#seems like a funky dude

[thedogeveryonehates]

would you fuck ludicolo?

uhhhh..

yeah sure

[lauraisakilljoy]

this is your sign to vote for slovenia and finland so the boyfriends can be in the top 5 together

[gothic-mothic-topic]

Mfw one of my favorite characters in a game either isn't popular and barely exists in the fandom, or everyone hates them.

[bmpmp3]

dave :)

[darkxsoulzyx]

Something something the man behind the slaughter Buh duh Buh duh buh

[serarambles]

I don't talk enough about SL:Arise Kyuhwan and the fact that his Ultimate Skill voice line is a FUCKING PUN like if I didn't already love him before that sealed the deal for me

[socksboxsketches]

Working late with freinds helping! (sleeping)

[weltraumii]

(for the any fandom anywhere requests) hitoya amaguni from hypmic maybe...

Pose! 2nd!

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Mandela Prophet AU: Sleepless Nights

Adam is unable to fully get over Jonah’s death, and to make things worse, he’s starting to feel…different.

TW: body horror, blood, vague arachnophobia/spider mentions, character death mention

Notes: this is around 3,400 words I think? This is just a random thing I wrote cause I wanted to write something based on this au cause. I think it’s neat

Adam had been awake all night. Lying in his twin-sized bed, he stared at the ceiling, his expression blank and his mind the same. Adam had shifted his sleeping position at least 17 times, yet could not for the life of him get comfortable enough to drift off. Every single time he was able to even somewhat fall asleep, a twitch or squirm in his torso woke him back up. He sighed deeply, groaning as he pressed his hands against his face; might as well get up if staying in bed wasn’t doing any good.

Adam sauntered out of his room, deliberately ignoring the second bed resting next to the opposite wall to his. He looked down the hallway, seeing Sarah’s bedroom to his right before looking left, walking through the hallway and immediately entering the kitchen. He opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a nearly empty box of off-brand cereal before placing it on the small, pathetic excuse of a dining room table. When he went to the fridge to get milk however, he saw nothing in there besides a few cans of soda and a couple condiment bottles.

“…Figures.” Adam sighed quietly before slamming the fridge door closed. He grabbed the box of cereal before all but throwing it back into the cabinet, slamming the door of it shut as well.

“Adam?”

Adam audibly groaned, looking over to see Sarah, sleepily staring at him from the hallway entrance. She was in her pajamas, being a cheap T-shirt and shorts, and her long, chestnut-colored hair was a mess.

“What?” Adam questioned.

“It’s four in the morning…” Sarah said as she attempted to fix her hair a little. “Why are you awake?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Adam replied.

“How could I not be, with you being loud as hell in here?”

Adam sighed, moving his arm to itch his upper back before lowering it again. “I say you mind your business.”

“…What’s your problem?” Sarah questioned. “Ever since you got back last week, you’ve been acting so…shitty.”

“It…it doesn’t matter, okay?” Adam responded, unable to help himself from scratching his back again when he noticed the itch didn’t leave.

“…Is this because of Jonah being go—?”

“Shut up.” Adam’s tone seemed…harsh and stern, as if mentioning Jonah’s name was taboo. “No…I…I don’t care about him, alright? He ran off, and that’s that. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

Sarah appeared stunned by the response, feeling somewhat unnerved by Adam’s tired and annoyed glare. “…He was your best friend.” Sarah said softly. “Yet I feel more sympathy towards him than you do.”

“I was his best friend.” Adam said, trying to ignore how irritated his back was. “I…I don’t…have friends.” Adam glanced at the ground before looking back up at Sarah, trying to keep his harsh glare despite the hesitation in his tone. He doesn’t need friends…right?

Sarah shook her head slightly before shrugging. “Alright. Sure.” She said with a hint of cynicism. “If that’s true then I guess I’ll go back to bed and leave you to sulk alone. Goodnight.”

With that, Sarah sighed and walked back down the hallway to her room, closing the door behind her. Adam watched her leave, with his brow furrowed and his glare able to melt ice. He winced slightly, his gaze fading when he felt a slight sharp pain in his back, as if someone poked him with a tack multiple times. The pain felt somewhat…familiar, though he couldn’t place why. He walked down the hallway, entering the bathroom before closing the door behind him.

He pressed his hands against the counter, staring at the sink for a moment before grabbing his plain white shirt and pulling it off. The first thing he noticed when he threw the shirt onto the ground was how thin he was; he could see his ribs through his skin, and his arms seemed almost longer than usual. He was still losing weight, even though he figured he had been eating just fine. In fact, he only seemed to be losing more weight the more he ate.

He groaned, going back to try and satiate the itch on his back once again before he paused. His finger brushed past something that felt somewhat hard, like a small hook. He stayed still for a moment before pushing his hand further, rubbing his upper back before he once again felt something under his fingers. This time, it wasn’t as small, and it felt almost fuzzy, in a prickly kind of way. He started to feel worry build in his chest as he poked whatever was sticking out of his back, feeling his blood run cold when it twitched away.

He pulled his arm down to his side, able to feel…something moving in his skin; multiple things. He quickly threw open one of the drawers, grabbing a hand mirror, one they had salvaged from the mirror destruction act, before holding it up. He held his breath as he turned his head the most he could, pointing the mirror towards whatever was on his back. His heart sunk when he saw a glimpse of multiple small, black, almost arachnid looking appendages sticking out of his skin, small hooks at the end of every single one.

Adam tried to suppress the urge to hyperventilate before he hesitantly used his other hand to prod at one of them. It didn’t move for a moment before it suddenly twitched, wrapping itself around his finger. Adam yelled in surprise before ripping his arm away, out of its small grasp. He dropped the mirror, unable to catch it before it slammed against the ground, cracking as a portion of it broke off. Adam stumbled back, trying to scratch the spider-like appendages off of his back, even grabbing one of them. He took in a breath before ripping it out, swearing he could hear something like an inhuman scream in the back of his mind. He looked down at his hand in front of him, uncurling it to reveal the limb itself.

