curious eyes, chattering happily like it was enjoying its new mode of transportation. Mk blinked, a sense of surprise and disbelief crossing his face. Had he just seen Macaque, the brooding shadow warrior, actually smile? 

The cub, still clinging to Macaque's tail, seemed equally amused, chirping happily and adding to the unlikely sight before them. For a moment, there was an almost tender expression on Macaque's face as he allowed the cub to cling to his tail. Despite his often aloof demeanor, there was no denying the genuine affection he held for the young monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Macaque, still holding the cub on his tail, turned his gaze towards Mk. A question formed in his yellow eyes, his eyebrow lifting slightly. "So, now that you're here, care to tell me why you're looking for me, kid?" Mk hesitated for a moment, composing his words in his mind. He had a specific question he wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure how Macaque would react. Finally, he gathered his courage and spoke up. 

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something." 

Macaque's interest was piqued, and his gaze sharpened. "Hmm, well, spit it out then. I've got better things to do than just stand here holding this little nuisance." Mk took a breath and went for it. "I've noticed how close you are with the monkeys around here, especially the younger ones. I was wondering... how do you do it? How do you get them to just instantly like you and be comfortable around you like that?" Macaque was taken aback. He had anticipated a question about his methods of combat or his powers, not something so direct and straightforward about his relationship with the monkeys. There was a moment of silence as Macaque pondered his response, the cub on his tail shifting its grip. 

"Well," Macaque began, his voice steady, but with a hint of vulnerability. "I suppose it's a matter of understanding and connecting with them. The young ones... well, they're simple creatures. They just want someone they can trust, someone who shows them affection and makes them feel safe." 

Macaque looked around at the monkeys playing nearby, his eyes softening slightly. "They sense things in people. They can tell when someone genuinely cares. I may not be as... open and warm as Monkey King, but I make sure they know I'm there for them, in my own way."  Macaque's gaze shifted back to Mk. "It's not rocket science, kid. It's just about showing them kindness, compassion, and a bit of patience. It doesn't take much to win over their trust." Macaque chuckled at Mk's frustrated groan.

"Ah, don't beat yourself up about it, kid. The monkeys here are just more attached to me, I guess." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, his tone light-hearted. "It's not like I'm going out of my way to win their affections. It just happens naturally." Macaque's carefree attitude was a stark contrast to Mk's evident frustration. He leaned against the tree trunk, the cub still clinging to his tail. "Maybe the younger ones are more drawn to me because I don't try too hard. They can sense sincerity, you know?"

Macaque chuckled again, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Or maybe they just like me better because I don't trip and fall over every rock I see. They value gracefulness and balance, kid." Four more monkeys, seemingly out of nowhere, had materialized behind his back, their presence subtle but unmistakable.

Macaque, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden appearance of the monkeys, continued his sarcastic banter as if nothing had happened. With an air of nonchalance, he casually addressed Mk whilst the monkeys behind him began to play with his tail.

"What's the matter, kid? Never seen monkeys appear out of thin air before?" 

Despite their surprising appearance, the monkeys seemed completely at ease with Macaque, as if they were used to his presence. Mk, still stunned by the sudden appearance of the monkeys, watched in disbelief as they played with Macaque's tail. Mk couldn't help but point out the irony of the situation. "See? That's exactly what I mean! They just showed up behind you and started playing with your tail like it's the most natural thing in the world. How do you even do that?"

Macaque chuckled, clearly enjoying Mk's dumbfounded expression. "What can I say, kid? The monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain have a soft spot for me. I guess they can't resist my charming personality." With a smirk, Macaque glanced at the monkeys playing with his tail. "Just like you can't resist the temptation to trip over every rock in sight."

Mk grumbled, obviously frustrated by Macaque's constant taunting. "Oh, hardy har har. You know I tripped on accident, right?" Macaque shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Accident or not, it was still quite a show. Maybe you should invest in some walking lessons, kid."

Macaque chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery. "Or perhaps some glasses. You know, so you can actually see where you're going next time."

 Mk let out a deep sigh, clearly growing tired of Macaque's constant digs at his clumsiness. "Very funny. Real hilarious. Can you give it a rest already?" Macaque chuckled letting it go, but offered to help Mk with the monkeys so they could get used to him. Mk did not expect that at all.

Mk was caught off guard by Macaque's unexpected offer. He had expected more teasing from the monkey, but instead, he was actually being somewhat helpful.

"Wait... you're actually willing to help me?" Mk asked, slightly suspicious.

Macaque crossed his arms, his tone matter-of-fact. "Well, it's not like they actively dislike you. They just don't know you as well as they know me. And let's face it, I have a certain charm that you'll probably never possess." He smirked as he finished his statement, clearly enjoying his own arrogance. "But with a little effort and some guidance from the great Macaque, maybe the monkeys will start warming up to you more."

"Though I can't promise they'll like you as much as they like me," Macaque tacked on, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "I'm quite hard to compete with, you know." 

Macaque leaned back against the tree, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. "You chose me, of all people, to help you win over the monkeys? I must say, your decision-making skills are truly astounding, kid." 

"If you wanted to befriend the monkeys, you could've asked Monkey King. He's practically their favorite playmate. But you came to me. Not sure if that's a stroke of brilliance or just sheer stupidity." Macaque's yellow eyes gleamed with amusement as he continued, "Either way, I find it quite entertaining that you thought I'd be the one to help you with this little predicament."

Mk, taken aback by Macaque's continued amusement, decided to clarify himself. He looked directly at Macaque, determination in his eyes. "I didn't come to you because I thought you were the obvious choice. I came to you because I think you understand the monkeys on a different level than Monkey King."

Macaque, caught off guard by Mk's genuine explanation, raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often that someone looked to him for insight rather than Monkey King.

"What do you mean?" Macaque asked, tilting his head curiously.

Mk explained further, his voice filled with sincerity. "Monkey King may be the king and the monkeys' favorite, but he's always seen as this larger-than-life figure. He's the legend they worship and admire. But you... You have a different kind of connection with the monkeys here. You understand them on a more intimate level, and they trust and rely on you in a way that they don't with Monkey King." 

Macaque was truly dumbfounded. He wasn't used to someone noticing the subtle bonds he had formed with the monkeys. No one, aside from the monkeys themselves, had ever pointed that out before. "You... You really believe that?" Macaque asked, a hint of vulnerability visible in his usually guarded eyes.

Mk nodded firmly, meeting Macaque's gaze. "Yes, I do. I've seen how the monkeys cling to you, follow your every move, and seek your comfort. That bond goes beyond just being their 'playmate.' It's trust, reliance, and... I think even a hint of affection." Macaque's composure faltered for a moment. He had always known there was a unique connection between him and the monkeys, but hearing someone else acknowledge it, especially someone like Mk, was jarring.

"I... I never thought someone like you would actually understand," Macaque admitted, his voice soft and slightly stunned. Mk took a step forward, his tone sincere yet curious. "So, will you help me? I want to understand the monkeys like you do, to form that bond with them. To have them trust and rely on me, just like they do with you." Macaque, still slightly taken aback by Mk's words, paused for a moment. He considered Mk's request, his thoughts flickering in his yellow eyes. Finally, he let out a sigh, resigned.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to help you out. But don't expect a miracle overnight, kid. Earning the trust of the monkeys takes time and patience." Macaque pushed himself off the tree, straightening up. "I'll give you some pointers, sure. But don't think you'll be instantly adored like me. That charm just can't be replicated." He gave Mk a mocking smile, regaining his usual confident demeanor. "You'll just have to settle for being the runner-up favorite, I suppose."

Macaque, noticing Mk's eagerness, smirked. "Well, eager beaver, let's get started then. The first lesson in winning the hearts of the monkeys around here is understanding them. You can't just waltz in and expect them to like you. They are creatures of instinct, and they need trust, comfort, and familiarity." This was how Mk began to get closer to the monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Saving Lu Guang!!

For obvious reasons, we're all assuming Cheng Xiaoshi is the one who needs to be saved. The final plot twist of season 2 is the main reason:

I'm sorry Cheng Xiaoshi I’ve always been telling you to not change the past but I couldn’t follow my own words. Even if I know death is an unchangeable point, I still want to use the last chance to go back to the beginning, and save you.

But. Lu Guang is the most unreliable character you'd find out there. His version of the story is sometimes inconsistent.

Many details don't add up, might it be the fact he doesn't have his phone with him at a moment as important as closing a trap on Liu Min, or that the scene in the hospital bathroom is different when Cheng Xiaoshi dives as Lu Guang, or the simple obvious impression that it's future Cheng Xiaoshi who's giving him the partner talk on the basketball court--

Well, there might be someone in Lu Guang's corner diving and changing things without him being aware of it. This person being Cheng Xiaoshi himself is most likely.

Now, why would Cheng Xiaoshi dive into the past after all this time when he decided against it after Lu Guang's death? Saving Lu Guang or Qiao Ling is the most realistic and in character reason but there is more to this particular theory today.

Remember, whatever we think, there is more to the story. As omniscient as Lu Guang seems to us at the moment, he, himself, doesn't have all the information.

Past or Future, it has been clear until now that official content is hiding many secrets yet to be uncovered. Dive with me into this madness once more~

This meta is largely inspired by this thread

>> Lu Guang's secret

Let's start with something as basic as characters concept arts. Those always strikes me as out of charater, because Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's personality seems somehow switched: on the character sheets, Cheng Xiaoshi looks pissed and Lu Guang smiles (like a creep).

Two things are worth noticing in this first pack of pictures:

Lu Guang's character sheet looks like a frame if the film roll has been exposed to light while loading in the camera. It is damaged. His smile in the background is also absolutely not his. In the light of Yingdu Chapter's teaser, it could mean Lu Guang is possessed by either Li Tianchen or Vein. Not only that but the surexposition makes it impossible to know the exact color of his eyes. Could be yellow, red, blue, gray.

They are both trapped in the bottom of a hourglass. Cheng Xiashi looks at Lu Guang in a frustrated/angry manner, and this face is a lot like the one in the background of his character sheet. It could implied that Lu Guang got them into some kind of bad situation.

Promotional posters presenting season 2's characters have Li Tianchen is Qiao Ling's shadow while Liu Xiao is Qian Jing's. Lu Guang is Cheng Xiaoshi's. Lu Guang lies/manipulates Cheng Xiaoshi for his own good since the start, he hides secrets after all. He is as much a puppeteer as Liu Xiao. He is very knowlegdable but we have no idea to what extent. We can only assume that whatever he is doing, he's doing it for Cheng Xiaoshi's sake.

These details and the implications don't put Lu guang under a good light. Lu Guang always was a morally gray character, however his logic paired with Cheng Xiaoshi's compassion make them the duo we are rooting for.

A popular theory is that Lu Guang betrayed a Time-Something Organization to save Cheng Xiaoshi and is now being punished. Another one is that he made a deal with Vein to grant his wish. In any case, he might have ties with Vein and Liu Xiao, as a whole or separatly, we can only speculate so far.

In my meta on the Promotional Poster for the AR GAME, and the Light and Color theory, I mentioned that "Burning Palace" hints on a Fourth character being part of this new group, and argued that the missing character is already part of the cast: Lu Guang.

Futhermore, whatever happened, he can only be at fault: Lu Guang is supposely the one who introduced Cheng Xiaoshi to his powers. We still don't know the origins behind those, and I won't start the disucussion in this meta, but we know that at some point, in this timeline or another, Cheng Xiaoshi tried to convince Lu Guang to use their power to earn money and pay their debts. Link Click Live Action is not canon to the donghua, but in this adaptation, Lu Guang is the one coming to Cheng Xiaoshi and teaching him the useful way to use his strange energy.

To resume, Lu Guang isn't only keeping secrets from Cheng Xiaoshi. As an audience, we know close to nothing about him, even less than his roommate! Except for the fact he's probably been diving back in time to change the past. Therefore, he cannot be trusted regarding his abilities, his past, or even his motivations. Lu Guang knowing everything or more than others because he lived through several repeats is a false fact. When something unexpected happen, he totally freaks out and he is a control freak. It's okay, we love him as he is. But! He is the definition of unreliable as far as narrators go.

In the past or in the future, Cheng Xiaoshi has to find out the truth at some point. His reaction shouldn't be important for this meta though. Actually, I think the official artworks of him being pissed shouldn't be taken quite literally. The hints I talked about above don't mean anything about HIM or his feelings but it says everything about Lu Guang's actions and the implications of those: he is doing something he knows is wrong and his ultimate goal is exactly the same as some antagonist. Being kept in the dark, lied to or manipulated, Cheng Xiaoshi wouldn't focus on any of it.

Why? If Lu Guang actually rewrote reality and put himself in a doomed situation for him, Cheng Xiaoshi would absolutely try to cancel this accomplishment. That's the only important information we need for this meta.

