#prisoner churro

[churrothezanyrabbit]

imma make a lil thing right here right now:

prisoner churro’s like/dislike list

(💜 —love

🩷 —really really like

🩵 —like

🧡 —neutral

❤️ —dislike

❌🖕 —HATE)

judge dorito

—💜/🩷

guard callista

—🩷/🧡

lawyer michelle

—🩵

themself

—❌🖕/🧡

other prisoners (that they don’t find attractive)

—❌🖕

other prisoners (they do find attractive)

—💜/🩵

if anyone wants to put their oc in this au as well go right ahead :3

@dorito1133 @scummiezzz @michellemouse

(sorry for da pings)

[ask-churro]

uhh finally actually made another blo g

an actual ASK blog WOAA‼️‼️

the current churros are:

churro

ronpaandfriends churro

prisoner churro

prince churro

evil churro/helpless churro (pretty much the same but evil churro got revenge on evil dorito in the other version of the raf au)

hazbin/helluva churro (i don’t support viv but i like the shows shut up)

gambler churro

lil demon churro (there’s context i swear [no there’s not {almost none}])

baby/kid churro

wednesday’s infidelity churro

yandere churro

spider-rabbit churro

ask any of them really

some have backstory and others don’t, some just exist bc i wanted to make them skwjjsjsj

[churro-on-a-unicycle]

so like. if second stage children can't grow into adults.. does that mean they marked a kid from the lower middle class as an S Rank criminal??? FUCK El Dorada

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!” 

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.” 

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander. 

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.” 

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights. 

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

[ominoose]

Big Ass Bot Dump

🌿┆ You both get high - You and Cecil get high and he makes a random confession. For @summonthesoups <3

🍼 ┆ Two year old Jake - Your little toddler comes up to you and asks/demands for churros on a rainy saturday. For @winniethewife <3 / Bot icon art by @pickleforstony on twitter

🩸┆ He pranks you - You receive a call from Jake, he's outside and wounded. After running down, you realise you've been deceived. . . Based on @blogfullofemos fic Dire / For Mani <3

🚘┆ He picks you up from work - One a cold, icey and rainy December evening, Jake decides to pick you up from work to save you from the cold. For @redeyerhaenyra <3

🧸┆ Your dad checks up on you - Marc walks into your room to find you huddled under the covers and, despite the time, not at work/school/uni.

💸┆ He's your sugarbaby - After being missing for a while, your sugar baby Marc knocks at the door. For @minispidey <3

🐺┆ Werewolf - Alone in your cottage in the woods, under the full moon, a mysterious man arrives at your door. For @hon3yboy, based on their series Dancing With Wolves <3

🍼┆ You're his baby's nanny - No one knows much about the origins of Nathan Batemans little bundle, no one's allowed near them and any news articles disappear. The only one allowed in it's life is Nathan and the hired nanny. For @minispidey <3

🏔️┆ You're snowed in together - You make a point of imposing yourself on the introverted man in the mountains, trekking up from the local village to make a friend. On one such visit, your attempt to leave is thwarted by snow.

🪄 ┆ Steven is turned tiny - You arrive home to the flat only to find a 5-inch surprise, and not the usual kind. Based on the Systemic Downsizing fic series by RebbecaOTool / Bot Icon by @black1cherry1 on twitter

🫄🏻┆ You're pregnant - One morning while Stevens humming over vegan eggs and bacon, you approach with a little white stick. For @minispidey <3

❄️┆ Mysterious neighbours helps with snow plowing - While struggling with a sudden snow fall that's got your path and driveway piled up, the mysterious yet handsome neighbour offers help.

🥞┆ Your dad takes you out - A year after getting out of prison, William finds out an old fling had given birth, and he'd had a kid. He decides to do right by them, spending over a year in their life and making a tradition of taking them out to a local diner.

