#im skipping liberally over here

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

my aro ass got SO Hyped for a daylist titled "sad alone wednesday afternoon" because i thought PERHAPS i could yank a few more songs for my driscoll playlist; HOWEVER: a bunch of these fuckers are just breakup songs lmfao

[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.."

[cinnbar-bun]

Zoro Birthday HCs!

Rating: SFW + NSFW hcs (NSFW under read more)

A/n: these were posted during his birthday im only just posting it here now haha.

GN reader and pronouns.

Read at my ao3 here!

SFW

It’s Zoro’s birthday! Yay! And that means lots of celebrating.

Or, in Zoro’s case, it means more napping and drinking.

Yes, it is a bit different but Zoro likes more lowkey birthday celebrations where he can rest as an excuse.

“Fine, since you’re twisting my arm about it, I’ll just go and lay down.”

He says, as if he wasn’t smiling and wanting to sleep after eating you and Sanji’s birthday breakfast.

He mostly wants birthday cuddles and kisses while he’s trying to sleep. He wants to have you slung on him like a koala and snoring in his ear for his nap.

He admits he doesn’t really need any gifts, but he’s not going to complain if you got him something. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth when you reveal the gift box(es) to him.

If you get him something personalized or something like jewelry, expect him to glance in confusion at you.

“Why’d you get me something like this? Not really the fashionable type, ya know.”

But he will be wearing it every day from then on and will never take it off.

Author note: god he’d look ridiculously hot with a thin gold chain on his neck and I want it so bad.

Drinks a lot tonight. He’s going to deny that his birthday is anything special but he’s chugging it like he’s liberated another country. Maybe it’s because you and the crew care so much that it makes a day he normally skips on so full of love and joy.

Sanji made the cake (and designed it at your discretion) so Zoro acts like it ain’t shit.

“It’s just a cake. No need to go crazy over it.”

He ate like three slices before Luffy barged in and swallowed the rest of it.

He continues to have a great day with the crew after they make sure to throw him a small party as well as give him their gifts.

Speaking of gifts…

NSFW

When you tell Zoro you have another gift for him in his quarters, well, he’s a bit shocked. You already did so much for him, and you’re giving him another gift?

He follows your instructions and finds you on his bed, naked, pressing one his swords against your body while you’re holding a bottle of expensive sake.

Let’s just say his fourth sword started getting up.

He can’t wait to dive in and have fun with this “gift.”

He manhandles you a bit more, holding you tightly and gripping your hips while he’s busy kissing you roughly and exploring your mouth.

He enjoys drinking the sake from your mouth in these scenarios, mostly because he likes to fluster you enough to let it drip from your mouth.

He also likes to lay you down and pour the sake on your body so he can lick and slurp it up. The sounds are almost so obscene it makes you turn red.

“Eyes on me. Don’t get shy on me now. You’re the one who wanted to give me this gift, right?”

He’s happily performing oral on you over and over, to the point where you’re wondering if he remembers it’s his birthday, not yours.

If you insist on giving him oral, he ain’t complaining. Just know he’ll be a bit rougher and grip your hair tighter. And the stuff he’s whispering and telling you is so sinful, it’s almost impossible not to feel your heart race.

“Fuck. Just like that. You can take more. I know you can.”

You two are going at it all night, and while Zoro normally is keen on keeping you quiet, tonight, he throws caution into the wind and doesn’t care how loud you are. Heck, he even starts encouraging you to scream his name.

“Just like that, baby. Who’s fucking you this good?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol making him rather tipsy enough to not give a shit about what could be going on.

When you two finish after a long night, he pulls you in close and kisses the top of your head.

“Hey… I don’t think I thanked you for today… thanks. Really.”

You’re falling asleep on his chest but the look in his eyes is so full of love and adoration for you, and he sighs happily knowing he’s got you.

You’re the best thing in his life, and he knows that despite all the gifts he got today… you’re still the best gift he could ever ask for or even deserve.

So he presses another kiss to your forehead and enjoys the afterglow of a wonderful birthday night, his mind drifting away to things he could do for you.

[themolldollincident]

**CARNIVAL BARKER MODE ACTIVATE**

‼️‼️‼️HEY, BEAUTIFUL, LOOK OVER HERE PLEASE‼️‼️‼️

Don't i look hot here?? My fellow impoverished transsexuals (and im only talkin to yall right now, be careful in the tags, this is a grassroots thing, understand? No need to attract the idiots to this post), if you want the REST of this video - and also a lil' somethin' extra on the side ;) Believe Me, you'll Like It - ALL for free, ALL you gotta do is READ THIS POST AND FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS - or just skip to the big INSTRUCTIONS section, i wont tell ;)

Okay reading time:

‼️‼️GOOD NEWS!! ONE BRANCH OF THE FAMILY IS SAFE IN EGYPT AND CAN NOW BEGIN THE PROCESS OF REUNITING WITH REWAND, RIWAA AND HAMDI IN ONTARIO!!!!!🍉🍉🍉🍉💕💕💕💕‼️‼️

STAY WITH ME (OR JUST SKIP TO THE INSTRUCTIONS)

Thats FANTASTIC!!!

It is reprehensible that Israel murdered Reziq Hajjaj ONE MONTH before he could go with his children to safety. And it's very worrying that the family of Dr. Ramez Hajjaj is still stuck in Rafah.

Friend, if you've been putting off clicking on these 'cause you dont have much money or time and youre worried you'll commit the little you have to a scam or the wrong donation, please remember that Time Is Of The Essence. It's better if 30 of you throw even 1 dollar now then for any of you to wait for some magical certainty. But also, THIS FUND IS VERIFIED and i've bit followin it for a bit. This fund has gotten some of the family to Egypt, where they can apply to reunite with their sisters in Canada. And that's mighty fine. But some of that family's still in Rafah. The fund hasn't met it's ultimate goal yet.

Now here are the instructions:

1. Click the link and real quick just spend 2 - 10 minutes, dependin on your abilities right now, sending them whatever you can, now matter how small.

2. Send me your reciept.

That gets you the rest of this video. Now if you want that sweet lil extra somethin on the side i mentioned, keep goin

3. Reblog this post to your fellow trannies (again, no need for idiot magnet tags, alright?) and continue to fight for liberation every day!!! And remember that Amerikkka has just as much of a right to exist as Israel!! Work every day that you can (in a sustainable way, cause we need you here for years, partner!!) to restore safety and the opportunity for joy to all of humanity's people!! (And our animal friends, too! They can't evacuate Ramez's 14 year old cat Abood until ALL the rest of the family's out. Here he is, by the way)

[lgcmanager]

PROJECT BD

SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: for reference as to whether your muse is eligible for this event, please click over HERE.

On JANUARY 29, screen directory ROH JIHAE has proudly contacted herself the actors for her next movie, BLACK BANQUET. while confirming to each their role, she also shares that filming is scheduled to last from MARC 11 to MAY 24. the first cast metting and script reading will be on FEBRUARY 19.

starting that day, MAIN and LEAD cast members are fully liberated from their usual schedules to prepare full time for the movie, except for prior engagements. 

ROLES

based on the headcanon posts in the previous part of the casting call, this is a list of who will be having what role:

AHN YEIN: BAE HANA ( LEAD ROLE )

BAEK SEONA: KIM BITNA ( MAIN ROLE )

LEE HYUNSOO: RYU JISUNG ( LEAD ROLE )

MOON JINO: IM CHANHEE ( GUEST ROLE )

SHIN JIEUN: SHIN SUNGKYUNG  ( MAIN ROLE )

YOO HAEMIN: LEE YUNSU ( GUEST ROLE )

ZHENG LEO: CAI XIAOKANG ‘KANG��� ( LEAD ROLE )

congratulations to all of them for their roles ! if you are curious to know the basic details of their characters and storyline, you can check it over here on this DOCUMENT (tba) !

REQUIREMENTS 1

the success of the movie depends on its script but also on its cast members. for all posts related to this, please us the hashtag lgc:blackbanquet.

ADLIB SCENE: write a 300+ word solo or a 4 replies ( minimum 8 lines; 2 posts per mun ) thread with another actor in the movie (main, lead or guest) about your character(s) filming a completely script free scene for +6 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE ! ** can be done up to two times **

COMMENTARY: write a 300+ word headcanon post OR a solo explaining the muse’s thoughts about their character, acting, strengths, and weaknesses as an actor so far. the reflection will be done as a meeting with one of the acting coaches after filming has completely wrapped up +7 POINTS PERFORMANCE or ACTING !

to validate your skill points and collect your notoriety points, please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog before MAY 25, 2024 11:59 EDT.

MUSE NAME ∙ BLACK BANQUET BTS - ADLIB SCENE: +6 ( skill points distribution ) [ LINK ] (** can be claimed 2 times ** ) - COMMENTARY: +7 ( performance, acting ) [ LINK ]

REQUIREMENTS 2

you have until MAY 25 to fulfill the following requirements depending on your type of role:

MAINS: a set of either two replies (8 lines) OR one solo (300 words) and one reply for 5 WEEKS. of the total 10 posts, 5 have to be about the drama (either on set, during rehearsal, etc). each set will give you 4 ACTING and 8 NOTORIETY POINTS.

LEADS: a set of either two replies (8 lines) OR one solo (300 words) and one reply for 3 WEEKS. of the total 6 posts, 3 have to be about the drama (either on set, during rehearsal, etc). each set will give you 3 ACTING and 6 NOTORIETY POINTS.