Cheng Xiaoshi went back in time as someone they knew before so we can assume he would do it again if needed. Imagine our guy coming back as Qiao Ling, as his own wingman to force Lu Guang back into his life? If the talk on the basketball court didn't work, I'm pretty sure getting Lu Guang to do physical work in the studio and bully him to admit he likes Cheng Xiaoshi would do the trick. That's a start anyway.

With these few starting points, we can go deeper now:

>> Through the Looking Glass

There's a myriad of instances where Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi are kept apart from each other by glass or shown as each other's shadow or reflection. And I've been mentioning it for a while now but finally, after almost a year, I think I've finally cracked this case!

Starting with Surprising Click Posters, there are 5 visible TV screens with a message of ERROR on Lu Guang's. No matter the meaning, I think it is important to note that Lu Guang is just as much a spectator as we are. The plot happens as it's supposed to happen: no matter what, they'll end up at the same point. For some reasons, I always believed that Cheng Xiaoshi was trapped behind the glass, in the TV, as a playable character, if you may. That's part of how their abilities work together, isn't it? Their deal is Cheng Xiaoshi dives but Lu Guang drives. Well, I'm not so sure anymore. The Picture of the carwash is random but interesting. Cheng Xiaoshi is outside and is knocking at the window.

Who's the one trapped behind glass after all? What if Lu Guang himself is trapped in a TV and Cheng Xiaoshi is trying to get him out?

The first one seen with a camera in INPLICK's art isn't Cheng Xiaoshi but Lu Guang. The story is told from his perspective. But this is Link Click we're talking about so this means basically nothing. Cheng Xiaoshi dives into pictures, he is the one with real control. Lu Guang, all-knowing that he is, is introduced as a passenger, an observer. Even after the big reveal regarding his diving abilities, his strict rules and his attempts to protect the main timeline bring him to failure. This cycle is only set to start again over and over, making it an actual time loop.

In "OVERTHINK", Cheng Xiaoshi is the one using the camera. He looks away from Lu Guang (in deception or sadness I'd say). Once he takes the picture, there is no one there: it could mean Cheng Xiaoshi is using one of Lu Guang's pictures to dive. Yes, Lu Guang's picture: after all, it is Lu Guang's camera that he is using.

Take a look at this meta: Rolleiflex

This aside, Lu Guang is the reflection/shadow, not Cheng Xiaoshi, and thus on several instances. A shadow or a reflection can't do shit. Lu Guang has no control, even if he's being sneaky and acts in the dark. Lu Guang isn't the one calling the shots.

Cheng Xiaoshi is knocking through the glass to reach Lu Guang who's always watching us, the audience. His motivation, objectives, values, worth depends on Cheng Xiaoshi's survival but he doesn't see him. Perhaps his obsession is blinding him to the point he sort of dehumanized his friend. Indeed, the distance between them is as wide as the one between you and them. Coincidally, when he does look at us, Cheng Xiaoshi is looking at him.

I'll probably write a structured and complete meta about it at some point but for now I'll just put this idea in your head: who else looks at Lu Guang's reflection and portrait, always?

Liu Xiao.

lover_astrid on X often follows Liu Xiaos's trail, they point out interesting things those, specifically: x x

Let's start with his monolgue at the end of season 2:

"It seems that one has only one destined path. But in reality, it is made up of countless parallel lines. It can be driven by one's personality. And can also change with the influence of others. Sometimes we wanna change it. But we can't. I wanna bring more parallel lines together to turn all uncertainties into certainties."

If we cannot change one's path (aka death is an unchangeable node), what is the point in turning incertainties into certainties? For one thing, I think he means to flatten a curve: make it one unique path for one specific node, like a True Timeline of sorts. Then, what does it imply? My guess is to remove either Cheng Xiaoshi or Lu Guang entirely. A theory to take with a grain of salt.

At this point, if we talk about his identity as today, before Yingdu Chapter, he could very much be an alteration of either Lu Guang or Cheng Xiaoshi trying to right a wrong. In the teaser of Surprising Click, he is standing with a picture in front of the familiar couch, many TV screens surrounding him. He's oviously a watcher. He has more knowledge than Lu Guang, and he's obsessed with him apparently, which implies that he knows about his abilities, maybe personally.

Secondly, the text Liu Xiao is reading is part of Shakespeare’s sonnets (39). I won't go too deep into the meaning of it but feel free to read this analysis. It does speaks of lovers separation, but as something that need or should happen.

Lastly, the black feather is Lu Guang's. Liu Xiao can reach Lu Guang but Cheng Xiaoshi cannot. Liu Xiao is always staring at Lu Guang's image and he has his feather as a memory, but Cheng Xiaoshi is separated from his friend by glass.

In BREAK! Cheng Xiaoshi is the one looking at us. It's like a nudge: hey, actually, I am the one telling you the story, pay attention please. When he raps in songs, he always starts by interrupting loudly to get your attention as well. "Now I'm talking. And Lu Guang will take over."

Cheng Xiaoshi's hand is on a bubble. I always thought it was a mere planet but it's actually a see-through marble. I think it is possible that Lu Guang is inside. The title itself, "BREAK!" is a giveaway of what it will take to free Lu Guang from this. But hold that thought for now.

The hourglass is a recurring motif in Link Click. It is Lu Guang's symbol. It might means that Lu Guang is in a timeloop. Perhaps he isn't only going through repeats but he is trapped in ONE endless loop. Perhaps he's already saved Cheng Xiaoshi but forgot; cut from the reality he belongs to.

The hourglass is not only an object we come across in PVs. The Birthday artwork for Lu Guang showed him in one, with forget-me-not flowers replacing sand. The Bday arts are actually very interesting because both Cheng Xiaoshi's and Lu Guang's heavily hint on Tarot Cards: the Hanged Man and the Fool. I'm working on an ass-long meta regarding the Tarot Imagery in Link Click so I won't go into too many details here.

We have the Hanged Man: he might be intuitive but he is lost, feeling trapped, is self-limited, in need for release only possible by letting go. There is a part of this arcane that tells us we know the prefered outcome but it might blind us, bring us to a prophecy we're actively trying to keep from realization. He sacrifices himself but for what?

In myths, might it be Judas hanging from the tree because of guilt, or Odin when he sacrificed himself to gain the knowledge of the runes, we're talking about an obsessive person who acts according to their own beliefs, with strong moral values. The Hanged Man speaks of selflessness... giving and not expecting in return, making sacrifices for what must be done. The truth is the Hanged Man picked his hill and will die on it. This card comes before Death, representing the peace that comes from accepting what is out of our control or no longer resisting our fate. This is all about letting our own hubris prevent us from taking a different approach.

The cat here is covering one of his eyes, which could be a parallel to Odin once more. I mentioned at the end of this meta that Lu Guang's sight has been stolen. So, it might be a choice that he is in the situation he is in but perhaps he shouldn't have made decisions on wrong beliefs.

I'll let you know that the reversed Hanged Man suggests that the seemingly noble deed of offering yourself as the sacrificial lamb is, at least for the time being, a useless gesture.

Now, the Fool. As a tarot card, I find this one very interesting and mysterious. Arthur Edward Waite gives the Fool the number 0, but in his book he discusses the Fool between Judgment (XX), and The World (XXI). He is suspended between realities. The Fool is usually considered part of the Major Arcana in tarot reasing but this is not true in tarot card games; the Fool's role in most games is independent of both the plain suit cards and the trump cards, it does not belong to either category. The Fool proceeds without calculation, spontaneously, without hesitation or resistance. Without a blueprint, he is freed up from rules, restrictions and systems.

Portrayed as an empty headed simpleton unaware of the forces that move him. In the Waite-Rider deck, you'll see him immortalized right before his fall of a cliff, walking with his loyal dog. He's impulse and careless. But tradition tells us that he has a secret that protects him: the magic of synchronicity. Now that seems counter-productive in my meta but basically synchronicity is what happens when seemingly unrelated events coincide in improbable ways that have some sort of significance for you. Carl Jung believed synchronicities were evidence of a unifying consciousness at play in the universe, creating physical manifestations of what's happening in our psyche.

Together, the Fool and the Hanged Man encourage to take a step into the unknown and to trust that everything will work out in the end. This combinaison warns of a time when sacrifice and surrender is necessary for growth and transformation.

The Hanged Man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needs to make in order to progress forward. But only by letting go of old patterns or beliefs that are holding him back can he embrace a new path leading to a good resolution.

The gears and hourglass present in these artworks are kind of self-explanatory. A cog only works as part of a machine, and the machine can only work if everything in there is where it should be and fullfills its role. One action or series of actions repeated in loop. The hourglass measures time but it comes to a stop at some point: has to be turned around so the sand it contains keep flowing. It has a start and a stop.

Finally, the character's flowers aren't only pretty, they're also meaningful. Both are related to Love and Death. Forget-Me-Not are popular enough: related to the wish to be remembered even after our passing, translated into devotion and enduring love. Bellies speaks of everlasting love even beyond death, symbol of cheerfulness and loyalty.

>> Time is like Music

"VORTEX" is a palindrome, meaning it is the same when played forward or backward. The sequence itself show this: it starts with a reverse and then, once Cheng Xiaoshi touches Lu Guang's hand, he falls down. It is a hourglass in shape and sounds. Also, it would be very clever if the story of Link Click as we've seen it had the same construction in its narrative: starting with a reverse and slowly unfolding the accurate chain of events.

This hourglass, we can find it in the "BREAK!" PV, but also in "XETROverthink". Cheng Xiaoshi literally dives into it to try and reach an unconscious Lu Guang, enlightening the idea that our favorite unreliable narrator has blind spots. We don't see Cheng Xiaoshi catching his friend because the scene cuts to the hourglass.

So, what if Link Click lied to us since the beginning? What if one other version of Cheng Xiaoshi is actually the main character and knows more than Lu Guang himself?

In "The Tides", when walking in front of the painting of a man with fabricated wings (and we know this story is one of a widower), Cheng Xiaoshi looks at it while Lu Guang looks the opposite way. There are different ways to interpret this (because this is animation so we can't be 100% sure). Once again, he could be looking at the audience or merely glancing at his lost friend in longing. Still, it offers two possible points of view:

It could be because he empathizes with the widower's story: he is living it. He knows all of it already so he doesn't need to look at the doomed romance on the wall or actually investigate the mansion.

Or perhaps it is the opposite: Cheng Xiaoshi is looking at himself. This is merely a reflection to him. And Lu Guang thinks he knows the role he is playing in the story but, really, he's clueless.

Surprisingly, you might have missed an obvious hint that dropped this summer, or simply overlooked: H A N D S.

The wings on the painting might look like Lu Guang's demonic ones but I do not believe it is a coincidence that Lu Guang usually sits by Cheng Xiaoshi's right when they clap. The first time we see them do it, and this exact frame has been used in PV and Overthink, Lu Guang claps down. Also, the "BREAK!" poster shows Cheng Xiaoshi as an angel and they are standing in the exact same position as the figures in the mansion. Once again, the hourglass floats, ominous, between their palms.

Note that even when Lu Guang receives Cheng Xiaoshi's hand, he is on the right side.

Next: None of us skipped "Dive Back in Time" so we know it by heart. Still, I find hints in this intro on a daily basis. If you pay attention, you'll not only notice that Cheng Xiaoshi probably dives in the first three seconds, but he's looking down through glass, at Lu Guang. Lu Guang, who stands at the top of a building here, is still not above Cheng Xiaoshi. Two things:

In the chronological order, the story told is this: First, Cheng Xiaoshi dives into the picture and then we see Lu Guang changing the timeline to save Cheng Xiaoshi. This is basically Inception.

The glass could be from the frame but it could be very much so from the usually hourglass, symbol of Lu Guang's obsession.

Another interesting detail is this shot:

Thanks to the watch, we know those are Lu Guang's hands but it is a pose we only see Cheng Xiaoshi takes. Because this is the "sponsors screen", this became Cheng Xiaoshi's signature move to me. We see the story through Lu Guang's perspective, but it's really Cheng Xiaoshi that we should focus on, here.

This particular sequence also offers a reverse: a fall, the "frame" sign with hands, one of the hand making a sign to "look up"/"go back up", then we are pulled up. It is the same narrative as "VORTEX" but this time we find ourselves on the other end, the correct order.

"Break!" lyrics once again seem to fit to Lu Guang more (and I think that's the point, "You're not just a tool" can only be addressed to CXS because that's how Lu Guang and Qiao Ling usually call him). Although the word break is used only once in the song ("make or break a leg"), the action of BREAKing is Cheng Xiaoshi's. Plus, the broken glass is the hourglass.

Speaking of broken glass and reflection, this shot of Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi in reverse in "VORTEX"- I reversed it according to the background (falling down). Once more, Cheng Xiaoshi is the main body, Lu Guang is not actually there.