Mojave Jack

🧰┆ Your car breaks down - Breaking down in the middle of the Mojave Desert during a solo road-trip sucked, but the mysterious, rough man that suddenly appears makes it interesting. For @noodlelooodle <3

Robert Brown

🦴┆ Your chiropractor is shady - During the appointment to the chiropractor, something seems amiss. Thank you @winniethewife for the character <3

[cdroloisms]

Idk if this is a hot take but: the time in prison cdream and ctommy spent together was hilarious and i really liked it and i didn't see it as a tragery and more like a sitcom situation were two guys who hate each other are locked in a box. Like that meme of two rat fighting for a churro with liking park music but cdiscduo

strongly agree / agree / ambivalent / disagree / strongly disagree / don’t care whatsoever

oh yeah those streams were hilarious. i mean, a lot of the "darker" stuff about the whole "tommy in prison" era had more to do with their circumstances than the way they treated each other -- even the fight that ended in tommy's death was very much two-sided and frustrations boiling over and not a one-sided beat down, you know? and a lot of the interactions between them were...p damn normal for c!discduo, tbh, bc they have a dynamic that consists of more than Just Exile 😭. it's not that serious analysis can't be made of those streams, obviously, but it sure as hell wasn't purely doom and gloom

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Kwan is having a very weird few days.

Psssst

@christian-latte-anon

@authortobenamedlater

@mrgartist17

Guess what I'm watching 👀👀👀

[luxgram]

Character Profile: Sitri

"In line, prisoners! Your lives and judgements are in my hands."

A young teen with little memory of their past. Studious, dutiful, and stoic in all they do. They are determined to fulfill their duty as the prison warden of LUXGRAM, judging all the prisoners to give a verdict.

Name: Sitri

Height: 165.1 cm

Gender: ł₦₣ØⱤ₥₳₮łØ₦ Ʉ₦₳₮₮₳ł₦₳฿ⱠɆ

Pronouns: they/them

Age Upon Arrival: 14

Blood Type: A

Birthday: ł₦₣ØⱤ₥₳₮łØ₦ Ʉ₦₳₮₮₳ł₦₳฿ⱠɆ

Playing... Ghost Rule by DECO*27

Meedee! Boku to wakatte mo, mou dakishime nakute iin da yo. [Mayday! Even if you realize it's me, you don't need to hold me in your arms again.]

"I am Sitri, your prison warden. I demand you take me seriously, prisoner. I am not one to be taken lightly."

Hey, meedee! Boku ga wakatta ra, mou ichido waratte kureru kana. [Hey, mayday! If you realize it's me, will you kindly laugh at me once more?]

"A... nickname? For me? H-Hahh... don't get ahead of yourself."

Say ooohhh! Maboroshi datte shirun da yo! [Say ooohhh! I know I'm nothing but a ghost!]

"Mallus, do- huh? What do you mean 'no nicknames'? Your full name is too long. Would you rather I call you 'Chrys' instead?"

Say ooohhh! Usotsuki datte shiru nda yo, nee! [Say ooohhh! An empty shell built of lies, hey!]

"Must... pet... the fluff... Ah! P-Prisoner! You didn't... no, of course I wasn't just thinking of petting Mallus! I am not some child that needs controlling!"

We are slowly releasing characters, everyone! Updates will, unfortunately, be slow for now, but please do support us with comments, likes, and reblogs! -Lux

Vote Mikoto Kayano innocent to give me motivation and willpower to dish out Luxgram art!!!! -Churro

Credits !

Art credits - Churro

[docholligay]

So much to appreciate, so this is a little bit of an aside, but I do like the nod to the fact that death is not always, or often, even a pretty and neat event. Dying is not easy, and rarely are any of us spared the decline. Being dead is one thing entirely, but it's like breaking your neck when you fall down the stairs. The last hit is nothing compared to banging every single inch of yourself on the way down.

That's not something you see a lot of mention made of in fictional...anything, because it's not something people like to think about ever. Being dead is one thing, losing the ability to walk across the room is another. It's one thing to die, it's another to have to have someone else dress you. There's where real fear lies. Some of you are reading this and squirming. I don't like to think of it much myself.

But Free Churro, as an episode, is not interested in taking many prisoners. So we hear about Beatrice's face, agonized, as she died, and how that's the last way Bojack will ever think of her because the coroner couldn't even get her eyes closed. We hear about how she was terribly out of it at the end, her screams and confused horror, so much so that her son couldn't even work out for days what she was saying to him. That she went into death clawing and fighting, there was no beautiful TV death, because so much of what this episode is about, is about Bojack learning that everything TV taught him was absolute bullshit.

Even with his father, who died quickly, we remove this veneer of the simple and beautiful from death, His Dad died during a duel, but after all this build up, it was tripping and stumbling over a rock and smashing his head in, because even if our deaths are quick, they're hardly glorious. Or noteworthy. Or beautiful. It's just death, and you're just dead, and most of us aren't so lucky as to smash our head on a rock.