GUESTS: a set of either two replies (8 lines) OR one solo (300 words) and one reply ONCE. BOTH have to about the drama (either on set, during rehearsal, etc). the set will give you 2 ACTING and 4 NOTORIETY POINTS. 

for the MAINS and LEADS, please keep in mind that we base the weeks similar to how we do activity checks. this means that if you post on JANUARY 30 and FEBRUARY 1, that will count as 2 posts for the week of JANUARY 28 ( after the activity check/7PM EDT ) through FEBRUARY 4 at 6:59PM EDT. however, if you posted on FEBRUARY 4 after the activity check ( ex. at 10PM EDT ), that will count for the following week ( FEBRUARY 4 - FEBRUARY 11 ). ideally, the best way to keep track of this is to assume that you have 2 REPLIES to do for each week instead of one ! you can also skip certain weeks so they do NOT need to be consecutive ( ex. meeting the reqs in weeks 1, 3, 7 for lead ).

use the hashtag lgc:blackbanquet make sure to submit your points before MAY 25, 11:59 EST to the points blog , you may send the points WEEKLY:

TITLE: MUSE NAME · BLACK BANQUET (SET #) - 2 REPLIES or 1 SOLO/REPLY : +2/3/4 acting + 4/6/8 notoriety [ LINK 1 ] [ LINK 2 ]

[commodifyme]

i’ve been around a looong fucking time so i remember when everyone on here was spelling trans as trans* (to indicate there’s lots of different kinds of trans people?) and then that stopped for some reason. also there was once a push to get everyone to spell latina/latino/latine as latin@ because the @ looks like an a and an o together lol. that went away eventually too and now most of the people i know have no interest in using latinx either, it’s like nonprofit-employee coded almost. if you go through my blog i’m sure you can find examples of me using all of these because i do ultimately want to affirm people, and when i was younger i had a harder time discerning when the right thing to do was follow other peoples lead vs when i should think for myself. turns out the right thing is always to think for myself though because modifying your language without understanding the principle of why you’re being asked to do that means you’re only making a surface level version of the change asked of you.

fortunately i figured it out early enough and completely skipped over calling people “women and femmes” [meaningless] or insisting that it’s antiblack to use nb as a shorthand for nonbinary [absurd] or declaring using the word lame is ableist [the meaning of words change over time! and if someone is seriously using lame to unfavorably compare the target of their insult to mean disabled people rather than calling them uncool, we have a serious problem on our hands that is gonna require more than just getting them to use different words].

moral of the story is prescriptivist language debates to advance social justice causes is like a sisyphean task because the right language is always going to change as society changes and if your goal is liberation and WINNING then getting mired in what exact word to use all the time is going take up a lot of your valuable time. and i personally only want to associate with winners who love winning. like i’m trying to see some people lose their heads in my lifetime. before im 35 if possible.

[rocatex]

dont hold out your vote for the perfect candidate. Theyre politicians: all of them are horrible. the point of voting is to show them that you're paying attention and they have to appeal to you if they want that lofty position. where I live, texas, more people are non-voters than actual voters, for all parties combined. because of this we've had 20+ years of republicans controlling our government, making it harder for urban areas to vote, resisting abortion rights to the point doctors are afraid to treat pregnant patients, and making it near impossible to pass any kind of even slightly liberal bill because a majority of bills and amendments that aren't conservative get basically no one pushing behind it.

Every time i see someone here talk about how "not voting for kamala is how im punishing the democrats in a first-past-the-post race" I think about how texas could actually be competitive if even 1 or 2 million people showed up to the polls here instead of being stuck in a state of learned helplessness, waiting for the perfect candidate. if you dont vote, and they know you arent going to vote, they arent going to try to win you over cause they know you dont care. you arent punishing a wealthy political party by not voting, youre telling them they dont have to try convincing you because you dont care who wins

tldr: a first-past-the-post system means that the less people vote, the lower the "post" gets and the easier it is for shitty people to get in power, especially when you directly tell them that they dont have to try winning your vote because you're going to not even care.

also there's a "skip" button if you really somehow cant decide between an american facist and an american moderate, but showing up at all is what tells politicians they have to convince you, not opting out

Dear Undecided and Both Sides are Evil voters.

[thirsstt]

weighed myself for the first time time in a month and found out that no, i haven’t gained all the weight i’d lost back. maybe three lbs at most. very liberating going into the new year and knowing i’ve been eating like trash lately.

BUT

tomorrow i’m starting 72 hour fast. it’ll be my second attempt after the first one i did about a month back. definitely going to be a challenge but i work three days in a row so im hoping i can just bop between working and sleep to distract myself and my boyfriend enough.

no one ever talks about how hard it is to be an adult with an ed. i know 17 year old me wouldn’t believe me if i told her i was still here, but i am. i remember it being so difficult to fast and skip meals when i started high school, but by the end i was so busy, no one noticed. then i went to college and so much socializing happens over meals that it was impossible to avoid eating. shared bathrooms meant purging was a non-option. eventually, i moved into a sorority house which was great inspiration and i had my goals and life on track for a while before i was in a bad car accident. it set me back like crazy. i still deal with my injuring from that which makes working out difficult sometimes. in 2019 i moved into with someone who would go on to become my best friend and she made me want to be a better person. and i was for a bit. but she moved back to her house city after graduation and i was stuck alone, with a different roommate who completely ignored me. it would’ve been a great time to relapse then, but i had to many responsibilities. i finally had found a dream in life and was working towards that. i still am to a degree but it’s on the back burner now. my book won’t get published under a republican administration, but that’s a bitch fest for another time.

now i’m here, back in the throes of it and i can’t help wishing id never strayed from it. january will be my month to really get a head of my fat lard and be the person i want to be.

i will be in control.

[expfcultragreen]

Loving the way white liberal imperial settlers are defending genocide of imperial settlers just because theyre brown. Yall live on stolen land and your argument is, well, israel was stolen from the jewish people so fuck anyone who descended from a thief, they deserve it for being there

Have fun with that coming back on you 3fold or more

House redistributed, earthly possessions forfeit, degrees/experience meaningless, family dead, death-marched through hostile terrain.....you think settlers deserve it all, eh? Oooookaayyyyyyy

"Sorry, the world court decided, you get nakba'd or, you can skip straight to the guillotine. Your crime? Being born in the wrong place and not seeing the future. If youre here right now its because youre a defacto nazi, now MOVE IT scum"

Far be it from ME to be a kulak but, were yall really ready for this?

We've been here 500 years tops, the palestinians were there for 2000 years

And we are raping the land daily, youre not out there chained to the old growth, you dont care about whats right in front of you, you dont know whats actually good or real or important

I cant even convince a single one of you people to stop driving your gas cars around ON the stolen land, over the miles of desecrated graves

Theyre selling the old growth to make electricity in yorkshire, which is on a island with massive hydroelectric potential AND domestic coal production, sooooooooo

Ummmmmmm

THATS demonic

And you guys are like tra la la but the king needs to hunt the amazons to the last stand of trees and raze them tra la la la la im nice tra la la defend zion but fuck eden lmao

[nolabballgirl]

Im a white girl and im just learning here so forgive me if im slow on this. But i don't understand why druck is put on a pedestal with regards to how they've tackled race/developed their characters of color. Druck also tends to dismiss race entirely (Sam, David, Fatou and Abdi) or make the trauma of characher their whole character (Ava and David) or underdevelop characters when they've had space to do more (Amira, Sam & fam). So why is druck deemed better than other remakes in this area?

hi, Anon! thanks for your ask. okay, so for me to answer your questions, you have to accept two premises:

neither skam nor any of its remakes (including druck) are perfect.

when a remake acknowledges audience pain and admits that it has made mistakes, hires writers of color, and then greatly improves upon its mistakes, that has to be commended.

so, let's break down race and representation for the remakes. and as you will see below, the remakes are so egregiously bad when it comes to race and representation, that when you compare druck after jünglinge took over, it's on a separate level altogether and that's why i believe druck is deemed to be better when it comes to race and representation. (also, i'm skipping skam nl and skam austin from this analysis because who knows how those two would have ended up...and begoña owes me a heart to heart after she ruined by beloved skam españa, but let's be real, eskam had a long way to go too.)

druck -

well, from the list in your ask and from the hard work that skamofcolor put in, druck is a remake with one of the most racially diverse main cast members in both the old and new gens as well as the most characters of colors in side characters as well, so that's an improvement compared to the other remakes. but you're right, there were a lot of missed storylines they could have tackled with the old gen.

druck's sana season (amira mahmood) does not put their sana through weeks of torture or ruin the girl squad in the process. (and as a muslim, i will say their handling of islam was the best among the remakes but i digress...) however, amira did not get her full 10 weeks of screen time and the show missed a huge opportunity diving into shared microaggressions and racism that sam, abdi, etc. also faced. and druck was ripped for it! for cutting amira's time and playing it way too safe and not giving sam her fair due, among others.

now, here's where druck does something that no other remake has done and honestly, this is where i think most of the praise stems from. they listened to the criticism! wait, showrunners and writers can do that?! do you mean we are not just yelling into the avoid? not only have the writers said the ways in which they could have improved (even after s6 they discussed audience perceptions and overestimating how ava/mailin would be received, etc.) but they also hired JÜNGLINGE to bring the new gen to life. if you are unfamiliar, this is how they describe themselves:

JÜNGLINGE is a film collective of mid-twenties raised in the hybrid cultures of post-migrant Germany. We believe that young, European film needs to tell queer, diverse and most of all – specific – stories about growing up and living together in our societies.

so looking at that progress over time from druck s1 to druck s6, i can't help but give them them props for such a marked improvement. in fact, i don't think ANY single skam season covers race and ethnicity as well as s5 and s6 did. sure, they were not perfect (see point 1 above), but my god, the strides that these two seasons made. so much so that in s6, we had a non-white interracial couple as main, who were both unapologetic about their ethnicities and upbringing and culture (Gambia and Vietnam). and having fatou/ava's friendship be so prominent, listening to them talk about black hair, and referencing nazis in germany - yes to all of this!

and let's talk about ava! what an amazing character who was allowed to be angry, giggly, happy, sad, and express herself, without falling into tropes like imane from skam france, and so many people can relate to her struggles with white liberal mailin. there was a sensitivity there that's so rare in these remakes. and what druck couldn't do with amira/kiki, they were given room to explore here, and i really do feel that it was an important story to tell, especially in the age of whitesplaining, white feminist tears, and white liberals talking over women of color.

skam france -

eight seasons in and skam france is STILL mistreating its characters of colors and not given them their full due. now with bilal literally taking a back seat to jo (look at the YouTube header for crying out loud!) but ever since yann in s1, skam france has done such a horrible job with its depiction of POC, especially black characters. daphne is one of the most racist vildes and the treatment of imane (even beyond her season) has been vile and unfair.

and you would think that post s6 and after a new showrunner and writing team was hired on, that there would be improvements (similar to what druck did above), but no! look at how both aurélien and judith were treated in s7, and after a strong opening for s8, it looks like bilal is now taking a backseat to jo, and once again, skam france and its new team are prioritizing a white character over a character of color.

and has there been any acknowledgment by the skam france team of the criticism over the years? rather, david has often doubled down in the face of fan critiques - just an unwillingness to listen, and so we are left with this as a result.

skam italia -

say what you want about skam italia but when it comes to race?well, they certainly take the cake for the whitest remake, so much so that swaths of fans will refuse to watch this remake for the "wana" debacle, and rightfully so. (whitewashing of the sana casting) and remember how people tried to defend this casting decision? but don't forget that italy has a higher percentage of muslims living in the country than norway does! give me a break.

and how can i forget how hajar brown was dragged after she, as a woman of color, deemed to shade and criticize casting decisions for this remake?

wtfock -

do i even need to get into wtfock and its representation on race?! i mean s4 and s5 are arguably the two worst seasons of any skam remakes period. and the complete lack of acknowledgment from the showrunners after the torrent of criticism they received. the egregiously racist writing. i am a defense attorney by profession, and even i am struggling. there's seriously no defense for them here...

so given all this above, i hope this explains why i value the steps druck has taken, especially in s5 and s6, to tackle and improve their depiction of race and representation.