In a way, this theory only gives more sense to "XETROVerthink": Lu Guang appears in the hourglass but it's Cheng Xiaoshi who swims to him in order to save him, not the other way around. The rest of this PV is Cheng Xiaoshi's POV too.

Aside from the visual theme that shows basically everything we need to know about Link Click's plot, you have obviously the lyrics. As much as "VORTEX" and both ENDs, they could be read as Lu Guang or Cheng Xiaoshi's pov. But like I said at the beginning of this meta, some lines aren't working for Lu Guang at all.

There has been a hint of Lu Guang trying to stay away, in Lu Guang's flash back, but failing. We don't know if these memories belong to the timeline we're currently watching or not, but they egg us on the very real possibility that Lu Guang might chose to stay away from Cheng Xiaoshi in order to save his life. After all, their powers are complimentary and work together. Their side hustle depends on this. Arguably, and this is an realistic conclusion to draw: this job is what kills Cheng Xiaoshi. It's only natural to suppose he wouldn't die if Lu Guang wasn't in his life.

Your eyes, there ain't nowhere left to hide behind Something secretive hidden inside your mind If it ain't for your misguided taste I'd turn out so ordinary Fabulously un-addictively bore out my own brain Well, don't you feel sorry I'll love where I'm going now

Blue: Diving into Lu Guang's past/picture, could uncovered all secrets, Cheng Xiaoshi could understand him and, from this perspective, there is no possibility to hide anything.

Pink: Cheng Xiaoshi wants to correct Lu Guang's correction, he doesn't want to live an ordinary and boring life Lu Guang isn't a part of. He likes their side hustle as well, I think, because, as I said in the past regarding LCLA, he wants to help people, it's part of his core.

Possibly, our favorite unreliable narrator actually went through it with this in the end. This hopefully won't stick, not if Cheng Xiaoshi has something to say about that.

Cheng Xiaoshi wouldn't really want things any other way, and that's why this theory of him trying to get Lu Guang back into his storyline seems so plausible to me. Good or bad memories, he just want his partner back.

Because, after all, doesn't it sound like a line someone who remembers a friend who doesn't exist would say?

Chase you to the end of the world just to say your name once more.

I always thought it was a strange way to put it. Most of the time, songs and movies say the opposite "I want to hear you call my name one last time." You know the kind. But here, he wants to say it.

Food for thought. 👀

[elysiaheaven]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧-𝟑

Created by@𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓮

AN IM CRAYZ AHAHHAHAHAJANNANANANSNSNSN

WORDS:12341

TW:obssesive behaviour, unhealthy relationships/feelings,Clingy,Manipulation,Emotional manipulation,forcing of marriage...,mention of death,killing/Most TWS FOR YANDERE,suggestive!

The door closes behind Sunday, you exhale a sigh of relief, though the tension in your muscles persists. Every moment feels like a delicate balance between maintaining appearances and planning your next move toward freedom.

You sit down at the table where Sunday left the tray of food, but your appetite is gone. Instead, your mind races with thoughts of Robin, the birdcage, and the path to escape that lies hidden within the temple. You replay her instructions in your mind, reminding yourself of the need for caution and secrecy.

With a sense of urgency, you pull out your phone and review the photos you took in the temple and the ancient texts you managed to gather. They are your lifeline, your guide to understanding the symbols and rituals that might hold the key to your liberation.

As you immerse yourself in deciphering the ancient writings, a plan begins to take shape. You need more information, more clues that could aid your escape. The library in the palace holds many secrets, and perhaps there are more texts or maps that could reveal additional passages or hidden exits.

You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching, before slipping out of your quarters once more. The palace is quiet, its grand halls echoing with the weight of centuries-old secrets. You make your way to the library, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and fear of being caught.

Inside, you quickly scan the shelves, pulling out books and scrolls that catch your eye. Each one could hold a piece of the puzzle, a clue that might lead you closer to unlocking the secrets of the temple and your path to freedom.

Hours pass as you pour over the texts, deciphering ancient languages and piecing together fragments of history. You uncover references to hidden passages, symbols of protection, and rituals that speak of liberation from confinement.

Just as you're about to delve deeper into a particularly promising tome, you hear footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly hide the book beneath your cloak, pretending to browse casually as Sunday enters the library.

He smiles warmly at you, his presence both reassuring and unsettling. "I thought I might find you here," he says, his tone gentle. "Did you find something interesting?"

You nod, trying to appear composed despite the racing of your heart. "Just exploring the history of this place," you reply, your voice steady. "There's so much to learn."

Sunday steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable. "You have a thirst for knowledge," he observes softly. "I admire that about you."

You force a smile, hiding the turmoil beneath the surface. "Thank you," you say, careful not to reveal too much.

He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I want to show you something," he says quietly, his eyes searching yours.

Your mind races with possibilities, unsure of what Sunday has in mind. But you know you must tread carefully, maintaining your facade while continuing to search for any opportunity to further your escape.

Sunday leads you through the library, your heart races with both apprehension and determination. You maintain a facade of calm curiosity, nodding politely as he speaks of the palace's history and its hidden treasures. However, when Sunday suddenly stops and turns to you with a piercing gaze, you feel a surge of unease.

"Do you know someone named Robin?" he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You pause, taken aback by the directness of his question. Fear grips your heart momentarily, but you quickly gather your composure. You know that admitting any knowledge of Robin could jeopardize your escape plans.

"No," you reply firmly, meeting Sunday's gaze with feigned innocence. "I don't know anyone named Robin."

Sunday studies you intently for a moment, his expression unreadable. You hold your breath, praying that he believes your lie.

After what feels like an eternity, Sunday nods slowly. "I see," he says quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. "I must have been mistaken."

Relief washes over you, but you remain cautious. "Is everything alright?" you ask, trying to divert his attention.

Sunday sighs softly, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I worry about you," he admits, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to protect you."

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "I appreciate that," you reply, keeping your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

He reaches out and gently touches your shoulder, his touch lingering briefly. "I care about you," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to pull away. "I know," you say softly, masking your discomfort with practiced ease.

Sunday's eyes darken with a mix of frustration and determination. Before you can react, he pushes you against the wall, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but not painfully. The suddenness of his action leaves you breathless, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"Are you sure you don't know anyone named Robin?" he asks again, his voice low and insistent.

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. You meet his gaze with as much steadiness as you can muster. "I already told you, I don't know anyone named Robin," you reply, your voice unwavering.

Sunday's eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're lying," he whispers, his tone a mixture of accusation and curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes."

You swallow hard, trying to keep your fear from showing. "I'm not lying," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know her."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze boring into yours as if searching for any crack in your facade. You can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken challenge between the two of you.

Finally, Sunday releases his grip on your shoulders and steps back, a resigned look on his face. "Fine," he says quietly. "If you say you don't know her, I'll let it go. But know this—if you are lying, and I find out, there will be consequences."

You nod, relief flooding through you as he steps away. "I understand," you say softly, hoping to appease him.

Sunday's expression softens slightly, and he reaches out to gently touch your cheek. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. "But I need to know I can trust you."

You nod again, feeling a mixture of guilt and determination. "You can trust me," you say, hoping your words sound sincere.

He smiles faintly, though the tension between you remains. "Good," he says softly. "Then let's move on. There's still so much I want to show you."

You didn't know why you to joke.

"....How are you gonna show that you can trust me?"

Sunday's intense gaze holds you captive as he steps closer, his hands once again gripping your shoulders. This time, however, his movements are slower, more deliberate. He pushes you gently against the wall again, and you feel the solid surface cool against your back. His eyes never leave yours, a strange mix of desire and determination burning within them.

Before you can react, Sunday leans in and starts to kiss you. His lips brush against your neck, your collarbone, trailing down your shoulder with a feather-light touch. He avoids your face, focusing instead on the sensitive areas that make your heart race and your breath hitch. The sensation is overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to resist, you feel a small part of you responding to his touch, craving more.

Your mind battles against your body's reactions, the fear and anger you feel toward Sunday warring with the unexpected desire his touch elicits. Just as you begin to grapple with these conflicting emotions, your vision starts to blur. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and the room begins to spin.

"S-Sunday," you murmur weakly, trying to push him away, but your strength fails you. Your knees buckle, and you feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Sunday's face, his expression a mixture of concern and satisfaction. You faint, your body going limp in his arms.

When you regain consciousness, you're no longer against the wall. Instead, you find yourself lying on a plush bed in a dimly lit room. Your head feels heavy, and you struggle to remember what happened. As you slowly sit up, you notice Sunday sitting in a chair nearby, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent of something more.

You nod, still feeling disoriented. "What... what happened?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You fainted," Sunday replies, standing up and walking over to you. "I was worried about you."

You look at him, trying to read his intentions. "Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Sunday sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says softly. "I just... I wanted to show you how much I care about you. How much I need you to trust me."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you pull back slightly, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. You know you need to be careful, to play along until you can find a way out of this twisted situation.

"I... I understand," you say slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But you need to give me time. This is all so overwhelming."

Sunday nods, his eyes softening. "Of course," he says gently. "Take all the time you need. Just know that I'm here for you, and I will always protect you."

You force a smile, trying to appear grateful even as your mind works furiously to formulate a plan. You can't let Sunday know about Robin or your intentions to escape. You need to find a way to gather more information, to uncover the secrets of the temple, and to finally break free from his control.

As Sunday leaves the room to give you some space, you take a deep breath and just..sleep?

The next morning, you awaken to find a beautifully wrapped box at the foot of your bed. Its ornate ribbon and delicate paper signal that it's something special. As you sit up, the door creaks open, and Sunday enters, his face alight with a mix of anticipation and joy.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, walking over to the box and gently lifting the lid. Inside is a stunning wedding gown, intricately designed with delicate lace and shimmering embroidery. He holds it up for you to see, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You'll be marrying me. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Your heart skips a beat, and a cold chill runs down your spine. The weight of his words crashes over you, and you feel a surge of fear and panic. But you know you must maintain your facade, to keep him from suspecting anything.

You force a smile, though your hands tremble slightly as you reach out to touch the gown. "It's beautiful," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Sunday. I'm... happy."

Sunday's smile widens, and he steps closer, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I'm glad you like it," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I want our wedding to be perfect. You deserve nothing less."

You nod, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the urgency of finding a way out before it's too late. "Of course," you reply, trying to sound genuine. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me."

He leans in and kisses your forehead, his touch both tender and possessive. "Tomorrow, we'll be together forever," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll make sure you're happy."

You manage a small nod, your heart pounding in your chest. As Sunday leaves the room to prepare for the day, you clutch the gown to your chest, feeling the weight of your predicament pressing down on you. The fear and uncertainty are almost overwhelming, but you know you can't give up now.

With trembling hands, you place the gown back in its box and take a deep breath. You need to find a way to escape, and you need to do it soon. The temple of Ena might hold the answers you seek, and you must find a way to visit it without arousing Sunday's suspicions.

As you get dressed, your mind races with plans and possibilities. You know that time is running out, and you must act quickly if you want to reclaim your freedom.

Determined, you leave your room and make your way through the palace, careful to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You head toward the library, hoping to find more information that might aid your escape. The library is vast and filled with ancient texts, and you know that somewhere within its shelves lies the knowledge you need.

As you search through the books, you come across an old map of the palace and its surrounding grounds. Your eyes widen as you spot a hidden passage leading from the palace to the temple of Ena. This could be your way out.

You carefully copy the map onto a piece of parchment, your hands shaking with a mix of fear and hope. You know that the risk is great, but you have no other choice. You must escape before the wedding, before it's too late.

As you slip the map into your pocket, you hear footsteps approaching. You quickly hide the book and turn to see Sunday entering the library, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You force a smile, nodding. "Yes, I'm fine," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just doing some reading."

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure," he says gently. "Remember, you can always talk to me."

You nod, feeling a pang of guilt for the lies you're telling. But you know it's necessary. "Thank you," you say softly. "I appreciate it."

He leans in and kisses your cheek, his touch lingering. "I'll see you soon," he murmurs, before turning to leave.

Sunday leaves the library, you exhale a sigh of relief, clutching the copied map tightly. The plan is forming in your mind, but the weight of the upcoming wedding still looms over you. You know you must act quickly, but you need a way to incapacitate Sunday without raising suspicion.

Just then, a familiar presence fills your thoughts. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, calm and guiding. "Make him a tea with the moonflower," she instructs. "It will make him sleep. Use this time wisely."

You nod to yourself, determination solidifying your resolve. The moonflower is rare, but you remember seeing it in the palace's garden, blooming under the cover of night. You just need to get it and prepare the tea without Sunday noticing.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you make your way to the garden, keeping to the shadows to avoid drawing attention. The moonflowers glow softly in the moonlight, their petals delicate and fragrant. You carefully pick a few, tucking them into your cloak before heading back inside.