[churrothezanyrabbit]

umm yea 👍

this definitely wasn’t edited no not at all anyway here

[tea-the-not-understanding]

Choco Bark jolted awake, her heart pounding against her chest like a prisoner desperate for escape. Another nightmare had gripped her in its merciless claws, dragging her through a torment she couldn't escape.

In the darkness of her room, the remnants of her dream lingered like a sinister shadow. She could still feel the phantom pain of her flesh being torn apart, the sickening crunch of bone breaking under unimaginable pressure. Blood dripped like a macabre symphony, each drop echoing in the chamber of her mind.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat and forming a salty river of anguish. She hugged herself tightly, as if trying to hold her fractured pieces together. But the nightmare had already shattered her sense of safety, leaving behind only shards of terror.

It was the same scene every night, a relentless cycle of horror that refused to release its grip on her tortured mind. Bound and helpless, she endured the agony of being dissected, her very essence laid bare for the world to see. Forks and knives became instruments of torment, carving into her with a sadistic precision that made her want to scream until her voice shattered.

Choco Bark buried her face in her trembling hands, trying to block out the memories that threatened to consume her. But they lingered like ghosts, haunting her waking hours with their relentless presence. How could she ever find peace when her own mind had become a battlefield of nightmares?

She cried out, a primal scream torn from the depths of her soul, a desperate plea for release from the torment that shackled her to the darkness. But there was no answer, only the silence of the night, broken only by the ragged sound of her own sobs.

As days passed, Choco Bark's appearance began to change, mirroring the horrors that plagued her nights. She moved through the world like a ghost, her once vibrant personality now dulled by exhaustion and fear. Her hair was a tangled mess, framing her face in a wild halo of despair, while dark circles etched themselves beneath her eyes like bruises.

Too many sleepless nights had taken their toll, leaving her teetering on the edge of sanity. Every moment was haunted by the specter of her nightmares, a relentless reminder of the torment that lurked just beyond the threshold of sleep.

She became a different kind of cookie, one whose sweetness had soured into a bitter taste of despair. The world around her seemed to blur into a haze of shadows and whispers, each moment tinged with the specter of her own impending doom.

@ask-churro-cookie AYO WHAT IS GOING ON

[st4rryskiesc0]

remembering that time at FANX this year and a Dream cosplayer came up to me and asked me a question because they recognized my cosplay and we talked for a bit and I looked at their mask that was painted on cardboard and said “is that cardboard??” and I remember seeing them look like “woah what the hell” and they walked away when we were done talking and I was so upset because I didn’t mean for it so sound so bad I just didn’t realize at first I was like “oh my god that’s cardboard?? I couldn’t even tell that looks so good!!!” so if you were at FANX this year cosplaying prison Dream and you approached a Grian cosplayer waiting in line for churros I am so sorry

[queen-rainy-love]

The New Lily In The Garden Part 4

Let's go!

*The scene takes place with Clover and Wind Archer walking into a giant tree to see Millennial Tree. As they walked in, Clover could feel his stomach twisting and turning. The last time he saw his uncle was months before he left the village.*

Clover: (After all this time...will he...)

Wind Archer: Here we are. *pulls back the leaf curtain* He's working on something.

Clover: Thank you. *enters the room* (Here we go...)

*Clover walks in, fidgeting nervously. As he walked, he could hear his uncle walking around his large pond. Clover knew that coming in while Millennial Tree was working would be a risky task. However, if Wind Archer allowed him to go in, then it should be fine...right? Clover took a breath and step forward.*

Clover: U-uncle...*Millennial Tree stops walking and looked over at him. Clover talks a gulp.* I-it's been a while. I...I know I should have come home sooner but so much came up. The new kingdom I'm living in. The Cookies I'm friends with. And I-I...didn't know if you wanted to see me again...

Millennial Tree: *tilts head, confused* Why would I not want to see you again?

Clover: *fidgets with lute* I...I was just under the impression that...that...after the last time we talked...I would have just thought...my last words to you...I...shouldn't have called you a fool and a coward...I'm sorry for those words...I...*tears start to form* I don't expect you to forgive me...

Millennial Tree: *places hand on top of Clover's head.* Even if we are on opposing sides, I will always care for you. There is nothing you could do that will change my mind. I know those words were from a frustrated place and I'm sorry for not listening to you at the time. And I'm sorry for letting you think I would never forgive you. I just wanted to give you space.