[lawyeryuri]

The heart thing but im not gonna describe how to kill you cause youre a cool mutual however i wanna hear what makes naruto a good anime and also what makes it bad also i wanna hear your favourite headcanons of the guy on your pfp and sakura if you have any

I wanna hear you absolutely infodumps me into oblivion. Obliterate me with your naruto facts, headcanon and whatever in betweens. Take your time to answer this i will be waiting, until that here take this cat with ya ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

(giggles and kicks my feet) thank you so much for this ask!!! ^_^

ok so what makes Naruto a good anime in my opinion are the characters, their emotions and how they relate to one another. (also it's like really gay) Naruto has a pretty big cast and a ton of filler episodes, so a lot of the time, it's used to get into different character combinations, specifically at the end of the original series, with the 80 episode stretch of filler, (honestly a bit excessive) that's basically just naruto hanging out with the other teams. filler is truly a double-edged blade, because if its not good, it is a SLOG... i didn't skip any episodes until like ep 450, where it breaks from the war (exiting, fun, plot-relevant) to cut to a parallel universe retelling of THE ENTIRE SERIES UP TO THAT POINT. it lasts like 20 episodes, and sasuke's a cop (old, dumb, acab)

another gripe i have with Naruto (the show) is best summarized by that post that's like "i miss when naruto ran around and bit people. now he's just a liberal" cause he kind of stops growing as a person at age 16. "as soon as you question your ideals, it's all over" ok buddy. how about you learn and grow with your experiences. other than that that though love the show, though I do think it's an interesting choice to redeem/offer justification for every single (canon) villain in the whole series.

OK my favorite head cannons for rock lee (pfp guy) and sakura... I think that rock lee speaks without contractions because he wants to give every sentence his all, and not take the easy way out. in a filler episode, rock lee builds a training dojo, and I think that's super in character for him, and I bet tenten helped him fix it up, and she's got a tool closet in there or something. I also hc that bor🤢 boruto Era 🤮 lee is like a taijutsu teacher and works with shino. as for sakura, I think she and Lee spar together all the time so she can improve her speed. I also hc her as an aro lesbian because I can #relate to.. the whole sasuke deal. I also feel like she would take up art, once she takes a break from work.

I actually also have a theory about naruto (the boy) I've never talked about, I actually think naruto can sense chakra signatures. this is because he sensed zabuza during the land of waves arc. it would also make sense that his sensing ability is just enhanced by sage mode instead of pulled out of nowhere. not to mention that the most powerful and precise sensor introduced is an Uzumaki as well. (shout out to my girl Karin) probably the reason it never comes up is because he doesn't know what a sensor is 💛

uh wow that got long. starting this I was worried I didn't know enough about naruto to infodump, for some reason (I've literally been obsessed since February why would I think that) anyways THANK YOU SO MUCH for sending this ask, it literally made my week :D💛💛💛 I know for a fact you are also a very cool mutual (I have no lame mutuals) and have a great week!

[burnedbyshoto]

mine

— Dabi didn’t want you in the slightest, but he’d be damned if anyone touched you without knowing that you belonged to him

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pairing: yandere!dabi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, gorey (blood and puss), branding, yandere!dabi, semi-public sex, consented sex that turns into nonconish, spitting, heavy degradation, hardcore, sadist!dabi, mindbreak

word count: 5,588

a/n: im so terribly sorry for being so late with kinktober. my keyboard is super fucked up and I had a crazy busy weekend. please do not read this if you are easily offended it got a bit crazy lol ;-; well at least for what i typically write sorry

kinktober day 17 main kink: branding | kinktober masterlist

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Dabi didn’t care about you.

As you lay on the broken, dirty mattress (was this even a mattress?) that belonged to who knows who and was in this alleyway for who knows how long, there was no telling if you wouldn’t contract some form of an STD just by laying here in your filth. You wanted to sit up. You needed to get out of this sketchy alleyway just to continue the day. But your body hurts, everything hurts.

But the tears in your eyes had long dried out. The blood, cum, spit, puss, and drool on the bed making for an unpleasant, pitiful sight beneath and on you.

But I guess there was no reason for anyone to try and take you, even like that.

There was already a warning, a brand for anyone to fucking try and take you from the person who owned you. 

His name pulsed on every throbbing, bubbling white-hot pain on your body. His hands and name forever scarred and branded on your skin.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

But you couldn’t even cry as a black cat with piercing blue eyes landed on the mattress centimeters from your face. It was too much.

And in the middle of the alleyway, your eyes shut, and a painful unconscious slammed through you. Consciousness no longer your friend as you ended there, ass up, gaping, cum splattering hole available for everyone to see.

It didn’t matter, you clearly belonged to Dabi, and anyone who tried to take you would be consumed with a horrid fate.

.

..

.

Dabi’s mouth was pulled back into an angry, unamused snarl.

Typically speaking, the black-haired Frankenstein of a man could look more apathetic than the gods of apathy themselves, but if you bugged him just enough, things could sink under his skin faster than you could run. But today, he seemed to have every annoying thing happen to him event after event so that he was practically simmering with putrid anger.

It had started when you had left his room in the morning louder than he liked. You both had begun a sexual relationship of sorts. As much as the League was intent and focused on driving out the hero society, libidos and sexual needs could hardly be ignored. Especially as Dabi’s own libido grew with the more success he had, the closer he was to achieve his own goal. It made sense that he and you began this relationship. He wasn’t going to touch any of the guys in the group, not to mention the fact they were about as ugly as he was, so that meant he’d have to potentially stare down at a nasty face moaning and screaming. That wasn’t going to happen. Toga was a psycho bitch that Dabi could never understand, and with her stupid stabbing addiction, he wasn’t about to trust her near his genitals. 

You had been a late joiner in the group, some dumb, weak, quirkless little bitch. 

Dabi had no idea why Shigaraki had ever allowed you to join in the first place.

You added absolutely nothing to the group.

Being quirkless meant that you were a liability in any type of fight they got into because you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. You threw a mean punch, and you had been training with Toga in the weird-ass fighting style of hers, but it was stupid, utterly pointless because as long as Dabi and others possessed the ability to kill you without needing you near, you were a walking target. 

You were also a terrible medic. Whenever the group would return with serious and not so serious injuries, you would scream, panic, and apply bandages terribly. It was so bad that Dabi would rather die of infection than have your blubbering form try to get anywhere near his cuts and burns. 

You were a horrible liar too. Couldn’t send you into any of the Pro Hero bases or UA in an attempt to gather more information to help the group's efforts. Toga had merely transformed into a random citizen without you knowing, and your ability to be suave was a joke.

But one day, Dabi figured out why exactly Shigaraki decided to let you in, why you were someone worth letting live. He had gone to the bar for a simple drink. His head throbbing due to the fight he had gotten into while recruiting for the League. But what he came to see in that bar was that you were in the bar with Shigaraki and Kurogiri.

He looked at you as you were on your knees on the barstool. Your breasts swelling over that stupid tanktop of yours, your dumb ass shaking like a damn dog as you talked excitedly to Shigaraki. That, for whatever reason, bugged Dabi.  The tinge of color on his stupid leader’s ears and cheeks also went noticed by Dabi, and suddenly as you grabbed onto Shigaraki’s shoulders, it all made perfect sense.

You were here to be made as a whore.

Dabi ended up leaving the bar without getting his drink after all that day.

But he had caught you skipping to your assigned room, and he blocked your way, his hand shoved into his pockets as you looked down at your wide eyes.

“So that’s the role you’ll play in the world of no heroes,” Dabi spoke, his lips pulling into a lazy smirk, warmth flooding his cold skin when your own face seemed twisted with confusion and worry.

“I’m not playing any role?” you speak slowly, obviously confused, but Dabi doesn’t dwell on the confusion in your eyes or the way you step backward away from him. He follows you, stalking your every move until you’re backed against the door of his room, your doe eyes large and practically screaming for help, which only seemed to excite Dabi. You wouldn’t be finding a hero in this organization. No, you either learned how to swim, drown, or take everyone down with you. 

“Oh, so you’re not playing any games here?” Dabi asks, his hand slamming against the door right by your head, his head tilting as he leans in close to your face. He can basically breathe the anxiety spilling from your veins, festering, and throbbing underneath your skin as you find yourself unable to speak. “You joined our little group knowing that Shigaraki wanted to fuck you? Use you as the willing whore that you are?”

The fear drained from your eyes, and anger blazed instead, and for some reason, that only made Dabi more excited. He pressed up closer to you, the hardness of his cock, unable to be ignored as he pressed his swelling length to your hip.