In your room, you quickly prepare the tea, the scent of the moonflowers filling the air. As you work, you glance at the wedding gown, feeling a mix of fear and determination. This gown represents the cage Sunday wants to trap you in, but you won't let it hold you.

Dressed in the gown, you step out of your room, the fabric rustling softly with each step. You make your way to Sunday's chambers, the tray with the moonflower tea balanced carefully in your hands. You knock softly on the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Come in," Sunday calls from inside.

You enter, finding him adjusting his clothes in front of a mirror. He looks undeniably handsome, his attire immaculate and his demeanor confident. He turns to you, his eyes lighting up as he sees you in the gown.

"You look stunning," he says, stepping closer and taking your hand. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

You force a smile, feeling the weight of your deception. "I thought you might like some tea," you say, offering the tray.

Sunday's smile widens, and he takes the cup, inhaling the fragrant steam. "How thoughtful of you," he murmurs, raising the cup to his lips. "To us."

You watch as he takes a sip, your heart racing with anticipation. He drinks deeply, the warmth of the tea spreading through him. Within moments, his eyes begin to droop, and he sways slightly.

"Are you alright?" you ask, feigning concern as you step closer.

Sunday blinks, trying to stay awake, but the moonflower's effects are too strong. "I... I feel..." he mutters, before his eyes close and he collapses onto the bed.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, quickly moving to ensure he's deeply asleep. His breathing steadies, and you know you have precious little time.

With Sunday incapacitated, you rush to gather your things, grabbing the map and any other essentials. You slip out of the room, your heart pounding as you navigate the palace halls, heading toward the hidden passage leading to the temple of Ena.

As you move through the corridors, Robin's voice echoes in your mind once more. "Stay strong," she encourages. "Freedom is within your grasp."

You reach the hidden entrance, pushing open the concealed door and slipping inside. The passage is dark and musty, but you push forward, guided by the dim light of your torch and the hope of escape.

Finally, you emerge into the temple, the air heavy with the weight of ancient secrets. You move quickly, searching for any clues or tools that could aid your escape. The temple is vast and filled with relics, each one a piece of the puzzle that could lead to your freedom.

you delve deeper into the temple, you feel a surge of determination. The path to freedom is fraught with danger, but you won't let fear hold you back. You are stronger than the cage Sunday tried to trap you in, and you will find your way out, no matter the cost.

You began to navigate the temple, your mind races with thoughts of escape and the dangers that lie ahead. You pause briefly to steady yourself, your hand gripping the ancient map you had copied earlier. You know you must return to the palace before Sunday awakens, but the urgency of the situation weighs heavily on you.

Returning to the palace, you carefully retrace your steps to avoid suspicion. You slip back into your room, the gown still pristine, and quickly hide the map in a safe place. Your heart pounds as you consider your next move.

Sunday stirs as you enter his chambers again, his eyes fluttering open. He smiles groggily, clearly still affected by the moonflower tea but beginning to regain his senses.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, reaching out to touch the delicate lace of your gown. "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

You nod, trying to maintain your composure. "Almost. Can you help me tighten the lace at the back? It doesn't feel quite right."

Sunday stands, still a bit unsteady, but he moves behind you and begins to adjust the lace. His fingers work methodically, and you can feel the fabric tightening around your waist. The intimacy of the moment sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight to keep your emotions in check.

As he finishes, his hands linger on your shoulders, and he leans in close. "Perfect," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The gown fits perfectly now, the intricate lace accentuating your figure. But the sight only serves to remind you of the cage you're trapped in.

Suddenly, Sunday pushes you gently against the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire. "You look so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing along your neck and collarbone. "I can't wait for tomorrow."

His hands roam over your body, and you feel a mix of fear and unexpected desire. He kisses you deeply, his lips exploring every inch of your skin except for your face. The mirror's cold surface against your back contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch.

You gasp, trying to maintain control, but the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. Sunday pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice filled with longing.

You hesitate, knowing that you need to play along to buy yourself more time. "I... I do," you say softly, your voice trembling.

Sunday's smile widens, and he kisses you again, more fervently this time. Your mind races, trying to find a way out even as your body betrays you. You know you need to escape before he fully regains his strength.

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push against him gently. "We should wait until tomorrow," you say, trying to sound convincing. "It will be more special then."

Sunday hesitates, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he nods, a satisfied smile on his face. "You're right," he agrees, stepping back. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

Relief washes over you, but you know the clock is ticking. You need to finalize your escape plan before the wedding. As Sunday settles back into bed, you quietly slip out of the room, your heart pounding with determination.

You head back to your room, the weight of the gown reminding you of the urgency of your situation. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong. You know that freedom is within your grasp, and you won't let anything stand in your way.

As you sit down, you take a deep breath and begin to strategize. The temple holds the key to your escape, and you must return there when the opportunity arises. With each passing moment, you grow more determined to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As the plan continues to take shape in your mind, you know you need to act fast. The next step is to ensure Sunday remains unconscious long enough for you to finalize your escape. You head back to the kitchen, gathering the necessary ingredients to prepare another batch of the moonflower tea.

Once the tea is ready, you carefully carry it back to Sunday's chambers. The door creaks softly as you enter, and Sunday looks up, a smile spreading across his face as he sees you.

"More tea?" he asks, his voice still groggy from the earlier dose.

You nod, offering the cup. "I thought it might help you relax," you say, forcing a smile. "You need your rest for tomorrow."

Sunday takes the cup from your hands, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "You're so thoughtful," he murmurs, taking a sip. "I don't deserve you."

You watch as he drinks, the effects of the moonflower beginning to take hold. He finishes the tea and sets the cup aside, his eyelids growing heavy. He reaches out, taking your hand in his, and kisses it gently.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers, his voice fading as he drifts into sleep.

You wait until you're sure he's deeply asleep, then carefully extricate your hand from his grasp. Your heart pounds as you stand up, making sure he remains undisturbed. You have no time to lose.

You quickly made sure if your wedding gown wasn't a problem..You gather your essentials, including the map, and take a deep breath. The palace is quiet, the only sound being your own footsteps as you make your way toward the hidden passage.

You navigate the dark corridors, the weight of your situation pressing down on you. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong and focused. You reach the hidden door, pushing it open and slipping inside.

The passage is as dark and musty as before, but you push forward, your resolve unwavering. The temple looms ahead, its ancient walls holding the secrets you need to uncover. You move quickly, determined to find the information that will lead to your freedom.

As you enter the temple, you feel a strange sense of calm. The air is heavy with the weight of history, and you know that this place holds the key to your escape. You move through the corridors, searching for anything that might help you.

Finally, you come across a small, hidden chamber. Inside, you find an old book, its pages filled with detailed instructions and ancient spells. You carefully read through it, your heart racing as you realize the power it holds.

You take the book and slip it into your bag, knowing that it could be your ticket to freedom. You head back toward the passage, your mind racing with thoughts of the future.

As you make your way back to the palace, you feel a renewed sense of determination. You know that the path ahead is fraught with danger, but you are ready to face it. You will escape from Sunday's grasp, no matter what it takes.

Because somewhere beyond these walls lies the life you deserve, and you won't stop until you've claimed it for yourself. The journey ahead may be perilous, but you are ready to face it head-on, no matter the cost.

Returning to the hidden passage, you move with a sense of urgency, your determination growing with each step. The weight of the ancient book in your bag reassures you that you have the means to escape. As you navigate the dark corridors, you feel a strange pull guiding you deeper into the temple.

You soon find yourself back at the small birdcage you had seen earlier, the one that held Robin. The small bird chirps softly as you approach, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and curiosity.

You carefully unlatch the cage, gently lifting Robin out. She flutters her wings, stretching them for the first time in what seems like ages. "Thank you," she chirps, her voice filled with gratitude. "But what were you doing here?"

You take a deep breath, explaining quickly. "I'm trying to escape. I found an old book with spells and instructions. I need to get away from Sunday before the wedding."

Robin tilts her head, understanding dawning in her eyes. "The moonflower tea worked, then? He's asleep?"

You nod. "For now. But I don't have much time. Do you know any safe routes out of here?"

Robin flutters closer, her small form hovering in front of you. "There's a hidden exit in the temple that leads to the forest. Follow me."

You follow Robin through the winding passages of the temple, her small form darting ahead and guiding you through the dark corridors. You move quickly, the urgency of your situation driving you forward. The air grows cooler as you descend, the walls closing in around you.

Finally, Robin stops at a seemingly solid wall. "Here," she chirps, pressing a small, hidden stone. The wall shifts, revealing a narrow passage leading to the outside. The fresh scent of the forest filters in, a stark contrast to the musty air of the temple.

You step through the passage, the forest opening up before you. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a silvery glow over everything. Robin lands on your shoulder, her presence a comforting weight.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

Robin chirps softly. "We're not out of danger yet. We need to move quickly. Sunday will realize you're gone soon."

You nod, determination hardening your resolve. "Let's go."

You move through the forest, the ancient book clutched tightly in your hands. The journey is far from over, but for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope. You will find a way to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As you navigate the forest, Robin's guidance leads you through hidden paths and away from any potential dangers. The night is filled with the sounds of the forest, but you move with a purpose, each step bringing you closer to freedom.

Hours pass, and the first light of dawn begins to filter through the trees. You find a small clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and gathering your thoughts. Robin perches nearby, her eyes watchful and alert.

"There's one more thing you should know," Robin says, her voice tinged with regret. "If you get caught, take a wine bottle and the white roses. It's important."

You furrow your brow, confused. "Why? What do the wine bottle and white roses do?"

"...If we get caught..I.."

"We won't! Robin!"

You clutch the bag tightly, knowing that within it lies your chance at freedom.

Hours pass, and the sun rises higher in the sky. You find another clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and checking your surroundings.

"We're getting closer," Robin says softly. "We can find shelter and plan our next move."

You nod, exhaustion beginning to set in. "Thank you, Robin. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Robin perches on your shoulder, her small form radiating warmth and comfort. "We're in this together," she says. "We'll find a way to keep you safe."

"!!!!!" Robin was suddenly uneasy.

"We need to find a safe place to hide," Robin whispers urgently, her wings fluttering with agitation.

You nod in agreement, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. Just as you're about to move towards a promising alleyway, a sudden dizziness overwhelms you. The ground tilts beneath your feet, and you stumble forward, clutching your head in pain.

"Robin," you manage to gasp, before darkness consumes your vision.

When you awaken, the world around you is dim and unfamiliar. You find yourself lying on a cold stone floor, the air heavy with the scent of ancient dust and incense. As your senses gradually sharpen, you realize you're inside a dimly lit chamber adorned with intricate runes and flickering torches.

"Robin?" you call out weakly, your voice echoing in the eerie silence.

There's no response. Panic grips you as you struggle to your feet, the memories of your journey and the urgency of your mission flooding back. You stagger towards a nearby ornate mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of your surroundings and perhaps find a clue to your whereabouts.

Before you can reach the mirror, a voice cuts through the silence from the shadows.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice is smooth yet chilling, sending a shiver down your spine. Emerging from the darkness steps a figure cloaked in midnight black, his eyes glinting with malevolent amusement.

"S-Sunday," you stammer, recognizing him despite the years that have passed since you last saw his face. His presence fills the chamber with an oppressive aura, his every movement calculated and unnerving.

"You've come far, my dear," Sunday murmurs, his voice dripping with honeyed menace. "But not far enough."

Robin's absence weighs heavily on your mind as you struggle to maintain composure in the face of Sunday's eerie confidence. His smile is as cold as the stone around you, a stark reminder of the danger that has followed you relentlessly.

"What have you done with Robin?" you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Sunday's laughter rings out, echoing off the ancient walls. "Oh, Robin is quite safe," he replies cryptically. "But you, my dear, are exactly where I want you."

As Sunday closes the distance between you with unsettling grace, you realize with sinking dread that escaping his grasp will require more than just cunning and bravery. With Robin's fate hanging in the balance and the ancient book's protection spell seemingly undone, you steel yourself for the confrontation ahead.

The game of cat and mouse has reached its climax.

Sunday approached, his presence looms over you like a specter of doom. You stand your ground, despite the tremors of fear threatening to overtake you. His eyes gleam with a mixture of amusement and malice, his every step echoing in the quiet chamber.

You glance around, taking in the unsettling scene. The chamber, dimly lit by flickering torches, is indeed filled with white roses arranged meticulously as though for a solemn ceremony. Their fragrance mingles with the heavy incense, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and suffocating.

In your hand, you clutch the bouquet of white roses tightly, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the dire situation unfolding before you. Beside you, almost forgotten in the rush of events, is the wine bottle Robin mentioned—a potent sleeping potion that could provide a desperate escape if the need arose.