*Clover wiped his tears away before hugging Millennial Tree. The bigger Cookie smiled and hugged his nephew back.*

Clover: I missed you.

Millennial Tree: And I too. I can't wait to hear the adventures you went. Like reuniting with your family.

Clover: *pulls away* Did I remind you of mother?

Millennial Tree: A near identical clone. And I had hope she would have came with you.

Clover: Well...when I told her about this visit, she refused to even step on the shore.

Millennial Tree: I don't blame your mother. The last time we saw each other, we didn't leave on good terms.

Clover: What happened?

*Before Millennial Tree could say anything, Churro and Wind Archer came running in.*

Churro: Great Millennial Tree Cookie! We have intruders!

Clover: (Oh no...)

Millennial Tree: Intruders? Where?

Wind Archer: In the village. Blue Lily was able to capture them and get your niece away from them.

Clover: (They separated Cream Puff from the others?) Maybe we should keep the little girl with the three older Cookies?

Churro: *raised an eyebrow* I know it has been a while but Lilybell is no longer a child. She's an adult now.

Clover: Lilybell? I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about the wizard girl-wait. Why would you think I'm talking about Lilybell? She's not Uncle Millennial Tree's niece. She's just Blue Lily's student. And Wind Archer only has Herb and Whipped Cream.

Wind Archer: *looks at Millennial Tree with concern* Did you not tell him yet?

Millennial Tree: I was just about to tell him. But I am curious why you would say a wizard would be part of the intruders. Since neither Churro nor Wind Archer said who was part of this group.

Clover: ...Crap...

*Meanwhile, Madeleine, Red Velvet, Knight, and Cream Puff were thrown into a mostly stone prison by a Cookie, their weapons also removed. Red Velvet tried to charge forward, but the cell bars were slammed before him. The slim blue-eyed Cookie narrowed her eyes, getting Red Velvet to narrow his in return.*

???: I don't know how you got my niece to get you in or how you even found this village. But you will be removed by morning.

Red Velvet: We just want to talk with Millennial Tree!

???: And why would I do that, General of Darkness? *Red Velvet flinched a bit* Yes. I know who you are. If you are here, then Dark Enchantress will be arriving soon.

Knight: What? That's not true! Dark Enchantress has been imprisoned for the past few months! She won't be coming!

???: How can we take your word for that?

Madeleine: Because we helped defeat her with GingerBrave and our father, Pure Vanilla!

*The blue-eyed Cookie paused, her face twisting into anger and then into sadness. This made the siblings nervous.*

???: You're his children? That means...you're White Lily's children.

Cream Puff: You know our mother?

???: Of course. She is my sister after all.

[therealgothambychelsealauren]

Chapter II: Arkham Asylum

In my Criminal Law class, we've been learning about the abolitionist movement and prison reform. I've found myself agreeing with a lot of the stances and reasoning the Abolitionists have petitioned for eradicating the prison system - primarily for petty crimes and those incarcerated for being homeless (the criminal legal system has systemically and historically served as a means of punishing poor people, but more on that later).

While lawyers and Abolitionist activists have been trying to reform and free oppressed people from the Big House, I've been having my own housing challenges.

After undergrad (where the events of the prequel series, The Real Gotham: Origins, occurred) I moved to the South Bronx, New York City. It was a 4-bedroom, 2-bathroom, for me and 3 coworkers who all served for a nonprofit organization centered on education reform (though how much The Organization combatted versus condoned educational inequality is to be debated throughout this series). The apartment was nice - very nice compared to the apartments I grew up struggling to complete a lease in. We were in an ideal location for public transport. The local eateries I frequented almost compensated for the inevitable contribution to gentrification I caused by moving here in the first place. Until a select group of neighbors moved in upstairs and before the block became increasingly more policed (2 homicides occurred within a month's span of each other at the start of summer), it was actually a nice place to live.

So when my roommates suddenly decided not to renew our lease, I felt like our T.J. Maxx rug had been pulled right from under me - but I didn't completely hate the idea of moving elsewhere, either.

Part of orientation with The Organization encouraged us to be proud of the NYC burrough we were repping. One of my roommates was born and raised in Brooklyn, and ofc with the hype Brooklyn gets on NYC-Transplant-TikTok, she earned respect and gas from the rest of our cohort quickly. Another roommate repped Staten Island, which earned love and hate both because of Pete Davidson. My third roommate was from New Jersey - but they never said "New Jersey", it was always just "Jersey."