“I’m not here to be Shigaraki’s whore,” you growled, your lips pulled back into a fearsome growl, but to Dabi, knowing the stupid, weak quirkless bitch that you were, made you look like some angry dumb puppy. “I’ve been just as wronged by this world as you have. Just because I didn’t burn off all my skin to prove I don’t fit in doesn’t mean I don’t have scars too.”

Dabi laughed, the smell of heat rising from his skin as he couldn’t help but display his power, couldn’t help but to warn you just who was capable of the most immense damage.

“Burn me,” you snapped, your nose nearly brushing against his. “Prove my fucking point.”

Dabi let out a throaty hum, the feeling of your stomach shifting against his tented pants, only serving to arouse him more. 

“Trust me, pup, I don’t have all my skin burned off,” Dabi couldn’t help but ignore your own issues of being upset as his mouth crashed against yours.

That night, Dabi realized that maybe you did serve this group in two ways, albeit one was much, much more important than the other. 

One, the lesser important reason: you brought in a new demographic. A new viewpoint of people who had been hurt by heroes and civilians who looked to All Might like a god. Quirkless people, and people with quirks that practically made them worthless, were seen as inferior because they weren’t unique. They could never be like All Might. And for that, they were seen as less, a group that deserved to die and were discriminated against for reasons far beyond their control.

Two, the more important reason: you were Dabi’s fuckhole.

This sexually frustrated, anger-fueled sex the two of you had was more than ideal, really. Dabi loved to fuck you whenever he needed, whenever he wanted. He took you anywhere and everywhere he wanted. Each time he grew bolder and bolder until he was fucking you during a meeting, fucking you while you were in a car with everyone, making your way to the next destination. 

He could care less about your whining pleas to only fuck in a room where no one could see, couldn’t care if you thought the alleyway was dirty, and the scent of dead burning bodies made your head spin. You were a quirkless fuckhole, and you would do as he told.

But Dabi would never admit you were his.

No, he would not.

Not now, not ever.

But there was something stupidly irritating and annoying hearing barely useful members of the now Paranormal Liberation Front. Everyone was obsessed with you, the useless quirkless girl who was weak and needed protection. Everyone loved the way your tits bounced when you hopped around excitedly, loved the way your ass shook when you were sitting at a bar because, for whatever damn reason, you could never sit on your fucking ass.

So, that’s where we find Dabi. His mouth pulled back into an unamused, angry snarl as you talked with some nameless member that Dabi thought was better off dead than as some deadweight help. 

“You can’t expect y/l/n-chan to be so kind to you when you’re quite the asshole to her, Dabi,” Compress chided Dabi as he took a smooth, slow drink from his sake. “You pester her daily, and from what the rumors tell me, harass her often enough that I’m surprised she hasn’t taken your face off.”

“She’s too fucking weak for that shit,” Dabi snapped, his eyes narrowing when your hand placed itself on the nameless shits arm. “She can’t do shit; that’s why she’s acting like a shallow whore. She’ll let anyone fuck her as long as it means she gets protected.”

Compress raised his eyebrow, his face not letting anything on as he slowly placed his glass down.

“Y/l/n-chan sleeps around?”

Dabi actually felt the heat rising from his skin. He didn’t know if you were, and the thought of knowing that someone other than him was fucking your tight little pussy after he did irritates him much more than he’d like. 

“I don’t fucking know, you’re the one telling me about fucking rumors. You tell me.”

“From what I hear, she doesn’t give in to anyone, despite the obvious flirting,” Compress shrugged when Dabi’s eyes locked on him in bewildered disbelief. “Why do you care, Dabi? You’re typically so aloof and annoyingly stoic. What about y/l/n-chan makes you so temperamental?”

Dabi felt his spine stiffen at those words, the inquisitive yet entirely sharp words that gutted him from the inside out. Dabi didn’t care for you. He knew he didn’t. If you dropped dead in the middle of the floor in three seconds, he knew he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t mourn you. He might mourn the warm body he fucked whenever he needed, sure, but not you, never just you. 

He blinked.

He didn’t need to like you for you to be his.

Heroes were what was wrong with society, but relationships were also what was wrong with people. The twisting desire for equality and equity between two different people when it should never be as such, to begin with. Dabi was powerful. You were quirkless and weak. Dabi held power, he was the one who should be deciding what you should be able to do, what you can’t, and something in the depths of his mind finally clicked. 

You were his.

You belonged to Dabi.

You were nothing without Dabi.

The laugh that poured from your lips and the man next to you, that Dabi swore he could hear right now, suddenly made sense as to why it bothered him. You don’t entertain or try to use things that don’t belong to you. You use only what is yours, and anyone who tries to touch what belongs to you is allowed capital punishment.

But Dabi, against better judgment, wasn’t a trigger happy idiot.

No, he was aware of the things idiots needed to see in order to back off. To understand that some things were there for free, and other things were already taken. He laughed, grabbing the rest of Compress’s sake and downing it before slamming it onto the table and standing up, ignoring the angered curses from Compress as he stalked toward you.

There weren’t many things in life that made Dabi lose control of his emotions, but knowing that you were out in the open without a clear mark that you were his was slowly making its way on that list. 

“Let’s go,” Dabi says, his voice perfectly calm despite the heat blazing off his every muscle. His hand was wrapped around your wrist, gripping your skin tightly as he tugged you from the barstool.

It didn’t take much for you to fall off the stool, your stupid way of sitting on bar stools allowed significant imbalance, and Dabi knew that a sharp tug is all it took to have you stumbling off.

“I was talking with Trumpet!” you cried, unable to keep from stumbling after Dabi, your eyes focused on Trumpet.

“I was speaking with y/n, if you would allow us to finish our—” Trumpet also piped up, his hands reaching to button up his suit as he stood.

“Shut up,” Dabi spoke coldly, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he took in his gaze. 

With that, Dabi continued to walk away, dragging your protesting form behind him with every great stride he took. Dabi didn’t know where he was walking, only knowing that he was ignoring every question and angry demand that filtered out of your mouth like white noise. He took sharp turns, disappearing into the alleys that he knew all too well until he found the spot he was looking for.

You were panting heavily when you suddenly slammed into Dabi’s back, exhaustion already setting in your bones from the awkward run you had to maintain in order to keep up with Dabi. You weren’t an idiot; you knew that Dabi wanted to fuck the moment that he appeared behind you with a wave of hot air. But you hadn’t expected it to be while you were in the middle of a conversation with Trumpet; while he was an asshole, Dabi always let you finish your conversations before taking you to fuck. But not this time.

Which worried you. 

Both of you had fucked the entire night last night. Your body had been abused in a million exciting ways as Dabi unleashed his libido onto you, and you had kept up swimmingly. Typically, a fuckfest like that was enough to satisfy him for a few days, two days at least, so to have him back on you within twelve hours was a bit of a shock. 

The sun was still in the sky, after all.

“You really know how to piss me the fuck off, y/n,” Dabi spoke, his tone and words ice-cold despite the blazing heat of his body. “Why is it that you think you have the right to flounder yourself off like some common bitch?”

You freeze. Oh? Was he jealous?

You had no time to even open your mouth to ask, most likely having taken too long to answer his question because his hand flared with heat, and you couldn’t help the scream that ripped through your throat. Tearing your hand from Dabi, you looked down at your burnt, throbbing skin. Your eyes widened, pained tears in your eyes as Dabi turned around, his eyes blank, cold, lifeless. 

“I’m not sure if I ever made this clear before,” Dabi asked, stalking toward you, and you whimper, holding your tender wrist to your chest as you feel something make contact with the back of your calves. “I don’t care about you. If you were to disappear the next day and never return, I wouldn’t care. Maybe I’d miss your pretty little pussy, but other than that… nothing. But you need to understand something for as long as we’re together and for how long we’re apart: you’re mine, y/n, just mine.”

Your eyes are wide, terrified of the monster before you. This wasn’t the Dabi that fucked you every night before this, this was someone else, and sour acid hits the back of your throat. 

His lips are on you without hesitation. The biting coldness of his staples on his cheeks and chin burn against your skin, and his hot hands are against the cold skin of your waist, and you gasp loudly. His tongue invades your mouth immediately, and you whimper, feeling how much colder his tongue was in comparison to yours. But you know what it’s like to share a bed with Dabi, you know that he knows of your bodies every twitch and innate desires, and like a trained dog, you cave to him despite the painful tears dripping down your cheeks.

His kisses are much like his fire, hot, encompassing, all-consuming until there was nothing left except the smell and taste of ashes and smoke. You fell to his needs immediately, the hot, swollen throb in your wrist going ignored as you kissed him back, wanting to taste the smoke on his tongue. So as the heat of his body evaporated the tears off your cheeks, you caved into his kisses. 

Your wrist throbbed as your hands reached up and curled into his hair. 

But the biting possessiveness of his body was all too apparent to you as his teeth buried into your tongue and sucked on it harshly. You gasped, your body arching into his touch as you opened your closed eyes to peer into his piercing lifeless eyes. 

You moaned, body trembling with the wild desire to make him feel good, to make yourself feel good. But you fell, his teeth letting go of your tongue and his calloused, burnt hands pushing you onto the object beneath you. The mildewy mold scent of the mattress beneath you burned into your nose, somehow damp even though there had been no rain for weeks.

Dabi was on you immediately, his body between your legs, lips simmering against your mouth once more, and his hand on your throat. His staples scraped against your chin, the cold metal scratching into your skin until it hurt. You can’t recall the last time he put this horrible power on his grips, you felt your head beginning to spin with the slow, dizzying throb of losing all oxygen, but Dabi took no mind to your struggles; in fact, it seemed to be enjoying it.

“Come on, doll, kiss me back like you actually fucking mean it,” Dabi snapped, his hands burning even more against your throat, and the other made contact with your pants. Your clothes were burnt to singe, the smell of burning fabric had long been a scent you had been familiar with, but you couldn’t even gather the energy to cry about the clothes he just burnt off your body. “Stop acting like a little bitch,” he growls, obviously noticing your shift in character, “be a good doll, and do as you’re told.”

Despite the burning, stabbing feeling in your skin, and the way you couldn’t keep the silent tears from stopping you from doing as you were told. You kiss him back as you once had before, your jaw dropping and your tongue reaching to meet his. 