Sunday's gaze flickers briefly to the bouquet in your hand, a glimmer of recognition crossing his features. "Ah, the white roses," he muses, his voice smooth yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "A symbol of purity and peace, but in this place, they serve a different purpose."

You swallow hard, uncertainty clawing at your resolve. "What do you want from me, Sunday?" you manage to ask, trying to buy time to formulate a plan.

He smiles knowingly, his demeanor shifting from amusement to something more insidious. "You've always had a knack for escaping, my dear," he murmurs, circling you like a predator to its prey. "But this time, you won't slip through my fingers."

With a sudden, swift movement, Sunday reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm. Fear surges through you as you instinctively step back, clutching the bouquet tighter. His touch sends a chill down your spine, a reminder of his power and your vulnerability in this strange and treacherous place.

"Where is Robin?" you demand again, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed.

Sunday's smile widens, his eyes alight with a cruel glint. "Patience, my dear," he replies silkily. "All in good time."

As he continues to circle you, his movements fluid and unsettlingly calm, you weigh your options. The protective spell from the ancient book lies dormant, its potency diminished or perhaps manipulated by Sunday's dark magic. The white roses in your hand could potentially buy you time or sway Sunday's intentions, if only you could discern his motives.

Before you can decide on a course of action, a distant sound breaks the oppressive silence—a faint rustling, like the fluttering of wings. You glance towards the source, a sliver of hope igniting within you.

Robin appears, her small form darting through the shadows towards you. Relief floods your senses as she lands gracefully on your shoulder, her presence a beacon of solidarity in the face of Sunday's malevolence.

"Robin," you whisper gratefully, feeling a surge of courage bolstered by her unwavering loyalty.

Robin's declaration hangs heavy in the air, her voice resonating with both defiance and a hint of sorrow. "Brother," she says, her wings quivering with emotion, "please, don't do this."

Sunday's expression softens momentarily, a flicker of conflict crossing his features. "Robin," he replies, his voice betraying a trace of hesitation, "you know the rules."

Before Robin can protest further, Sunday gestures with a swift motion of his hand. Dark tendrils of magic coil around Robin, ensnaring her in an invisible cage. She struggles against the magical bonds, her cries echoing in the chamber, but the more she fights, the tighter the grip becomes.

"No!" you cry out, a surge of desperation propelling you forward. You reach out towards Robin, but a barrier of dark energy repels your touch, leaving you helpless to intervene.

Sunday watches impassively as Robin's struggles subside, her wings drooping with defeat. "I'm sorry, sister," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret, though his eyes betray no hint of remorse.

Robin meets his gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. "Why?" she whispers, her voice filled with anguish. "Who even are you?"

Sunday's expression hardens once more, the mask of indifference settling back into place. "It's our destiny," he replies cryptically. "You know the price of defiance"

With a final glance towards you, a mix of warning and challenge in his eyes, Sunday turns away, leaving you alone with Robin trapped in her magical prison. The chamber grows colder, the torches flickering ominously as though mourning the loss of hope that once burned brightly within its walls.

You grasp the bouquet of white roses tightly, the soft petals a stark contrast to the harsh reality closing in around you. The wine bottle remains in your other hand, its weight a reminder of the potential escape it offers—a fleeting hope in the face of overwhelming darkness.

Without breaking eye contact, you carefully uncork the wine bottle, pouring its contents over the delicate petals of the white roses. The rich scent of the potion mingles with the sweet fragrance of the flowers, creating a potent aroma that hangs heavy in the chamber.

Sunday's lips curl into a cruel smile as he watches you complete the ritual. "You are resourceful," he comments, his voice carrying a tone of begrudging admiration. With a flick of his finger, the dark magic surrounding Robin's cage dissipates, releasing her from her magical prison.

Robin emerges cautiously, her wings trembling with exhaustion and relief. She lands softly beside you, her gaze flickering between you and Sunday with wary apprehension. "Thank you," she whispers to you, her voice filled with gratitude despite the dire circumstances.

Sunday's smile widens as he approaches, his gaze fixed upon you with unnerving intensity. "Now that we have settled that," he says smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement, "let's discuss the terms of our arrangement."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as Sunday's words hang in the air, heavy with implication. His proposal hangs in the balance, a dangerous game of negotiation and survival unfolding before you. Robin's presence beside you is a silent reminder of the stakes—her safety and your own freedom precariously balanced on the edge of Sunday's whims.

"You want to save Robin," Sunday continues, his eyes boring into yours with a chilling clarity. "And I can ensure her safety, but only if you agree to one condition."

Helplessness washes over you like a wave crashing upon the shore. You glance at Robin, her expression a mixture of concern and silent encouragement. Despite Sunday's dark nature, Robin's kindness and unwavering support throughout your journey resonate within you, a stark contrast to the cruelty and manipulation personified by her brother.

Nodding slowly, you swallow your pride and resign yourself to the bitter truth of your situation. "What do you want?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunday's smile twists into a smirk of triumph. "Marry me," he declares, his voice echoing through the chamber with finality. "If you want to ensure Robin's safety, you will become my wife."

The weight of his words settles upon you like a heavy cloak. You meet Sunday's gaze with a mix of defiance and resignation, knowing that this twisted bargain is the only path forward—a sacrifice to protect the one beacon of light in this dark and treacherous world.

"Fine," you concede, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "I'll marry you."

With a flick of his hand, he gestures for Robin to be escorted away by shadowy figures that materialize from the dim recesses of the chamber. Robin casts a pleading glance over her shoulder, her wings fluttering nervously, but she obeys silently, knowing her defiance could only lead to further harm.

As Robin disappears into the shadows, your heart sinks with the weight of her departure. You're left alone with Sunday, his gaze fixed upon you like a predator closing in on its prey. Instinctively, you back away, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

But Sunday moves swiftly, closing the distance between you with unnerving grace. He reaches out, his touch firm yet strangely gentle as he pulls you closer to him. His presence overwhelms you—his scent, a mix of darkness and intrigue, envelops you as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"All white, with a slight touch of red," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. His words send a shiver down your spine, a mixture of revulsion and resignation washing over you.

You hold the bouquet of white roses tightly, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the dark intentions swirling around you. Sunday's grip tightens around your arm, his other hand caressing the flowers in your hand with an unsettling familiarity.

"You will learn to appreciate the elegance of contrasts," he continues, his voice low and possessive. "Just as you will learn to appreciate the intricacies of our arrangement."

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You feel trapped, ensnared in a web of obligation and coercion. Despite the facade of civility, you sense the underlying threat beneath Sunday's smooth demeanor—a reminder of the power he wields over your fate and the fragility of your newfound alliance.

With a final, chilling smile, Sunday releases you, stepping back to survey you with a calculated gaze. "Prepare yourself.."

The air in the chamber grows colder as dawn approaches, casting long shadows that dance eerily across the stone walls. Sunday stands before you, his presence commanding and unsettling in the pale moonlight filtering through the chamber's high windows. His eyes gleam with a mixture of triumph and anticipation as he prepares to bind you to him in a marriage of his own making.

"We will not waste time with unnecessary formalities," Sunday declares, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. He steps closer, holding out a ring—a simple band of dark metal adorned with intricate runes that shimmer faintly in the moonlight. "This ring," he continues, his tone authoritative, "will signify your allegiance to me."

You hesitate, torn between defiance and resignation. The weight of Robin's safety presses upon you, urging you to comply despite the dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you extend your hand, allowing Sunday to slide the ring onto your finger. As the metal touches your skin, a chill seeps into your bones, a physical reminder of the bond you've just accepted.

"And these," Sunday adds, producing a pair of ornate handcuffs from the folds of his cloak, "will ensure your compliance."

The handcuffs gleam dully in the moonlight, their intricate designs hinting at their arcane purpose. Without another word, Sunday secures them around your wrists, the cold metal biting into your flesh. They tighten with a faint click, locking you in place, both physically and metaphorically, as his prisoner.

"You will accompany me willingly," Sunday states firmly, his eyes boring into yours with a

The journey through Sunday's realm is fraught with tension and uncertainty, each step echoing with the weight of the vows you've reluctantly accepted. As you follow him through winding corridors and shadowed passageways, Sunday's presence looms over you like a specter, a constant reminder of the bargain that binds you to him.

Finally, you arrive at a grand temple bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass windows. The air is heavy with the scent of ancient incense, and the stillness of the sacred space adds to the solemnity of the moment.

Sunday gestures towards an altar adorned with symbols of his arcane power—a place where rituals of both light and dark have been performed for centuries. "Place the ring here," he commands, his voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling finality.

With trembling hands, you comply, placing the ring upon the stone altar. Its dark metal gleams faintly in the moonlight, a stark contrast against the ancient stones worn smooth by the passage of time. As you step back, a sense of resignation settles over you, knowing that this act solidifies your entanglement in Sunday's web of influence.

"The husband may now kiss the bride," Sunday declares, his tone carrying a mocking edge as he approaches you.

You feel a knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of dread and helplessness welling up within you. Sunday's lips meet yours with a cold intensity, his kiss a stark reminder of the power he wields over you. Tears well up in your eyes, silent witnesses to the turmoil raging within your soul—the betrayal of your freedom, the sacrifice for Robin's safety, and the bitter taste of submission to a fate not of your choosing.

As Sunday pulls away, a faint smile plays upon his lips, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Welcome to your new life," he murmurs, his voice laced with a cruel tenderness that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stand there, trembling in the aftermath of his touch, the weight of your decisions settling heavily upon your shoulders. The temple around you remains silent, its ancient walls bearing witness to the unholy union forged in moonlight—a marriage bound by obligation rather than love, and a journey into darkness where every breath taken is a reminder of the choices made and the sacrifices endured.

Sunday stands before you in the moonlit temple, his eyes flicker with a mixture of amusement and something darker. His grip on your wrist remains firm, a silent reminder of your newfound captivity under his command. The air is thick with tension as he leans closer, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"You're a cute liar," he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Pretending not to enjoy this."

Before you can protest, Sunday's lips capture yours in a kiss that ignites a conflicted storm within you. His touch is possessive, demanding, and despite your inner turmoil, a strange sensation stirs—a desire that feels alien yet undeniable, as if someone else within you is compelling you to respond.

You find yourself responding to his kiss, your body betraying your mind's resistance. It's as though a force beyond your control is pushing you forward, urging you to surrender to the allure of Sunday's power and the twisted dance of dominance and submission that now defines your existence.

The kiss deepens, the moonlight casting shadows upon the temple floor as you lose yourself in the sensation. For a brief moment, you forget the fear and regret that gnaw at your conscience. Instead, a dangerous thrill courses through you—an intoxicating blend of fear and forbidden desire that clouds your judgment and muddles your thoughts.

As Sunday pulls away, a self-satisfied smirk plays upon his lips. "You see?" he says softly, his voice dripping with triumph. "You belong to me now, body and soul."

A chill runs down your spine, a realization settling in that you are no longer merely a captive of circumstance but a willing participant in a game where every move brings you deeper into Sunday's web of control. The tears you shed earlier seem distant now, lost in the haze of conflicting emotions that swirl around you like the shadows in the temple.

You stand before him, breathless and uncertain, caught between the repulsion you feel towards him and the inexplicable pull he exerts over you. The moonlight continues to bathe the temple in its silvery glow.

Sunday's demeanor shifts once more. His gaze hardens, the cruel smile fading from his lips as he assesses you with a calculating stare. Without a word, he gestures towards a corner of the chamber where a small, ornate cage sits nestled amidst shadows.

"You've proven to be quite the challenge," he remarks coolly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "But challenges only make victory sweeter."

A sense of dread washes over you as realization dawns—the fleeting moment of compliance and the kiss shared under the moonlight were merely tools in Sunday's arsenal, designed to reaffirm his dominance and your submission. You step back instinctively, but Sunday's grip on your wrist tightens once more, preventing any escape.

Before you can protest or resist, dark tendrils of magic coil around you, wrapping you in an invisible vice that pulls you towards the waiting cage. The cold metal bites into your skin as you're forced inside, the door swinging shut with a resounding clang that reverberates through the chamber.

Inside the cage, the air is stale and suffocating, a stark contrast to the moonlit expanse beyond its confines. You grasp the bars, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. How could you have been so foolish to let your guard down, to momentarily forget the darkness that lurks within Sunday's heart?

Sunday watches impassively as you struggle against the magical bonds that hold you prisoner. "This is where you belong," he declares coldly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Until you learn your place."

You glare at him through the bars, defiance burning brightly despite the helplessness of your situation. "You can't keep me here forever," you retort, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Robin won't rest until she finds a way to free me."

Sunday's smile returns, a mocking twist of his lips. "Oh, I have plans for dear Robin," he muses, his tone laced with malice. "But for now, you will remain here, a reminder of the consequences of defiance."