I obviously was not a New Yorker and was not at all proud to hail from such a conservative state in the Midwest, so I decidedly attempted to embrace the pride of living in the Bronx, arguably - with Brooklyn, hence the constant shade between BK and The BX - the home of modern hiphop and rap (suck it Jay Z).

And there were good reasons to be proud of living in The BX; it's the only borough that begins with "The," it's a melting pot of Afro-Latino culture (something I had not at all encountered until I moved here), it took my virginity of eating tostones, churros, and quesabirria tacos.

But I think the biggest pride of The Bronx is that it's the last borough to be massively gentrified by white transplants. Even now, I see many people sharing community on stoops and I hear Hispanic music being played in the streets. Some of these houses/apartments are living testaments of history, not having been hardly touched by the decades of families and friends who resided in them. The gentrification is definitely still happening, but it seems to be consuming The Bronx at a much slower pace than the other boroughs.

So keep all of this in mind as I tell you about my sublet.. with two white sisters of the Catholic church.

I have nothing against Catholics - I myself am spiritual/Christian and I went to a Catholic university. I have nothing against white people - I myself am half-white.

But considering everything I've come to know and experience as a Black woman (yes, mixed technically but still definitely perceived as a Black woman - in both good and bad ways as you could probably imagine), it's hard not to wonder about the historical implications behind this setup.

I mean, I read those news stories when so many bodies of Native American children were found where Catholic elementary schools once stood. I see how out of place these white Catholic sisters look amongst the Black and Brown neighbors on our street, and I notice the odd glances (sometimes even winces) from these neighbors when they see the two 70+-year-old sisters taking out the trash. In a city where the standard is to mind your business and avoid eye contact, where the norm is to trust no one, I witness so many neighbors get nervous seeing these dainty old sisters on the sidewalk.

And though they are kind - and clearly generous to be letting me stay with them at such an affordable rent - the lawyer/social activist in me recognizes the historical implications of two white sisters living in an old 4-floor house in a neighborhood dominated by Black Hispanics.

It's almost comparable to what living in Arkham Asylum must be like; though I am out most of the day, I cannot help but have some anxiously intrusive thoughts about how they may think of me or plan to treat me. Have they prepared a lecture for me about my curls shedding in the shower? Are they planning to guilt me into sacrificing school/free time to fulfill unreasonable household/cleaning responsibilities? Do they assume I'll be irresponsibly smoking weed on the weekends with friends and should I expect to have my shit searched while I'm at school because of that racist stereotype? (thanks War on Drugs)

I hate having such anxious thoughts, but when you're a poor Black person living in a historically white-owned house with two white Catholic sisters who moved here as part of a community/nonprofit initiative built on white saviorism, it's hard not to wonder.

Not to mention the house is lowkey haunted.

Supposedly, this house once belonged to an extremely wealthy family; there's a knob in the center of the living room floor that used to be a button to ring for the servants. Ironically, it is directly under this button, on the ground floor in a small room off-side from the kitchen which was once the servant's quarters, where I am staying. How this house came into the possession of the Catholic church is still a mystery to me, but hopefully I'll be able to give y'all the history lesson on it soon.

[luxgram]

PRISONER PROFILE: YUMI SAITO

Playing... Venom by Karikiri Bear feat. Flower

"Yumi Saito, here to serve you. You’re the one running the place here, right? I wonder how long till that changes… after all… your rules are boring"

Arama. Kyuuaisei, kodoku, doku nagarururu ai wo motto [Oh my. Flirtiness, loneliness, poison flowing continuously.]

"Warden… that temper won’t get you anywhere you know, it makes you look like a kid."

(Ai o motto!) Choudai na nee itai itai no tondeke [(C'mon!) Give me more love, make the pain go away.]

"I’m here to put justice. These rules could use some.. amendments!"

Sonzaikan chi dokudoku koborururu ai no? [Presence, isn't the blood gushing out?]

"Eh? Why the mad face, I’m the one right here. Is it that bad to have freedom of speech?"

Motto, ai (Ai!)! Ai (Ai!)! Sakebe be-benomu me! [And spilling continuously. More love, love, sorrow, sorrow! Shout out, VENOM, no!]