Dabi growled, clearly liking the suddenly positive response from you, and you trembled against his hold. But, soon, a new scent filled your nose, a unique scent that aligned with the painful burning of flesh.

“You see, I don’t like it when things that belong to me don’t do what I want. I especially hate having to share things that are mine. Don’t get cocky, sweet thing, you’re my precious doll, but I don’t give a single shit about you,” Dabi spat against your lips, his mouth speaking against yours, and his eyes staring straight into your eyes. 

Or they would have been should you not have been in such trifling, nauseating pain as Dabi’s hand burned against your skin. His quirk sizzled against your skin, creating a perfect brand of his hand on your throat, but the pain was immeasurable, horrifically painful as you wailed against his mouth.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” you screamed, your hands fisting and pathetically slamming against Dabi’s shoulders, pleading to be shown mercy.

But Dabi merely looked down at you with sadistic disinterest, relishing in the way the smell of your burning skin wafted into his nose until he let go. 

You tried to scream, tried to cry to whatever god may be looking down at you to come and save you, but you found you couldn’t. The burnt, pussing bubbles of infected flesh bubbling on your throat were tight on your sweat-slicked skin, and every small movement made it feel worse.

“There we go!” Dabi grins again, his eyes wild and almost demented as he flips you over so that your naked ass is hanging out in the air, able to be manipulated to his will. The tears in your eyes were still streaming down your face, intermixing with the blood and popped blisters on your skin as Dabi pressed you into a position that would make things easier for him to fuck you in. “I can’t fuck you when your cunt is buried in this box.”

You make a noise, a small noise that sends a powerful wave of nausea through you as Dabi separates your legs and curls his fingers within your slick cunt. 

“Glad to see that your little pussy is still wet as fuck,” Dabi groans, his fingers scissoring deep within you, stretching out your hole until you pathetically cries into the mildew scented mattress. Your body pulsated with a different stimulus; the pain in your throat still burned and was feeling itchy. The thud in your wrist hurt to move. But the pleasure of his fingers buried deep in your cunt made your eyes cross and your mouth pant in the overcoming sensation of your pussy being tended to.

“D-Dabi,” you manage to croak out, the tears running down your cheeks, once more intermixing with the thick blood and puss on the burn. Your voice was disgustingly hoarse, sounding akin to someone with smoker's lungs. “P-Please.”

“P-Please what?” Dabi mocked, his hips grinding against your exposed, pert ass. You could feel the hard cock in his pants, the shift in the fabric as he dropped his own pants and underwear to rut his piercing covered cock through your asscheeks. “Don’t think about me fucking your ass, you dirty fucking bitch, I’m not gonna do that weird shit.”

“N-No!” you whimper, your unburnt hand reaching behind you to grab onto the fabric of his coat that he refused to remove. Somehow, the movement made the throbbing flesh on your throat hurt more, and you swallowed the rising bile in your throat, gagging. “D-Dabi, f-fuck!”

“You want something better than my fingers?” he continued to question, uncaring that he knew exactly what you meant by those words. He was too focused on the way your walls were much tighter around his fingers right now, a vice trap that made him both eager and unwilling to shove his cock deep within your womb just yet. 

You mewl in frustration, your hips shifting against his intruding fingers, desperate to get the coldness of his pierced cock within you already. The pain was still very much alive, but the pleasurable build in your core was quickly outweighing your mood. 

“Oh, I get it,” Dabi sighs, his fingers exiting your throbbing, soaked cunt, both his hands slamming onto your ass, gripping the flesh with all the strength he had. “You want another fucking brand. You want the world to know who you fucking belong to, who fucking owns you until the day you die.”

The words send a panicked throb in your stomach, but before you could protest, before you could make note that this was not something you wanted, his fingers grew hot. Hotter and hotter, they grew until the blue of his flame felt like scorching white heat under your skin. Impossibly unbearable pain and branding scarred into your skin as you’re able to ignore the resulting pain in your throat to scream so loudly, your voice bounces off the alley walls multiple times. 

You can’t see what he did, but you can tell that his handprints are scarred to your ass; you can feel the puss-filled blisters rising from the skin as Dabi continues to massage the skin as if it was a bruise and not some second-degree burn. You sobbed into the mattress, your face buried into the ugly fabric, snot, and tears pooling onto the surface until you were choking on your spit and rising bile. 

Before you could even adjust to the pain, your mind pounding and reeling with the stinging, melting sensation on your ass, something thick, cold, and pierced rams into your throbbing cunt. Your body lurches forward with the initial thrust, your body, despite the pain, jumping from the shock of Dabi’s cock entering you.

It’s a familiar feeling, a feeling you loved, but you can’t focus on the sense of the many balled piercing gliding against your ruffled walls. The extra stimulus pointedly ignored because the pain in your ass was currently outweighing the pleasure he was giving you. But Dabi doesn't care. Why would he care? You’re his doll, and right now, he’s in heaven. Your cunt was blistering hot against his cock and oh so fucking tight. Dabi knew why he was so obsessed with you, and it started with that tight pussy of yours that could milk him dry without even trying. 

Dabi smiled, his hands raising off the branded handprints on your ass that were caked with already horribly forming scabs, blisters, pus, and blood. He felt giddy seeing your ass, covered with trembles and sweat, covered with his handprint. There was no denying you were his, no denying that you were here to serve the League as nothing except his fuck doll. No one would want you now that you had three of his handprints branded on you, and not even he could love someone with as ugly scars on your body.

So, with the stammering, choking cries that poured from your mouth for Dabi to stop because his rutting hips slamming against your newly branded ass was too much, Dabi let his head drop back, flooded with the sense of elation and euphoria. 

You were his.

Finally his.

Only his.

“It hurts!” you screamed, your hips shifting in your feeble attempt to escape his barbaric hold. “It hurts, Dabi!”

“If it hurts so much, why the fuck is your cunt so wet?” Dabi mocked, his hips slamming into you with deeper, faster strokes. “Why the fuck are you moving your hips like a desperate whore if it hurts?”

You howl in your pain crossed pleasure, the tears soaking your face, and the mattress seemingly flowing from you without end in sight. Much like the squelching slick in your cunt that grows louder and louder and the Jacob's ladder on his cock pressed further and further into your warm velvet walls. 

“Because it hurts!” you screech, your fingers tearing into the mattress, your body spasming from the overload of sensation. Your mind slips through the cracks of consciousness, and the pain begins to override your mind.

“Oi, oi, oi!” Dabi yells, his hand coming down to slap the blistering brand on your ass, completely waking you back up. “Don’t you dare knock out on me, doll. I might call you a doll, but I don’t want you to be some fucking dumbass ragdoll when you’re on my cock!”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your eyes crossing and your vision spinning with the onslaught of sharp, stinging pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” Dabi hums, clearly pleased with your apology. “Seems like after so long, you’ve finally accepted your useless, pathetic, quirkless ass can’t do shit.”

So, his hands shift from your ass and move onto your hips, enjoying the way your skin is so soft, so easily bruisable beneath his hold. Your body seems to block out the pain he brings to your body and only accept the lulling pleasure of it all. The noises of his drilling cock into your sobbing cunt is loud, the sopping noises loud and soft in both your ears. Dabi has half a mind to wonder if anyone would walk by the alleyway, hear your desperate, pathetic noises and call the cops. 

He smiles lazily as his cock brushes against the wall of your cervix. Would he kill you in front of them all and then them? Maybe he would make you beg for his cock more in front of the officers and kill them all should they be aroused. He laughed as his cock slammed into your cervix, the squealing pleasure ripping from your throat at the feeling, and Dabi felt light.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

How pathetic would that be?! Heroes getting aroused as he fucked such a poor girl in front of them! Of course, they’d have to be killed because that would be immoral of them, and not to mention that once anyone got a lustful eye on, you deserved to die.

You were his.

Only his. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?!” Dabi snaps, his hand grabbing your hair by the roots. “Who?”

“Dabi!” you laugh giddily, your face still streaming with tears, your lips bloody and bitten raw. “Dabi! Dabi! Dabi!”

Dabi growls in his satisfying pleasure, his hand throwing your head back onto the mattress, and his hands press onto your shoulders as he begins to thrust faster, harder, more power into your clenching tight cunt. His fingers tear into your skin, breaking the skin and watching the ruby red liquid ooze from your skin. 

That causes you to scream, your face twisted in slight pain, but Dabi presses onward. 

He has one last thing to do.

“Such a good fuck doll, don’t you think you deserve to be rewarded for being such a good fuck? For having such a sweet, tight pussy?” Dabi asks, his teeth biting against the nape of your neck as he continued to fuck you until fluids were beginning to seep from your cunt. “I’m going to make sure that everyone in the fucking world knows you belong to me, that you are my precious fucking doll and no one else's, okay?”

You keen loudly, your body shivering underneath his, and your head nodding, your tongue unable to produce any more words.

Dabi raised his finger, the tip blazing with a small, concentrated blue flame, and he makes contact with the skin on your back.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

His name is written repetitively on your back. The layers of skin on your back wholly burned off so that the twitching pink of your skin muscles are shown. No blood comes from there.

Dabi laughs, delighted with how fucking perfect you look with his name on your back, and you seemed to have flipped out of your broken mindset and shoved back into the horrors of the pain your body was experiencing. You gagged loudly, screaming and twitching with immense pain, but Dabi continues.

“You don’t mean shit to me, though, doll; I hope you know that!” Dabi snickers, his cock throbbing when he felt the familiar milking sensation of your cunt as you finally came around him. He continued to ram his cock into you, savagely uncaring of how you begged from him to stop, pathetically asked for him to heed. “You’re nothing more than my cumslut, nothing more than some stupid sex doll for me to use. And now you’re completely ruined! No one will want you with my brand all over you! No one will, and I sure as hell don’t want you forever!”

Your body stills under him, not quite limp as though you might pass out, but cold, frozen.

Dabi doesn’t care; he never has as he countries to hammer his cock within you, his tongue sweeping over his front teeth before spitting onto his branded name on your skin. You flinch greatly at the burning sensation, your eyes trying not to close with unconsciousness as ropes of his cum and seed spill into your cunt.