As you plead with Sunday from within the confines of the cage, desperation colors your voice. The darkness around you seems to press closer, amplifying the hopelessness of your situation. You know the dreams he speaks of—twisted illusions meant to erode your will, to bend your mind to his desires. Fear clenches your heart as you contemplate the horror of reliving those nightmares.

"Please," you implore, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "Don't do this. There must be another way."

Sunday regards you with a cold detachment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considers your plea. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across his face, accentuating the hardness of his features. His silence stretches, the weight of his judgment hanging heavily in the air.

Finally, he speaks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Prove to me that you are ready to submit," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Prove to me that you are willing to forget yourself, to embrace what I offer."

You feel a surge of indignation and dread rise within you. How could you prove such a thing, when every fiber of your being rebels against the thought of surrendering to Sunday's dark influence? Yet, the alternative—facing the nightmares that haunt your sleep—is a terror you cannot bear to contemplate.

Desperation drives you to search for a response, for some shred of hope or strategy that might sway him. "I... I can show you," you stammer, grasping for words. "I can... I can act as though... as though I accept your terms. I can... comply."

Sunday's gaze sharpens, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Actions speak louder than words," he observes, his voice a whisper of challenge. "If you can convince me, perhaps I will reconsider."

Sunday left.

...SOME TIME LATER.....

As Sunday returns to the cage, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, a chill settles in the air around you. The torchlight casts shifting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features and the darkness that lurks behind his eyes. You shrink back instinctively, the cold bars of the cage pressing against your trembling form.

He stops just outside the cage, his gaze fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. "You misunderstand me," he says calmly, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of menace. "I have been nothing but kind to you, given you every opportunity to accept your fate gracefully."

You shake your head, defiance warring with fear as you stare back at him. "Your kindness is a lie," you retort, your voice wavering but defiant. "You manipulate and control, using whatever means necessary to bend others to your will."

Sunday's laughter fills the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberates off the stone walls. "Ah, my dear," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Kindness, manipulation—what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? In the end, power is all that matters."

With a sudden movement, Sunday reaches through the bars of the cage, his hand brushing against your cheek with a deceptive gentleness. You flinch at his touch, unable to suppress a shiver of revulsion despite the warmth of his hand against your skin.

"You cannot escape me," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "Not now, not ever."

You pull away from his touch, the bars of the cage a barrier between you and the darkness that threatens to consume you. Fear and anger churn within you, a potent mix that fuels your resolve to resist, to find a way out of this nightmarish captivity.

"You underestimate me," you whisper defiantly, your voice barely audible above the crackling torches. "I will find a way to break free from you, to undo the web of deceit and cruelty you've spun around me."

Sunday's smile fades, replaced by a glimmer of something darker in his eyes. "We shall see," he replies cryptically, withdrawing his hand from the cage. "For now, enjoy your solitude. It may be the last peace you experience for a long time."

As the echoes of Sunday's departure fade into the stillness of the chamber, a heavy weariness settles upon you. The torchlight flickers dimly, casting a soft, wavering glow that dances across the stone walls of your cage. Despite your best efforts to stay alert and defiant, the events of the day weigh heavily upon your mind and body.

A creeping drowsiness begins to cloud your thoughts, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing moment. The cage, once a symbol of confinement and defiance, now feels like a sanctuary—a small haven where you can surrender momentarily to the relentless exhaustion that grips you.

Before long, Sunday returns, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. He stands before the cage, watching you with a calculating gaze that betrays no hint of the darkness that resides within him. Without a word, he unlocks the cage door and enters cautiously, his movements careful yet purposeful.

Gently, almost tenderly, he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the makeshift bed within the cage—a small cot draped with blankets woven from shadows and moonlight. The torchlight flickers overhead, casting a warm glow that softens the harsh edges of Sunday's features as he lays you down with surprising gentleness.

Suddenly you felt..weird

The creeping drowsiness overwhelms you, and as the weight of exhaustion pulls you under, you faint, your body going limp within the confines of the cage. The darkness engulfs you, a soft, quiet void where time seems to stretch and compress all at once.

Suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted, the sensation of strong arms cradling you as Sunday carefully opens the cage door. His touch is unexpectedly gentle as he carries you, his voice a soft murmur against the silence of the temple.

"My angel," he whispers, his words a haunting lullaby. "Won't you be mine again?"

Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, you struggle to respond, the words slipping from your lips in a barely audible whisper. "Yes," you breathe, your voice fragile and faint. The acceptance, borne of weariness and a desperate desire to end the torment, slips out before you can grasp its full meaning.

Sunday's gaze softens, a strange blend of triumph and tenderness in his eyes as he gazes down at you. "Good," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Rest now, my angel. We have much to do."

With that, the darkness claims you fully, your mind descending into the depths of unconsciousness. The world around you fades, replaced by a void where only the echoes of Sunday's voice and the weight of your reluctant consent linger.

As you sleep, the temple remains silent, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ancient stone floor. The night stretches on, filled with dreams and nightmares that blur the line between reality and illusion. Somewhere in the depths of your slumber, a part of you clings to hope, to the faint glimmer of light that persists even in the darkest corners of Sunday's domain.

You awaken sometime later, the memories of your fainting spell and Sunday's words swirling in your mind. The soft, dim light of dawn filters into the temple, casting a pale glow over your surroundings. The cage door stands open, a reminder of the choice you made in a moment of vulnerability.

You wake up with a jolt, your body aching and your mind foggy. The memory of fainting and Sunday's words linger at the edge of your consciousness. As you shift to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through you, radiating from behind your ears. Groaning, you reach up to touch the source of the discomfort.

Your fingers brush against something soft and feathery. Panic surges through you as you explore further, discovering that wings—delicate and painful—are now attached behind your ears. Your heart races, and a scream tears from your throat, echoing through the temple.

The sound of your own voice startles you, and you scramble to your feet, rushing to a reflective surface. The sight that greets you is both horrifying and surreal: wings stitched onto your skin, the wounds fresh and raw. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you try to comprehend the impossible.

As you stand there, trembling, a familiar glow catches your eye. A halo, faint at first, gradually brightens above your head. The sight of it fills you with dread and confusion. How can this be? You gave up your halo long ago, choosing to become mortal for the sake of your daughter.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap: somehow, Sunday has not only manipulated your body but also tampered with the very essence of your being.

"No," you whisper, tears streaming down your face. "This can't be happening."

The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you turn to see Sunday standing at the entrance of the chamber, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Welcome back, my angel," he says softly, his voice filled with a chilling warmth. "I told you, you belong to me now."

"How could you do this?" you demand, your voice breaking with a mix of pain and anger. "I gave up my wings, my halo—everything! For a new purpose! How can you bring them back?"

Sunday's smile widens, a dark glint in his eyes. "Power, my dear," he replies. "The kind of power that transcends mortal limitations. I have given you back what you forsook, and now, you are bound to me more intimately than ever before."

You clutch at the halo, feeling its weight and warmth, a physical manifestation of the chains that now bind you to Sunday's will. Desperation claws at your mind as you struggle to find a way out, to reclaim the freedom that feels more distant than ever.

"Why?" you whisper, the question slipping out in a moment of raw vulnerability. "Why do this to me?"

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening as he reaches out to gently touch your face. "Because, my angel," he says, his voice almost tender, "I want you by my side. Forever."

As his words sink in, the reality of your situation presses down upon you with crushing force. The temple, once a place of ancient secrets and eerie beauty, now feels like a prison—a cage where your own power and identity have been twisted to serve Sunday's dark desires.

With a deep breath, you steel yourself, determination flickering to life within your heart. You may be trapped, your wings and halo restored against your will, but you are not defeated. Somewhere within the labyrinth of Sunday's realm lies the key to your freedom, and you will find it, no matter the cost.

Sunday's grip tightens around your arm as he pulls you close, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and dark determination. With a swift motion, he pushes you down onto the bed, his weight pinning you beneath him. The feathers of your new wings rustle against the sheets, the pain of the stitches a constant reminder of your altered state.

"You are the delusional one," Sunday snarls, his voice low and menacing. "You gave up everything that made you special, everything that made you mine. I simply restored what you foolishly cast aside."

His words cut deep, the weight of his accusation pressing heavily upon you. But as you lie there, staring up at him, a sudden clarity pierces through the haze of fear and confusion. Memories, long buried and painful, surge to the surface, and you remember why you hate him—why you could never truly be his.

He was the one who killed your father.

The realization hits you with the force of a tidal wave, the raw emotion nearly overwhelming. The image of your father's lifeless body, the cruelty of Sunday's betrayal, floods your mind, igniting a fierce and unyielding rage within you.

"You!" you scream, the accusation tearing from your throat. "You killed my father! How could you do that? How could you take him from me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like regret passing over his features before it is replaced by cold indifference. "Your father was a threat to my plans," he says dismissively. "He had to be eliminated for the greater good. For our future."

His words only fuel the fire of your anger, your hands balling into fists as you struggle beneath him. "There is no 'our future,' Sunday! You stole everything from me, and I will never forgive you for that."

A dark smile curls at the corners of his lips as he leans closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You can hate me all you want, but it won't change anything. You are mine now, my angel. Forever."

Sunday's grip remains firm as he leans in, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that is both possessive and demanding. You try to resist, but the power that emanates from him, the dark enchantment he wields, begins to cloud your mind. The rage and clarity you felt moments ago start to blur, memories of your father slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers.

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to hold on, to remember why you must resist. But Sunday's kiss deepens, and the enchantment intensifies, erasing the edges of your thoughts. Your anger turns to confusion, the reasons behind your hatred dissolving into a foggy haze.

You cry out, the sound a raw expression of pain and helplessness, but the reason for your tears becomes increasingly elusive. Why are you crying? What is it that you are mourning? The answers elude you, hidden behind the fog that clouds your mind.

Sunday pulls back, his eyes searching yours with a twisted satisfaction. "Shh," he whispers, brushing away your tears with a gentle touch that contrasts sharply with the darkness of his intentions. "There is no need for tears, my angel. Everything will be alright."

You look up at him, the confusion in your gaze clear as you struggle to grasp the fragments of your lost memories. "Why... why am I crying?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Sunday smiles, a cruel yet comforting expression. "You are simply overwhelmed," he says softly. "The past is behind us now. What matters is our future together."

His words seep into your mind, and the more you try to remember the reasons for your sorrow, the further they slip away. The image of your father, once so vivid, becomes a distant shadow, and the burning rage that fueled your defiance dissipates into a hollow ache.

You feel a deep sense of loss, but you cannot pinpoint its source. The tears continue to fall, and you clutch at the remnants of your memories, desperate to hold onto something, anything, that can anchor you to your former self.

Sunday's hands are gentle as he cradles your face, his touch paradoxically comforting and oppressive. "You are mine," he murmurs, his voice weaving a spell of compliance and acceptance around you. "And I will take care of you, always."

Sunday's fingers trace gently along your tear-streaked cheek, his touch deceptively tender. His eyes, however, gleam with a predatory hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks.

"Will you let me take you, my angel?" he whispers, his voice a silken promise of possession. "Will you become one with me, body and soul?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with the weight of his dark intentions. Your mind is still foggy, the memories of your father and the reasons for your defiance slipping away like a distant dream. Yet, somewhere deep within you, a small, stubborn spark of resistance flickers, refusing to be extinguished.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper as you respond. "What do you mean, Sunday? What do you want from me?"

Sunday's smile widens, a chillingly serene expression that belies the sinister nature of his desires. "I want your complete submission," he replies, his tone both commanding and coaxing. "I want you to surrender yourself to me entirely, to let me envelop you in my embrace and become part of my very being."

Your heart races, fear and confusion warring within you. The enchantment that clouds your mind makes it difficult to think clearly, to remember why you must resist. But the small spark of defiance refuses to be snuffed out, and you cling to it desperately.

"Why?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling. "Why do you want this?"

Sunday's expression softens, his gaze almost tender as he strokes your hair. "Because you are mine, and I am yours," he murmurs. "Together, we can be powerful, unstoppable. But you must trust me, my angel. You must let go of the past and embrace our future."

As he speaks, a strange warmth begins to spread through your body, dulling the edges of your fear and uncertainty. The enchantment wraps around you like a comforting blanket, urging you to surrender, to accept his touch and his words as truth.

But deep down, the spark of defiance burns brighter, reminding you of the person you once were and the promises you made. With every ounce of willpower you can muster, you cling to that spark, refusing to let it go.

"I... I need time," you whisper, hoping to buy yourself a moment of clarity. "I need to understand."

Sunday's smile tightens, but he nods, his eyes still locked onto yours. "Very well," he says softly. "But remember, my angel, time is a luxury you do not have in abundance."