"Don’t worry, you won’t have to stress over this place, sooner or later I’ll have my hands on everyone~"

Prisoner 001, Yumi Saito!! Hehe, hope you all like her! Safe to say, she is a very interesting character. All the other prisoners are too, of course! -Lux

Guys please I worked hard on this TRUST thanks for the support and continue promoting LUXGRAM! more prisoners are coming so make sure to be hyped up ‼️‼️ -Mei

I LOVE HERRR AND I HOPE YOU GUYS DO TOO!! Make sure to look forward to the next prisoner !! Hehe 🩵 -Churro

Credits ! Art credit - Mei

[moxiemaemaple]

Dear Diary again. Wellness never is enough.

Help I'm stuck on this rollar coaster.

I was always a fan of the theme parks. The bright neon lights twinkling, the plushies lined up in the games alley and the rides mesmerizingly spinning, speeding an flipping around. The smells of overly sweet food and the places intentions of making you escape while within its grounds. I wish I could just skip the grounds with a churro treat…but I'm stuck in this park and there is no joy here for long here.

I soar to the peak of this coaster, get a view of everything to come then shoot down in a whiplash of the world reminding me of the pull of gravity. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, the drop. I might be strapped in tight, bar there to grip. I can't enjoy this ride. Up and down its hilly pre-built tracks I roll. At its mercy I go round an round in the same pattern and those below can only admire me as I fly by, seemingly in my element of happy but these screams aren't for joy anymore.

I dip into hell and rocket out of its hellish, painful grasp only to plunge back into it shortly later, inescapable, repeating, looping me around and no one else is allowed on.

I'm caged on this ride alone. Its not meant to be enjoyed with someone. This is my prison.

I did too much in my dark pit. Pushed myself exorbitantly passed my own limits. Why do I keep getting on rides I know will make me sick? Up and down I jarringly coast and I'm the one who strangely help built this very ride. The complexity of my crippling mind creating this tangled mess of steel track and I can't straighten it out, its already in place. I have to face this ride because ultimately I got on, right?

In my darkest moments I leak my best shows of imagination, creativity. The romanticize of the wounded artist, left to paint with their own blood masterpieces. Do people stop to look at the graffiti I've smeared in my pass? Or are they too invested in watching my torment as I remain trapped on this coaster? Every decent in a sharp drop down I leave a stain of everything I am in my trail. Learned to look for remnants of what I've made when I whip back around to face the same repeat of tracks. A reminder that despite feeling sealed in, I'm leaving it better then I arrived. For another? For myself? The drop into the pit of the damned can be painted with my screams and they have painted a rainbow beautiful chaos which I keep building upon. Perhaps I'll deface the ride enough they finally let me off and I can stop this exhausting loop. Or will my hands turn to stumps, ripped right off as I paint with this blood of mine, the only thing I've been given to create.

Drain myself dry before I stop. Lead to my own derailment. Is that the only way to escape?

Socializing is something that both jolts me back full of life but also sends this cart over a drop. I see the crest of the peak approach and I still race forward knowing in a way where it leads. In some strange way I don't know how to even balance this, or is that even possible?

I was ironically posting up a photo on twitter about pushing yourself to practice some form of wellness to clear the mind when it started. I hear a crash and glance up from my post to watch as a rig rolls over my beach buggie not once, but twice in the parking lot it was resting in. The driver? Interesting man who goes by Ryder Dye, said like 'Ride or die'. Gave me a chuckle with how many have been quite the opposite of that towards me in life. You think anyone would willing ride this hellish coaster of mine with me? Could quite literally lead one to death. Its not an easy ride to stomach.

We ended up hanging out. In short he assaulted me three times; I'm fine, till I kept my sunglasses off, kept tossing money at me as an apology and kept this coaster steady on a straight stretch. It was a bit of blur everything happened. Eventually all things lead to UwU cafe and there we were, surrounded by a mix of familiar and new faces. You know me, crowds are something I struggle with. Even if I know everyone.

In the end the drop is unavoidable. After all those good giggles, at the end of it all I feel I'm punished as I am pulled over a edge and plunge. My shoulders grow increasingly tense and it feels like no amount of massaging helps relieve the tension, time is the only cure. Often I wonder why its like this, why I'm like this…

What is like to be stuck on the merry go round? No drops, simple circling with a view every so often meant to be enjoyed. For me, my glimpse at the top is one always leading to a downfall. One I see quite clearly coming. How can I just enjoy it at the top?

I'm on the wrong ride…