You lay there, unable to move, as Dabi stands up, quickly dressing and leaving you with a mere chuckle.

You were ruined forever, you suddenly realized as we make our way back to the beginning scene.

Cold, used, quirkless.

You had no purpose in life except to be Dabi’s whore, and even he didn’t want you.

The darkness consumed you in the worst of ways right then.

[shlutnutt]

Tag

in honor of kit's birthday, why not a quick little kit smut?

starts off as a little fluff lol

warnings: smut, penetration, fingering, oral sex, just regular smut

song insp: courtship dating and affection both by crystal castles

ight so boom.

"Come on! Slow down flash." Kit yells from the other side of the asylum caf trying his best to catch up to your incredible speed. Kit and you were inseparable, no matter how many times the nuns tried seperating you guys, you'd always find a way to hang out or at least see eachother.

Playing tag was your favorite game to play since it didn't require a board game with boring little pieces or any difficult rules. "Ok! I'll give you a headstart! Only 5 seconds!" you yell back causing a little disruption. Kit speed walks towards you not wanting to run anymore.

You giggle at the sight of Kit completely out of breath infront of you as he tapped on you, causing him to giggle along with you pausing suddenly taking a second to admire the beauty he had infront of him. The eye contact you both held brought nothing but butterflies, rising your need to have his soft plump lips against yours, but you dont dare make a move preventing any sort of punishments coming from Sister Jude.

Kit grabs your hand signaling you to sit down alongside him by the window which seemed nearly empty from the patients hating the sunlight. "Hey, I have a plan.. Its risky but we can have some alone time?" Kit whispers feeling the tension you two imprisoned. Taking his hand into yours you whisper back "What's on your mind baby?". Kit plans "Well, we go back to our prison cells at 9:00 pm. Jude usually leans around till 9:30 pm. We were the only ones who ate today's toasts. Lets say we got immensely sick hey? Get our "medical help" and meet by the girl's bathroom. Whatcha think?"

You were totally down for Kit's quickie plan but were terribly scared of getting caught. Knowing the result will be awful you honestly respond with "I dunno Kit. Its very risky. But I'll do it!"

"Shh"

"Shit sorry. Only if you're staying by my side though."

"Im not leaving you alone Y/N.. We're inseparable my love, dont ever forget that. "

All of the patients were escorted to their cells for their bedtime. As soon as you hear the hourly beep for 9:00 pm you keep track of time for 30 minutes. Focusing on every minute to second that passes by from the top of your head you prepare for your act, knowing that Kit is more then ready. You soon hear familiar deep coughs from the right side of your cell, knowing it was time. As you begin coughing harshly you hear keys jingling down the hallway unlocking a cell. Knowing you were next you continue coughing almost making yourself throw up.

"Y/N! What is going on in there?!" You hear a familiar feminine voice question in concern. "I- I can't breath! My stomach is killing me!" you continue your act, pretty impressed in yourself. The lady opens your cell and your heart automatically skips a beat at the sight of your lover alongside the nun, smirking slightly in between coughs.

Each step you took down the soundless hallway to the nurses was raising your heartbeat by the second not losing the tension Kit's aurora gave you.

When you all arrived at the nurses office and sit down for a few seconds, Nurse decides to break the silence. What the hell is wrong with you two? It's literally bedtime." she questions in annoyance. You silently chuckle hearing the word "hell" come out of a nun's lips. "I don't know, I suddenly wasn't able to breath properly and my stomach started hurting really bad." Kit says in "pain" mimicing your words. "And you?" the nurse asks pointing at you with her black pen decorated with a little cross. "I feel the same way. All I ate was the buttered toast, I dont usually feel like this." You add the fact that you ate the toast to make your lie far more believable. "I ate the toast too. It seemed like nobody wanted them so I gave it a try." Kit adds, completing the perfect lie.

"Second time this week the chefs' failed once again at their job. I apologize on their behalf.. I'll get you some pain relieving pills. Give me a sec." The nun apologizes heading to the big creaky door towards the basement where all medications were in storage.

I look over at Kit nerviously, who's sitting on the patient bed, uncuffed surprisingly. He seemed so excited and just overall ready to destroy your guts. "Aren't we going?" you ask perplexed to the fact he's just sitting there smiling not moving a muscle. "Escape rules 101: Leave five seconds after your kidnapper, or you'll get caught. Boom!" You giggle at his words aware he made it all up, still taking it into advice though. "Five, four, three, two.. one! Run Y/N runnn!" he insists.

Kit grabs your hand soft but steady as he drags you down another hallway towards the girl's bathroom. Warm air kissing the both of your faces as you glide down hallway to hallway with your favorite person in hand, smiling and giggling, pure ecstasy and excitements on your faces, as you arrive at your destination.

"Check if the stalls are empty on your left im checking on my right, babe" you smile at the sudden nickname Kit had put on you and proceeded to follow his commands giving him a quick thumbs up from the other side of the bathroom signaling him that the coast was clear, he does the same.

You choose the stall furthest from the door pulling Kit in with you locking it immediately "So now what?" Kit teases almost as if he were to be taunting you, acknowledging your need through your eyes. "You tell me." you attempt to tease back. "What if I show you?" he whispers, leaning into your neck. "Show me then.." you whisper back suddenly gasping at the sudden touch of Kit's delicate pink lips against your neck. His soft kissing, licking and sucking against your neck making your core wet by the second. Becoming stressed from his soft teasing you grab his jaw gentley, leading his lips to your own.

As you two kiss passionately you feel his tongue silently asking for enterance which you allow, the makeout now becoming intense. You feel his hands suddenly lifting your gown, sliding your underwear to the side, looking you in the eye with question for consent which you also allow. Kit begins rubbing your wetness delicately as he slowly inserts a finger inside making you whimper in pleasure grabbing onto his strong masculine shoulders. With now two fingers in your core, you begin jacking off Kit through his well fitted sweats producing a light angelic moan to fall out of his lips. You decide to quickly undress him teasing his member devilishly.

"Now you'll have to finish what you started gorgeous." Kit whispers reffering to your teasing on his. You drop down to your knees slowly tracing your fingers down his body, stopping right below his belly button making him groan deeply in need. "So needy for me, baby" you tease as you suck his member whole causing him to grip your thick hair for support. The combination of your moans vibrating on his now soaked member and your massaging on his balls, made his release speed up more then ever.

"Im cl- close Y/N.. You're doing such a good job for me" he praises while nutting in your mouth which you swallow quickly, avoiding the slight bitter taste. Kit picks you up with no notice and leans you against the stall you both shared slowly sliding his member past your submerged folds. You moan instantly at the feeling of Kit's cock filling you up completely hitting your g-spot everytime. You're both breathlesss in the moment, your loud moans echoing through the flickering lights of the bathroom, holding onto his shoulders for support your arms wrapped around his muscular sweaty waist.

"F-fuck Kit. Im cu-.." not being able to finish your words due to the amazing sensation you were feeling on your core, you feel instantly empty as Kit pulls out of you to finish your high with his mouth.

Kit tongue fucks you, and licks between your folds to finally sucking on your clit liberating your release in his mouth which he sucks up every drop of. Your body collapses onto his still trying to process the intense moment you both divided.

"I love you, Y/N" Kit lovingly says while lookin down at you with innocent eyes. "I love you too, Ki-"

Getting brutally interrupted you hear screaming "Where the hell are you two!" you both hear the nurse, footsteps running up and down the hallways. You quickly get dressed and kiss Kit your goodbyes as he flies past the huge door into the boys' bathroom which luckily was right next to the girls'.

"I-Im here!" you manage to scream back, sticking two fingers down your throat forcing yourself to throw up. "I just got really sick and needed to throw up, sorry." you apologize looking up at the lady who's eyes were boiling in anger. You were pretty sweaty, hair tousled, and hands were shaky. Made your lie pretty believable. "Where's kit?" nurse asks calmly this time now that she's found you. "Im not too sure I think he ran to the boys' room, he got really red and well ran out, seemed sick also." You manage to convince.

Nurse walks out, disgusted by your view heading into the boys' room in which she's not allowed into. You jump at the scary sounds Kit made from the other side of the wall, relieved you two had mentally communicated the same plans.

Managing to clean yourself up a bit you hear hard knocking on the girls' bathroom door. You timidly open up to the view of nurse and Kit. Relieved you smile to yourself a little, Kit realizes and taps on you playfully.

"You're it, loser."

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

He did? Umm.. what happened exactly?

(referring to this post)

my 11th grade chemistry teacher had an associates degree in liberal arts.

you know how in virtually every class you’ve ever had since middle school, your teachers made a big stink about the syllabus? she didn’t have one. this was her first teaching job, which she got because of her length experience as a substitute, not by her licensing qualifications. we were, at first, excited to have her, because she was a “fun sub” and we were 17 years old and stupid as all shit. we were the “normal chem” class in a system where the only other options were “honors chem” which was filled with children who actually know how to study (or cheat) and have an air of proper student activity, and “AP Chem”, which is clear enough if you’ve been an american student in the last 15 years.

she followed the mcgraw hill chemistry book in order of chapters, despite the fact that our state standardized tests did several of the chapters out of order. ever notice how you’ll suddenly be looking at chapter 11 when just last week you were on chapter 5, then the next week you’re on chapter 8? standardized testing is the reason. anyways by asking my friends in other classes who had chemistry teachers of relative competence, i was able to discern which chapters i should focus on, and while she was distracted with literally watching youtube videos all period, I was turning around in my seat and walking across the classroom helping my friends and enemies with the packets. (she was a two-packets-a-week kinda teacher.)

yes i said enemies too. the people i hated, i hated because they were sons of bitches i wouldnt piss on to put out a fire. i hated them so dearly i used to pray to god that they would bump into me so i could throw myself into the concrete and split my forehead open and get them expelled due to the blood-clause of our “zero-tolerance policy”. two of the kids in my class had, only the previous year, attempted to set my hair on fire.

i hated the teacher more. 

it gave me extreme pleasure to see her fume and clench her fists when a student would say “i need help” across the classroom and she would move to get up and they would say “oh not you miss, im waiting for vicky.” jesus christ the only time ive ever felt a comparable high was when i was at a halloween party in college where i was literally so zooted i couldn’t move.