You gather your strength, your voice wavering as you speak. "My mom never came to save me," you say, the words heavy with sorrow and confusion. "Why didn't she come for me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his presence looming over you as he reveals the bitter truth. "Your stepmother never intended to save you, my angel. She gave you away to me in exchange for Penacony's land."

The revelation strikes you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat. The woman who was supposed to care for you, to protect you, had sold you off for her own gain. The fear that had been a constant companion now deepens into a gnawing dread, the realization of your betrayal settling heavily upon you.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. "She wouldn't... she couldn't..."

The weight of the revelation crushes you, leaving you feeling shattered and hollow. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand, each step a struggle against the pain and despair that threaten to overwhelm you. You walk slowly, almost mechanically, towards the window, seeking some semblance of solace in the world outside.

As you reach the window, the cold moonlight spills through the bars, casting long, ethereal shadows across the floor. You gaze out, the beauty of the night contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you. The moon, full and luminous, bathes the landscape in a silver glow, a silent witness to your suffering.

You press your hand against the cool glass, the stark reality of your situation pressing in on you from all sides. The betrayal by your stepmother, the dark enchantment that binds you, and Sunday's possessive control—all these things conspire to break you. The moonlight, once a symbol of hope and guidance, now feels like a cruel reminder of your captivity and isolation.

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as you stand there, bathed in the cold light. The wings stitched to your skin ache with each breath, and the halo feels like a mockery of your lost freedom. The moonlight reflects off the tears on your cheeks, making them glisten like fragile shards of broken dreams.

You feel utterly alone, the vast expanse of the night sky beyond the window a stark contrast to the confines of your cage. The sense of being trapped, both physically and emotionally, presses down on you with unbearable weight. The moonlight illuminates your sorrow, highlighting the depth of your despair.

you stand by the window, lost in your despair, you feel a pair of arms encircle you from behind. Sunday's embrace is both tender and suffocating, his presence overwhelming. His touch, though deceptively gentle, feels like a cage tightening around you.

Tears stream down your face, and a sob escapes your lips. "Just kill me, Sunday," you plead, your voice breaking. "I can't take this anymore. I can't be broken any more than I already am."

Sunday tightens his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck as he speaks, his voice soft but firm. "I won't kill you, my angel. I care about you too much for that. Why should you waste your tears on people who never cared for you? Your mother, Your friends—they left you. But I am here. I care about you."

You shake your head, the pain and confusion swirling within you like a storm. "They were my family," you whisper, the words a raw confession of your grief and loss. "I loved them."

Sunday's grip remains steady, his tone soothing yet insistent. "They betrayed you, abandoned you. I am the one who has always been here for you, who will always be here. Don't cry for those who never truly cared. Be with someone who does."

His words are a twisted comfort, a dark promise of belonging that tugs at the edges of your broken heart. The enchantment he wields seeps into your mind, urging you to accept his version of reality, to find solace in his embrace.

You close your eyes, the tears continuing to fall. "I don't know what to do," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. The weight of your sorrow and the relentless pressure of Sunday's influence make it hard to think, to hold onto the small spark of defiance within you.

Sunday turns you around gently, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that is both captivating and terrifying. "Let me take care of you," he murmurs, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Let me show you that you are not alone. You don't have to fight this battle by yourself."

The darkness in his gaze is tempered by a genuine longing, a desire to possess and protect you in equal measure. You feel your resolve weakening, the fight draining out of you as his words weave their insidious magic.

But even as you stand there, teetering on the edge of surrender, a tiny voice within you cries out for freedom, for the life you once knew. It is faint, almost drowned out by the storm of emotions and enchantments, but it is there, refusing to be silenced.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I need time," you repeat, your voice firmer this time. "Time to think, to understand."

Sunday's expression softens, a rare moment of patience and understanding crossing his features. "Of course, my angel," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Take all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, whenever you're ready."

He releases you slowly, his hands lingering on your arms as if reluctant to let go. You step back, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The path ahead is uncertain, but you cling to the hope that somewhere within you lies the strength to break free.

As you look up at Sunday, you see a softness in his eyes that makes you pause. His expression is so loving, so tender, that it stirs something deep within you. For a moment, the pain and confusion recede, replaced by a fragile sense of safety. His affection feels genuine, and despite everything, you find yourself longing for that warmth, that assurance of care.

You realize that you are tired of fighting, tired of the constant struggle and heartbreak. Sunday has always asked for your consent, has always framed his actions as being for your own good. In this moment of vulnerability, you begin to question your resistance. Perhaps he truly does care for you. Perhaps it is okay to let yourself be loved, even if that love comes with dark strings attached.

Slowly, you allow yourself to be manipulated by these comforting thoughts. You lean into the idea that being with someone who loves you is what you need, what you deserve. After all, isn't that what everyone wants? To be loved, to be cherished?

You look back at Sunday, your resolve softening. "Maybe... maybe you're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Maybe I should just... let go."

Sunday's eyes light up with a mix of triumph and genuine affection. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "That's it, my angel," he murmurs, his voice soothing and persuasive. "Just let go. Let me take care of you. You deserve to be loved, to be cherished."

You nod slowly, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling. "Yes," you say, your voice steadying. "I want to be with someone who loves me."

Sunday's smile is radiant, his joy almost palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "You've made the right choice," he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. "I will take care of you, always."

In his embrace, you feel a strange mixture of peace and surrender. The battles you fought, the resistance you held onto, all seem distant and unnecessary now. You let yourself relax, let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his affection.

For now, you are content to be held, to be loved. It is a relief to let go of the constant struggle, to give in to the comfort of his arms. And as Sunday holds you close, you tell yourself that it is okay. It is okay to be loved, to be cherished, even if it comes at a cost.

The moonlight continues to shine through the window, casting a serene glow over the two of you. In this moment, you allow yourself to believe that you have found what you were searching for: a place where you are wanted, a place where you are loved.

And for now, that is enough.

"Y/n..I'll wait for you to accept me..So don't worry..We won't have to do anything..uncomfortable to you..Tho, Kissing is quite normal to us nowdays.."

"....Thank you.."

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 6)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond.Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: a very light reference to suicidal thoughts at the beginning.

Word Count: 4k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

It's been a day or two after that late meeting between (S/N) and Michael. And... Things went oddly well from then! The little girl became more relaxed in his presence, and would often send him small waves when (Y/N) wasn't looking, and Michael would often answer with the same little wave. It became a little secret game of theirs, it was simple yet fun. The numerous close calls of getting caught or suspected by the older sibling would always awake the childish mischief inside of the man, the possibility to fool around a bit made him feel oddly comfortable and at ease, like momentarily experiencing the childhood he never had.

He also noticed that (Y/N) themselves began to act more on ease around him. There weren't as many death glares sent at his direction, mostly just some cassual glances as if to check what he's up to or where he is. He won't lie, he kinda missed the attention he used to recieve, but this calmer and passive (Y/N) wasn't too bad neither, it kinda made him feel more normal and welcomed actually.

But soon he began to notice that maybe this sudden passivity didn't start out of nowhere, and the reason would be uncovered pretty soon...

. . .

A light groan escaped through (Y/N)'s lips as they make their way towards the kitchen after putting their little sister to sleep. While walking, they've been holding their bandaged hand close to their chest, an instinctive attempt to soothe the throbbing pain that only increased over the days. They're pretty sure their awful sleeping also played a huge part of why the pain is so unbearable. The countless nights they've spent guarding the door of (S/N)'s room and staying on high alert durning most of the day over the past week really drained them, both phisically and mentally. Leaving just enough energy to breathe and maintain a positive actitude around their sister.

They let a sight of relief once they stopped in front of a counter that had all the medicines in. The older sibling reaches for the container of painkillers only for it to be suddenly snatched away right under their nose.

Already knowing who did that, they slowly turn towards the responsible of it, tiredly glaring at that stupid emotionless masked face they hated with burning passion.

The two of them remained still, observing each other in silence. Michael didn't even tilt his head, meaning that he wasn't wondering or asking, no... He wanted to know what they're doing and he wanted to know it now.

—"...What?"— you eventually blurt out.

No answer or movement.

—"I'm not going to kill myself, I just need some medicine because my wrist hurts..."— you elaborate tiredly. —"Can you give in back, please?"—

Still nothing.

The container was actually at a reachable distance. If (Y/N) really wanted they could probably snatch it back. But of course they're not stupid to attempt that, Michael is a very deceiving specimen and things are never as simple as they look when it comes to him and his shenanigans, (Y/N) learned that the hard way.

—"Look. I'm. In. Pain. I need this because I no longer can handle it. Please, give me back the container."—

Nothing.

They grit their teeth out of anger and frustration. Is this bastard mocking them now? Silently enjoying their suffering? Or he's genuinely oblivious of their clearly not okay state?

—"You did this to me, remember?"— you snap as you lift your bandaged hand to show it. —"You broke my wrist, it's been hurting for days and right now it's freaking unbearable. So please, just give me the painki-"—

Their heart nearly stopped when their injured wrist was suddenly grabbed by the masked man. All (Y/N) could do now is stay frozen and helplessly stare at the black eye sockets of the rubber mask, which were staring right back at their shocked expression. They didn't even notice their hands became shaky, anxiety slowly flooding their mind as they suddenly remember who is the man in front of them.

Michael Myers, the man who escaped Smith's Grove by killing with his bare hands anyone who stayed on his way, the man who scarred his own little sister for life by kidnapping her and killing everyone dear to her just because, the man that somehow escaped death and kept his reign of terror for an entire year without anyone being able to do anything... This man, this monster did horrible things, things that he can do to them whever he wants, and he may do it right now as punishment for their boldness and lack of self preservation.

(Y/N) doesn't even know what face they're making, their emotions are too unstable. The stress, frustration and exhaustion are way too much to handle right now. They can't even use the energy to mantain a stone face, not when they're trying to keep themselves from breaking down on the floor and scream out of the frustration.

They just want it to stop. They want him to go away and leave them and their sister alone. They want to stop feeling worry every second of their existence, to stop these anxiety spikes whenever the blade of his knife runs through their body as he teases them, to stop feeling fear whenever his dark gaze moves away from them and is casted on their little sister, to stop feeling guilt that creeps through them whenever they see sadness appear on the little girl's face when she catches them being upset, they wish they could make her smile again, please, make her real smile return...

They... They just want to stop feeling in danger... Feeling hopeless... Feeling like they failed...

Please...

Please... Make it all stop.

Whatever look they had, it was enough to make Michael suddenly let go of their arm. However, instead of walking away or stand still, he steps forward and closer to them, body langage unreadable as always.

(Y/N) doesn't move, they don't even look at him at this point. They simply let their arms fall limply on their sides and lower their gaze, not even noticing the hot tears sliding down their face.

They're so tired, they're done.

Their breath hitched when their body made contact with Michael's larger and warmer one, following comes the sensation of something equally solid and warm wrapping around their form in a firm grip.

The embrace was tight, maybe even tighter that the one from the night he broke in. It was hard to breathe, though (Y/N) is unsure if it's due Michael's strength or their own choked sobs they could no longer hold back. This gesture, though simple, broke them completely...

The more they quietly cried, the tighter the embrace got, as if the man was really trying to force them to spit all the angst out, and maybe he was. It's no secret that Michael has no knowlege about comfort, it's something he lacked most of his life after all. But now, right after seeing their gaze change, everything inside of him is yelling to grab (Y/N) and never let go. Their gaze... Oh, he knows that look.

That look on their eyes... It wasn't fear, it wasn't anger, it wasn't even hate. It was something dull, dull and lifeless, almost pleading for him to...

He presses his masked face against them. The only thought of having their blood on him makes him feel weird. Seeing (Y/N), who's usually composed, strong willed and straight up wild when it comes to the safety of their sister, so weak and broken in his arms, made the man feel very odd, a nasty and unpleasant type of odd.

—"...You."—

They grumble through gritted teeth as they press their forhead against his shoulder, as if really trying to hide their face.

—"I hate you..."—

He can feel (Y/N)'s fist collide with his back. Though the impact wasn't weak at all, it wasn't enough to make Michael let go, all the opposite, he only brought them closer.

—"I hate you."—

They repeat a bit lounder, tone cold yet broken.

—"Why do you still tormenting me? Why?... Why don't you just... J-Just..."—

Their voice breaks at the end of the sentence and is replaced by more cries. The punches soon ceased too, their hand slowly sliding off Michael's back. Soon their sobs began to quiet down and turn into ragged uneven breaths. They are mad, at themselves, at this man, at the world, at fucking everything!... But what pisses them off the most is that this bastard, the main responsible of their mysery, the devil everyone knows for the atrocities he commited, he's... He's somehow comforting them... Genuinely comforting them...

—"Why are you doing this?..."—

Silence.

—"Why are you making it look like you care?..."—

Because he does.