it got worse over time, her getting more and more angry, my ego growing larger and larger. i was a huge bitch in high school, i really thought i was the smartest bitch in the room at any given moment. severe main character syndrome. imagine that kind of person actually being right for 45 minutes out of every day. can you even comprehend the kind of frustration that would create? in a room full of little sociopaths who dont give a shit about anything but getting this joke of a class over with so they can graduate? your first real teaching job and they look right past you, the teacher, to this annoying little shit whose grades are completely abysmal? how are they managing to learn anything from a child who can barely speak in front of more than 10 people? who turns cherry red in the face of literally every authority figure in the building except you? who can’t concentrate and stay still in one spot for more than five minutes? all of your other classes behave! they listen! they sit down and shut up and do the packets! so what fucking gives!!!

so you say “fine, since you all HATE ME so much i just won’t teach then!!!” on literally week fucking ten of teaching. and instead of prostrating themselves before you, begging you to like... point at transparencies and read directly from powerpoints i guess.

and they all collectively say “okay” and let the chipmunk child flutter between desks and help them memorize formulas and mnemonic devices and shit. surely her grades will suffer if she’s constantly dealing with other people and you’ll have justification that her horseshit is “distracting” and “a detriment to her studies”. she got bored gave up on that after two days after nothing changed.

then we did the midterm.

except at the end of the exam packet was something we never learned because again, she was going through the book chronologically. because i actually enjoyed the chem book (so much that i stole it when the year was up lmao), i knew the material.

it was about lewis dots/structures. i couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it today but in december 2010 i absolutely knew that shit. i didnt have too much of a problem with it in the exam, but the students who had gotten to that point were complaining and at first she pulled that “you should have been studying independently uwu” shit but the class was about to get loud during exam period so she shushed us and said that when we get to that point, just stop, and she’ll mark it correct during grading, no harm no foul just keep it quiet. one of the more confrontational students called horseshit and said theres no way we’re trusting that and there’s definitely no way anyone will keep an entire classroom cheating at the instruction of the teacher quiet.

i offered to teach it.

she scoffed, rolled eyes, said “sure fine but you can’t get your exam back” and i said “okay.” so when everyone was to the point in the exam, we piled them all on her desk and i used the whiteboard to briefly and quietly explain lewis dots, used the book examples and problems, and helped the other kids understand. there were a couple exam questions that were lifted straight from the book problems so i skipped those. while teaching i realized i had gotten a couple wrong which sucked :( it was an incredibly stupid experience overall, and no teacher worth the paper their certification is printed on would have allowed that to happen. and fucking yet.

anyways everyone but me got their exams back and finished it and many of us passed, only a few of them did particularly well.

discussing the chem exam with friends who also took the chem exam, many students found their anecdote about the lewis dots to be confounding, for you see, the exam we took was not, in fact, the midterm, but the god damned final.

she had us taking the fucking final because she didnt read the fucking folders which read “midterm” and “final exam” on them

she was reprimanded severely and we all had to take the exam on different days, in different classrooms, sitting very far apart. after that she hated me even more. like girl it was your fault lmao i am literally a teenager grow up lol. anyways you can imagine how much more fucking insufferable i became, knowing how miserable she was.

it all came to a head in february when some students were giggling quietly following a minor fuck up on her part regarding bellwork. they were making fun of her like “are you sure thats not tomorrows bellwork lol” and a friend next to me did the “hey i need help wait no miss not you sorry” thing and when i answered him, she solidly snapped. blah blah YOURE SOOOO DISTRACTING blah blah YOU THINK YOURE SOOOO SMART DONT YOU blah blah blah and she was like demanding i leave the room and shouting at the top of her lungs at me “ YOU POISON THE MINDS OF EVERY OTHER STUDENT HERE. YOU’RE POISONOUS VICTORIA, YOU’RE A VIRUS IN THIS CLASSROOM.”

i will never forget that line as long as i live. it was like crack to me. i moved to open the door to leave and the vp opened it first. he escorted me to the office and asked me what happened, then told me to keep my head down in class from now on, and that if i wanted to help my friends i should give them my number and help them out on our own time. i was like “bro thats really stupid” and he was like “thats all we can do right now but i promise we’re working on it”

i lasted the rest of the year giving smug smiles as we did packet after fucking packet for the rest of the year. they were all take-home work. i wasnt comfy giving my number to my enemies. the class camaraderie ended.

the final was altered. my class took a different final than the rest of the normal chem classes.

i started 12th grade and got a solid case of senioritis. i told that story to anyone who would listen. while it was happening, i obviously told my favorite teacher everything as it happened. when i mentioned it senior year he was like “oh yeah i forgot about her,

she was fired over the summer.”

[thewebcomicsreview]

Homestuck 2 has updated! Christmas is ruined!

Previously, on Homestuck 2: Literally nothing happened, and a non-trivial portion of the patreon supporters gave up and quit. Can this update pull a Christmas miracle and right the sinking ship of Homestuck 2? Probably not, but let’s find out! 

We’re back in Candyland, having completely skipped over Karkat and John talking about Dave’s apparent death, because this comic is only interested in long conversations when they’re boring and not about anything at all. That’s alright, I got the gist of it.

When Karkat is finally gone, John still doesn’t move. It isn’t as though he has nowhere else to go, since there are quite a few places he might attempt to make himself useful, for better or for worse.

So, it appears to be morning now, meaning that John’s son has been missing in a war zone for almost 24 hours and I guess John literally forgot Harry existed?

Prediction: This conversation is going to end in some variant of “Where is our son?” “Oh shit!”

ROXY: hey john can u do me a quick solid

ROXY: actly idk how quick itll be but its definitely solid

ROXY: harry anderson says i just missed u being here but could u skip back on over?

What.

So, I went back and checked, and apparently nowhere is it explicitly said that Harry Anderson was also looking for the Vriskas, so I guess he....stayed home? Which makes sense, I suppose, but maybe a “Stay here I’ll go look for them” would’ve helped. I wasn’t the only one who thought Harry was out looking for Vriska too. 

ROXY: sup

ROXY: follow me

ROXY: well were just going to my room so i guess technically u know the way

JOHN: haha ok.

John follows, trying to shake the ominous feeling he got from what she’d just said. He’d been in and out of this house a lot in the past few days. Why should this be any different?

Is Roxy....horny? Is the solid she’s looking for John’s dick? I mean, that’d make her saying Harry wasn’t available kind of weird, but I think this framing is a fake-out.

...

What the fuck is that lamp, Jesus Christ it’s awful. Just a cat’s asshole, facing the door.

ROXY: r u kiddin me rn egbert

JOHN: i’m not? unless you were, in which case yeah lets say i was also kidding.

JOHN: oh my god, i’m sorry, i don’t know why this making me freak out.

ROXY: i remember our past boot knockin with fondness but that is a situation im not interested in revisiting

Oh hey, it was a fakeout. Good job, Homestuck 2. You successfully implied something just through the art. Art which, by the way, looks a lot better than the last chapter. There are backgrounds and everything. I wonder if Chapter 15 was rushed out due to Hiveswap and that’s why it was so weak?

He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced?

I’m not the biggest fan of the way the narration is going JOHN IS AFRAID OF SEX WITH ROXY LIKE HE’S A TEENAGE VIRGIN AGAIN (LIKE IN HS1!) AND IT DOESN’T REALLY MAKE SENSE PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IT’LL BE IMPORTANT LATER, but okay, noted.

ROXY: u said ur house is gone??

JOHN: yep.

JOHN: completely.

ROXY: jeez

Heh. I like Roxy, still. 

JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison.

If this comic actually uses the phrase “home” and “stuck” in the same sentence I’m turning this blog around and we’ll go right back to Winnipeg.

ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push

ROXY: we both got sick muscles

ROXY: no other adjectives necessary

I feel unqualified to talk about how hard Roxy is pushing the June Egbert thing.

....Is that the fucking portal from Hiveswap under a tarp? Also hi Candy Callie, appearing in HS2 for the first time. One of the Calliope’s is nonbinary, I think, but I honestly can’t remember and I think it’s Meat Calliope? 

JOHN: do i get to know what that big thing under the sheet is?

ROXY: hmmmmmm no

JOHN: oh ok.

JOHN: are you sure? i mean, it seems like a pretty prominent feature of the room.

JOHN: space.

JOHN: wherever we are.

ROXY: and a totally mysterious n COMPLETELY inconspicuous feature it will have to remain for now

ROXY: we r kinda in a hurry here fyi

ROXY: and by that i mean

ROXY: we are in precisely the amount of hurry that means im excused from having to a that specific q rn

JOHN: right, sorry.

JOHN: i will pay no attention to the object behind the curtain.

ROXY: u catch on fast egbert

Oh thing HS2 has not been great at is that it has a lot of plot mysteries that are supposed to keep us enticed but they don’t really get implanted into the audience’s head (Remember Vrissy mysteriously collapsing that one time? Probably not, she did it off screen and the boys kind of laughed it off). This one’s hard to miss.

JOHN: so... this is all downstairs?

JOHN: it seems like you had a lot of work done.

ROXY: well no not x actly

ROXY: were in the old meteor

It’s kind of weird how this meteor keeps popping up like this. 

CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr.

This is an unexpected but not unwelcome direction for Callie to have gone.

CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are.

CALLIOPE: how much do yoU know aboUt black holes?

Oh, wow, we’re going right there, then. This does seem like a bit of a reaction to complaints HS2 wasn’t shmoovin’ enough, but maybe I’m reading too much into it.

CALLIOPE: no, i mean, what if oUr whole WORLD was inside a black hole.

JOHN: ok.

A’ight, that got a laugh out of me

JOHN: ugh, i fucking KNEW it!

JOHN: i'm so sorry.

JOHN: i'm so sorry that i put the earth inside a black hole everyone. ):

I like this conversation a lot. 

ROXY: iirc at least part of y u got so weepy was the fact that u couldnt believe a version of earth existed where ppl got 2 watch more mcconaughey films than you

JOHN: listen.

JOHN: i simply don't think you all appreciated the gift you were given.

Quite a bit, in fact.

ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love

JOHN: aw.

Roxy and John have a good dynamic. 

CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

JOHN: ...right.

John’s phone has very good coverage, since he was able to talk to Terezi in the epilogues, as we’re being subtly reminded of here with that ... before the “right”. I wonder if it still works after alt-Calliope left.

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval.

CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality.

CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u

Okay, so we are now being explicitly told that living in the black hole is fucking with the characters and is part of the reason they make such baffling decisions, like Rose not telling Kanaya about Yiffy, or naming her daughter “Yiffy” in the first place.

CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity.

ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point

CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan

CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more.

CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it.

CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak.

CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself?

So, the plan is literally for Vriska to be such a Huge 8itch that the black hole itself gets sick of her and yeets Earth C out of its own event horizon to freedom.

This is actually a great plan. 

And that’s Hamsteak. This definitely feels like a bit of a reaction to complaints about HS2, but hey, I dig it, I guess? Definite improvement over the last chapter.

[vannahfanfics]

congrats vannah!!! your lists were amazing and it seems like so much effort, im so proud of you! could i please get aizawa and white please? thank you!

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting for the event, and I’m sorry it took so long! Medical school was very tough for me, so I ended up putting requests on the backburner for a very long time… But finally, it’s here! White symbolizes hospitals, death, and sadness, so… I’m sorry to inflict this upon you, but here’s Aizawa in the wake of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front. Spoilers for the recent manga chapters!

Drinks on Me

“Hey, this weekend, let’s all go out and get drinks on me!” Nemuri smiled prettily, her long legs crossed as she swiveled back and forth in her chair across from Shota. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been out together. You never know, it could be our last chance!” she grinned while sticking out her tongue and winking playfully. She always said things like that, portents of doom and gloom hidden behind a winning smile, to rope Shota into joining her and Hizashi at clubs and bars. 

He should have regarded those for what they really were— omens. 

Shota jerked awake, snorting as his muscles spasmed. He laid there for a moment as he clumsily acclimated to the waking world, staring blearily at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above his head. When he finally realized that he was in bed, he exhaled deeply and reached up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. In the midst of his fitful sleep, he’d kicked the sheets off himself; the layer of nervous sweat on his skin absorbed the cold wind pushed down by the fan, coating him in a chill. Too exhausted to even bother pulling the covers back over himself, he flopped his arm back down to stare listlessly at the ceiling. 

The stump where his leg used to be throbbed painfully, almost as if it were aware he was awake now. He still hadn’t accustomed to the loss of his limb, nor the phantom pains plaguing his nervous system. Even now, he found himself groping for his calf, trying to ease the ache; but he couldn’t massage empty air, so it continued to burn dully, seeping down all the way into his sawed bone. 

Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, grasping the headboard as he hauled himself up. The rest of his body had endured a beating as well, making pain thrum through his nerves to shoot to his spine. He winced and grasped his shoulder, massaging the inflamed flesh until it quieted. He felt like an old man, much older than he ought to— tired, achy, defeated. He inhaled deeply, gathering the will to put on his prosthetic leg. His muscles tweaked in protest as he did, but as he gradually woke up his body and fastened the prosthetic to the stump below his knee, the pain faded into the background. 

He limped across his room to his closet, stumbling a little and using the dresser to catch himself. He hadn’t mastered navigating with his new leg, either. He took a moment to catch his breath, sweat already blooming on his clammy forehead, before tottering his way to the closet. He couldn’t tolerate dressing normally— not that he had impeccable fashion sense anyway— so he eased himself into a pair of black sweats and a gray tee and some sneakers. He tied his hair in a loose bun before shambling out the door. 

The dorm was alive with activity, but not the normal kind that Shota had become accustomed to. The air hummed with nervous energy as the students— and their parents, who were moving in to keep them safe— flitted about. Most of his pupils still sported injuries from the massive battle several days ago, bandages peeking out from beneath their clothes. But the worst injuries were the ones you couldn’t see, the ones on their hearts still oozing blood and bursting through the stitches at the slightest insult. They would be scars someday, an afterthought until the phantom pains struck when they least expected it. 

Theirs would, but not Shota’s. No, Shota’s inner wounds never really healed— and this newest one definitely would bleed for the rest of his life. 

A few of them greeted Shota quietly as he limped down the hall heading for the front door. Momo came up to him, asking if she could help him with anything— she had always been such a considerate girl, that one. He smiled and ruffled her poofy black hair, telling her that he was quite all right but thanks anyway. Shota could sure use some help, but there was no aid that any of his students could provide for him. He could feel Momo’s watery eyes boring into his back as he toddled out of the building. 

There were so many things that people took for granted every day. The ability to walk down steps without falling flat on your ass was one of them. Shota grimaced as he inched down the steps of the dorm, holding out one arm to seek purchase though there was nothing to grip onto. Somehow, he made it down to the sidewalk without eating shit, but the effort still left sweat beading in the crease lines of his forehead. He blew an irritated breath through his lips and raked his hand over his wavy black hair, taking a moment to let the pain pass before moving on. 

Though this region of the city had been spared the carnage of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front, its effects reached even the city around U.A. There weren’t nearly as many people on the street; Shota was alone most of his commute to the business district, save for the occasional person rushing down the street with suspicious eyes and fearful breaths. Shota could feel eyes on him everywhere, though; nervous onlookers peering out their curtains and blinds, suspicious of everyone in sight. They were all waiting for the inevitable pin to drop, for the next piece in this godawful chess game to move and tell them their next poor fortune. Things would get worse before they got better; everyone knew it, the hapless civilians most of all. Their hope in heroes was teetering on the edge of a knife; if they strayed but a little, everything would fall into ruin. 

Many small business owners had closed up shop to skip town, but the liquor store was still open. A pleasant bell chimed as Shota opened the door. The cashier apparently still wasn’t getting much business, as he leaned back in a chair with his feet propped up on the counter, reading the newspaper. As Shota began to walk through the aisles searching for a particular brand of rum, the cashier decided that apparently the news was too dismal to read because he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash bin. 

“Warmongers, the lot of them journalists,” he spat at Shota, who raised his eyebrows at him over the top of the rum bottles he was surveying. “All they’re doin’ is makin’ things worse.” 

“Do you have faith in heroes?” Shota asked and looked back down, fingers skimming over the glass bottles emblazoned with coconut trees and beach zines. He smirked when the old cashier snorted derisively. 

“Sonny, I been around a long time. This ain’t the first time some upstart has whipped everyone up in a frenzy. The heroes always come out on top because that’s what they do.” 

“That’s some unshakable faith you have there,” Shota remarked while plucking his chosen bottle from the rack. He rounded the rack while the cashier hopped up from his chair so he could check Shota out. 

“Eh, it comes with age. Nothing rattles ya anymore,” he shrugged, grabbing the bottle to scan it. He put it in a brown paper bag and punched a few of the keys into the cash register. “O’course, a little liquid courage always helps, eh?” he added with a wink. Shota smirked at that, sliding over his credit card. He took the bottle by the neck, crinkling the paper around it. 

“Thanks for the advice. Do I need to pay you for that too?” Shota joked. 

“Nah, it’s on me this time,” the man responded with a chortle, sliding Shota’s card back. Shota took it and slid it back into his wallet, then bid him a good night. When he walked out, the sun had risen into the sky and was blessing the earth with its warm rays. Yet they didn’t kiss Shota’s skin; a lingering chill wafted around him, blocking out all the warmth to leave him cold. Eventually, he’d feel the sun again, he knew that— but he had a while to go. 

It was a short walk to the graveyard. The iron was hot under his fingers as he pushed the unlocked gate open, and it creaked loudly as if to protest. The small gravel marking the winding, meandering path through the various headstones crunched under his feet as he made his way down, counting the rows. At row seven, he turned and walked down until he found a clean headstone above a freshly-turned patch of dirt, a rectangle the size of a person. 

Sighing, Shota eased himself down onto his knees, his prosthetic leg stretching out beside him— it was easier on his hip that way. He pulled the brown paper bag off the bottle of rum and then broke the faux gold foil seal. He stared down at it a second, just stared, and then exhaled quietly. 

“Hey, Nem,” he murmured. He reached up with his free hand to stroke the top of the stone, which was warmed by the bright spring sun. He fell silent again, throat bobbing as the emotions he’d been surprising for days welled up inside of him. The tears bubbled up and spilled over his eyes, carving through the layer of nightsweat and grime coating his unwashed face to bead in his beard. “I miss you, Nem,” he said finally, voice cracking. “So much.” 

His hand shook as it continued to run over the unblemished stone, down over the carved letters reading Kayama Nemuri. He leaned forward to press his forehead against the rock, closing his eyes and squeezing out more of the salty tears. “I never did take you up on that offer for drinks,” he said with a wan smile despite the despair tearing his heart apart. “So I brought you your favorite, on me.” He leaned back, then lifted the bottle to spill the alcohol over the gravestone. The light gray rock darkened as the clear liquid gushed over it, spilling over the smooth surface in rivers. It streamed down to soak into the grass at its base, soaking up the earth down, down, down to Nemuri’s casket six feet under. Shota didn’t drink a drop of the rum; he poured every bit of it over her gravemarker for her to enjoy. 

He sat there for a while, even after the hot sun had begun to evaporate the alcohol absorbed by the porous stone. Somehow, sitting there watching the color fade back to normal was cathartic. Like Nemuri was there, enjoying that rum. He could see the smile playing over her lips as she stirred a straw around a piña colada— and that’s when Shota felt the kiss of the sun, warming up his skin. He looked up to squint at the bubbling circle in the sky, then back down at the gravestone. Smirking, he patted the slightly damp rock before using it as leverage to push himself up. 

“Thanks, Nem. I’ll be back sometime, with drinks on me, of course,” he chuckled. He couldn’t linger here all day; he had work to do. Some upstart was out there whipping everyone up in a frenzy, and it was up to the heroes to bring him to justice. When they did, Shota would be sure to bring Nemuri a whole liquor store’s worth of rum— on him, of course. 

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