—"Why?... Why?"—

They kept repeating the same question over and over despite knowing that they will never get an answer. And to be fair, even if Michael could answer, he wouldn't. He doesn't know himself what he's doing or where this attachment came from or leads to, all he knows is that he desires to have (Y/N) close, hold into them like a predator into it's pray and never ever let go. But even with this unholy obsession, he can't deny the strange sense of comfort and completion (Y/N) brings him just by being around. Ever since (S/N) questioned him about his intentions and the strange attachment with the older sibling, he couldn't unsee or deny the way they make him feel. And even when they say they hate him, glare at him, try to hurt him... Even after all these unwelcoming actions, he just can't stop himself from wanting them around, from wanting them...

The two remain like this for a long time, even after (Y/N) stopped talking and crying they didn't move.

(Y/N) was a mess, both emotionally and mentally, yet they couldn't deny the fact of feeling a tiny bit better after letting it all out. Michael's grip on them remained tight, strong like steel, impossible to escape. It was like a cage... But a very needed cage.

No matter how much they try to deny it, deep down (Y/N) knows that they needed this, they needed someone to hold them tight as they spit all their concerns, pain and frustrations out. But that means nothing, that doesn't change the way they view Michael. Though his gesture is laudable, how do they know it's genuine? How do they know he's not taking advantage of them? Could this be his attempt to deceive them? Make them emotionaly dependent? And for what?... For what?!

What does he want from them for fuck's sake?!

They take one last deep breath, shuting down the swarm of thoughts and questions and finally calming down enough to speak properly.

—"Alright... I'm better, a bit better."—

But Michael made no movements, his grip remained strong.

They sigh again, a bit more annoyed.

—"Michael, really. I'm okay now. I-"—

They tried to lift their hands up to push themselves away, but a sudden yelp came out when they moved their injured wrist too harshly, making them recoil and Michael to finally let go.

—"Okay-... I'm not okay."— you grumble as you hold your bandaged wrist closely, trying to soothe the throbing pain.

When the ache somehow stabilized and (Y/N) looked up at Michael again, they were surprised to see him holding their car keys right in front of their face. They stare at the item a bit dumbfounded, questioning where the hell he wants them to go, until it eventually clicks.

They know what he wants them to do, and this is a golden oportunity to recieve propper help to their injury. But the anxiety and guilt of leaving their little sister alone, again, at night and with this man, is already eating them alive.

A couple of seconds of inactivity pass, and though (Y/N) was taking quite some time to decide, Michael remained stoic as a statue, patiently waiting for them to decide.

—"I..."— you sigh again, but with more determination. —"Nevermind. You're right, I need to go."—

They dry off the remaining tears on their face with a single rough wipe with their forearm. They have to quit crying, they embarassed themselves enough by having a meltdown in front of this bastart, which apparently was so bad and pity that he had to comfort them. Beside, they must stay strong, not just for their own sake but also for (S/N).

They reach for the key, but don't take it right away.

—"The terms are the same i suppose. I stay quiet about you and you don't disturb my sister, yes?"—

There is no movements from the man. Despite not seeing his eyes, (Y/N) had a gut feeling that he understood and accepted the deal. They mutter a quiet 'okay' before eventually taking the keys, without any issue suprisingly. Once all was settled, the older sibling steps aside but doesn't go towards the front door right away, instead they walk towards the stairs.

—"I'll make a quick check on (S/N) before I go, okay?"— you quickly explain before going up, not bothering to see if he did anything in response or not.

Suprisingly, Michael doesn't follow them, not this time. He remained at the bottom with his head turned towards the staircase.

To some the attention and worry (Y/N) shows for their little sister may seem overwhelming, but for Michael it is something to admire. They always place the little one in front of their own needs and safety, always checking on her and making sure she's safe and happy. Even after he came into their life, he saw the ammount of effort (Y/N) had always put into mantaining (S/N) away from him, to keep her hopes strong and always mantain that happy smile despite knowing it will dissappear as soon as he comes near...

(Y/N) is a good sibling, a very good and caring sibling. Is that how Judith could've been with him if given a chance? Would she ever made the same effort to treat him the way (Y/N) treats their little one? Would he be able to be as good to Angel? Was it too much to ask for her to remember him, to know who he is, to know her big brother was back home and be together as family ones again? Was it really so much to ask?...

"I wanna help you..."

"...But I don't know how..."

"...I wanna help you... But I don't know how..."

"...I wanna help you, but I don't..."

"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!"

Something inside of his chest squeezed uncomfortably, painfuly almost. He still remember these words and the way 'boo' screamed at him and the hate in her voice. It hurts, it hurts so much every time he remembers... He doesn't like the pain, it upsets him. Just why couldn't she recognize him?... What should he have done for that night to turn out different?...

The sound of footsteps softly going down the stair broke his train of thoughts.

—"Good news, (S/N) is still asleep. Doubt she will wake up until sunrise but I wouldn't go upstairs anyways, that girl sure wakes up from the randomest noises."— you comment quite casually.

However, they suddenly stop in their tracks when they reached the bottom and noticed that Michael wasn't following them with his gaze. A tiny detail that threw them off quite a lot.

—"...Are you alright?"—

The question made the tall man pause and realize that his hands were tightly clutched into fists. He slowly relaxes them, though an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth and the general tension in his body remained.

Despite not having a clear answer, (Y/N) gives him a somehow knowledgeable look.

—"Remembered something bad?"—

He stays unresponsive for a moment, until he moves his head, giving a slow and barely noticible nod.

(Y/N) of course got a tag surprised, since it's the very first time Michael actually does something to answer them instead of staring blankly and let them figure out the message on their own. They don't focus on the sudden gesture though, instead they let out a small hum as they nod as well.

—"It happens... I too remember things I don't want to, a pretty nasty feeling gotta say."—

No answer.

(Y/N) seemed like they wanted to say more things, they decided against it and instead resumed their walk towards the front door. They stop to put some shoes and jacket, not minding too much the fact of them wearing pijamas. But before exiting, they look back at Michael's tall figure staring at them from the darkness, his pale masked face being the only visible feature.

—"I'll do my best to return before dawn, but no promisses."—

No reaction from the man, as expected.

They turn around and open the front door and pause again.

—"...Thank you, Michael."—

And after these words, they finaly step outside and softly close the door.

The masked man only tilted his head at this last sentence. Though these were three very simple words, he couldn't ignore how they affected him.

And the tension and ache from his memories were now completely gone, as if these bad feelings never came in the first place...

. . .

After a long wait and a ton of scolding from the doctors for neglecting their sleep and health, (Y/N) was finally driving back home. Luckly their wrist is healing fine, the sourse of the pain were the bad placement of the bandages and the overuse of their injured hand. Though they don't remember all the details, it seems like they'll be okay.

It was already dawn and the sun was slowly raising. However, they weren't too concerned, it was still early and there is no way (S/N) is awake, that girl sure enjoys lazy mornings after all.

And even after arriving home everything seemed in order, no weird vibes coming out the building and no funny feelings in their gut.

But the second they enter and close the front door...

—"(Y/N)!"—

A happy joyful voice exclaimed their name before something small launched at them into a hug with enough force to knock out some oxygen out of them. Nevertheless, the older sibling miraculously manages to mantain the footing and catch the little girl in a hug.

—"(S/N)?! How long you've been awake?!"— you ask in surprise and concern.

—"Oh... Uh..."— she thinks while poking her cheek with her finger. —"I think the little arrow on the clock was pointing at the number 5."— she innocently replies.

—"You've been awake since 5 of the morning?!"—you almost exclaim as you kneel down and take her hands. —"Are you okay? Were you scared? Did you know I was at the hospital? Did Michael do anything to you?"—

As an answer to their waterfall of question, the little girl childishly giggles.

—"It was all okay! But... I did get a tiny bit scared when I woke up and you weren't in the house, I though my nightmate of you dissappearing became true!... But then I saw Michael, and he explained that you went to see a doctor!"—

—"Michael... Explained?"— you arch your brow.

As soon as that question left their mouth, the tall man appeared at the entrance of the living room with a small toy ambulance in his hand.

—"Oh..."— you blink as you stare at the small item. —"I... I guess that makes sense how he did it."— you momentarily relax, but suddenly tense up again as you redirect your gaze to your sister. —"But seriously are you okay? Were you out your room this whole time?"—

The little girl shrinks in her place a bit flustered and embarrassed.

—"Well... I know you said last time not to exit my room when I had to stay with Michael, I swear I tried to follow your request! But..."— she bites her lip as she shrinks more. —"Please don't be mad, but I was just too scared to stay up there. You never left at night before! And... And when mom and dad left it was night too and-... And-..."— she starts hiccuping a bit by the end.

The little girl is interrupted when her sibling suddenly hugs her, holding her in a tight, secure and loving embrace.

—"Oh songbird, no... I'm so sorry if I came harsh on you, there is no way I can be mad at you for feeling scared for me."— you say as you place your head over hers. —"The first time I left, I was scared too... I was scared that when I come back you wouldn't be here..."—

A small gasp escaped the little girl and she quickly leans back to face her sibling.

—"You have nightmares of me disappearing too?!"— she asks quite surprised.

—"Yeah, I do."— you reply softly. —"Ever since I managed to convince the old ugly people to let me keep you, I sometimes have nightmares where they take you away."—

(S/N) frowns a bit, her childish mind not expecting that her usually super brave and calm sibling had such fears and concerns.

—"So please, don't feel bad, okay? Let's just be happy and celebrate that I made it home safely and you didn't disappear, yes?"—

—"Yeah... Yeah you're right!"— she exclaims, her happy-go-lucky tone returning. —"And Michael actually wasn't that bad! Though I wasn't in my room we still did our own things! Like, I presented him my toy dinosaurs while he stayed in thaaaaat corner over there and listened."—

—"Uh-huh..."— you mutter quietly as you glance at the tall man, who only tilted his head.

Man, if what the little girl is saying is true, then (Y/N) definetely owes Myers a medal for handling their sister's speech. Don't get them wrong, they love (S/N) to death and absolutely adore when she shares her interests and stories she invented about her toys or for their 'owl siblings' series! But sometimes she may get a bit too engaged with it.

Wait... Could that mean that Michael is being genuine with-.

—"And so... (Y/N)."—

(S/N) voice calling them snapped the older sibling back to reality.

—"About the 'celebrate' thingy..."— she says, suddenly shy.

—"You want me to make a cake, aren't you?"— you throw her an unimpressed look.

—"Yes!"— she giggles as she plays with her fingers. —"The cherry one, pretty please?"—

(Y/N) only rolls their eyes with a smile as they stand up and start taking off their jacket and shoes.

—"I guess I could make us a cake, remember the ingredients we need?"—

The little girl practically ignites in joy.

—"Yes! Yes I remember! Let me see if we have the all!"— she hurriedly says the last part before running into the kitchen.

The older sibling only chuckled as they finish undressing. They start going towards the kitchen but stopped right at the entrance, eyes already placed on the tall man.

—"Have you ever tried a cherry chip cake?"— you suddenly ask after a short pause.

The man slowly tilts his head to the other side.

—"I'll take it as a no. I'll make enough for you to have some too."— you pause. —"Don't get me wrong, it doesn't mean I trust you or enjoy having you around, but... I definetely owe it to you, for keeping an eye on (S/N) and such, and... And for what you did tonight."— you throw him a tiny smile before walking into the kitchen.

Michael didn't follow, not yet. His mind kept repeating that last image of (Y/N) over and over, from their suprisingly calm voice to the soft look in their eyes. But what would make his breath shake was the smile. It wasn't fake, it wasn't nervous, it wasn't out of politeness... It was a genuine, small yet sencere, dedicated to him and him only smile.

He lowers his gaze and places his hand on his chest, gripping the fabric of his coverals tightly.

It's hard to describe what exactly this set of emotions is, it all feels new. All he knows is that he suddenly feels warmth, a very soft and pleasant type of warmth...

It feels very familiar... Yet so distant and forgoten... As if he haven't experience these emotions for a long, long time...

...

...Happy.

He feels happy.

[izzidane]

Hellsing by Kouta Hirano [JPN 1998 - 2009 | ENG 2003 - 2010]

Dark Fantasy , Horror | 10 Volumes: 89 Chapters

Seinen

For centuries, many secret organizations have taken part in exterminating various types of dangerous monsters. One of them is the England-based Hellsing, run by its cunning leader, Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. Her greatest hunter, and trump card, is Alucard, an unbeatable vampire genetically modified by her father. Despite him being one of “them,” he swore to be her protector and servant.

A new crisis begins and with the help of Seras Victoria, his recently turned vampire partner, Alucard has to uncover the truth behind the mysterious vampire attacks. Not every human is bound to be his ally in this battle, and he will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands in his way.

My overall rating : 9/10