It was bleeding something viscous and dark, like clotted blood. It had two joints, curling in on itself despite the fact it was no longer connected to anything. Adam was unsure whether to drop it on the ground and try ripping the others out, or try and figure out what the fuck it even was. However, before he could make any decision, he heard a knock on the bathroom door.

“Adam? What the fuck’s going on?” It was Sarah, sounding especially concerned.

Adam couldn’t spit out anything for a moment, flinching slightly when Sarah knocked on the door again. “Adam?”

Adam threw the small limb into the sink before fumbling with his shirt, sliding it on and trying to forcefully get rid of the horrified expression on his face. Sarah prepared to knock again before Adam swung the door open, his eyes still wide.

“…Are you—”

“I’m fine.” Adam interrupted, walking out of the bathroom before slowly closing the door behind him, his eyes locked on Sarah. “…I’m okay.”

“…You…don’t sound like it.” Sarah’s voice seemed shaky.

“I uh…I’m…y-yeah, I’m fine—”

Sarah caught a glance of a small splotch of blood soaking into the back of his shirt as he attempted to brush past her. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding—”

“NO.” Adam shook his head when he realized he said it louder than he wanted. “I…I’m fine, alright? Mind your fucking business for once.” Adam pushed past Sarah, hurrying into his room before slamming the door shut. He locked the door as soon as he was inside, walking backwards before sitting on his bed. He pressed his hands against his face, despite the right one still having traces of blood on it. He planted his elbows on his knees as he thought to himself.

“Such a fucking idiot. You absolute moron.” He muttered, grasping his hair. He had no clue what was happening to him, but he knew deep down that whatever it was, it was his fault. Before he could wallow in self-pity however, Sarah started speaking from the other side of the door.

“What’s going on with you?” Sarah asked. “Do…do you need help with anything?”

Adam glanced through the gaps in his fingers, towards the door. He was tempted to yell at her to go away, but for once, bit his tongue. “…Things…have been…weird, okay?” He said, putting his situation lightly. “I…feel like shit all the time, and…I don’t know why.”

“Like…you’re…sad?”

“No, not…I don’t think so.” Adam said. “I’m…I’m…”

“…What?”

“…scared.” Adam could barely hear himself say the word, but he knew it was true. He was scared; scared of the things happening to his body that he can’t control, and scared of the fact that his mind rarely felt like his own anymore. He was scared of how Sarah would react when he eventually had to tell her the truth about Jonah. Every time his name was mentioned, Adam couldn’t stop the image of his cold, lifeless, headless body from creeping into his mind.

 He was scared of the fact that something in him wanted to open the door and strangle Sarah to death.

 “Well…you…know I’m here to talk, right?” Sarah asked as she leaned against the door.

“…Yeah.” Adam responded, almost choking on his words. “I…I guess.”

“...I’ll…be in the other room then.” Sarah said softly. “And…try and get some sleep, okay?”

Adam murmured a response she couldn’t even hear before Adam heard her walk away, back to her own room. He stared at the ground, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of something pushing against the back of his shirt. He wondered what the hell was happening to him, and why. Ever since—

The angel.

The false angel that stopped him on his way back to Bythorne that night.

That fucking thing is the reason he’s like this.

Adam felt a twitch in his torso when he thought of the alternate, making him hunch over as he pressed his arms against his stomach. He was too tired to think any further than that, but he wasn’t sure how he could sleep, knowing what was sticking out of his own skin right behind his head. He laid down on the bed, resting on his stomach, before hesitantly closing his eyes. Hopefully it was a strange, vivid nightmare he was having from sleep deprivation. He’d wake up the next morning, with no strange spider legs, no twitches in his torso, and hey…

Maybe Jonah would be there.

…

 It wasn’t a nightmare.

After only around an hour of sleep, Adam woke back up, finding himself on the floor next to his bed. He was drenched in sweat, from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He sat up, wincing when he felt something shift inside of him. He stood up, grasping his torso, uncontrollably twitching his head and arms. His back hurt; a dull, yet intense pain rushing over him. He wanted outside, with no clear reason why. He wanted out of there, he needed out of there. He needed fresh air.

He stumbled towards the door, opening it before slamming against the wall in front of it. He tripped over his feet, nearly falling as he approached the living room, his wide, dilated pupils fixed on the front door. “Out…out…” He muttered under his breath as he reached for the doorknob. He swung open the door, stumbling away from the house, not even bothering to put on a jacket or boots to protect him from the cold winter air. The door remained open, wind rushing through into the living room as Adam disappeared from sight.

 Sarah awoke to the very faint sound of screaming; muffled, yet gut-wrenching screams from outside of the house. In her half-asleep state, Sarah couldn’t tell if it was real or if her mind was playing tricks on her, unsure whether to ignore it or try and help. Her fear of it being real was only confirmed when she fully woke up and still heard the screams, though when she stood up from bed, they abruptly stopped. She froze in place, unable to come up with a single plan of what to do. It could be someone in genuine danger, or an alternate mimicking the screams of its victim, and she wasn’t sure which one it was, nor how to differentiate them.

She hesitantly walked towards her bedroom door, pushing it open as she looked down the hallway, thankfully seeing that no one was there. She walked towards Adam’s room, seeing that the door was open. When she peeked inside, she saw that no one was there, and that it was completely silent. “Adam?” She called as she turned down the hallway. “God damn it, where did you go now?”

As she inched down the hall, she caught a glimpse of the bathroom, seeing that the door was also open. She flicked on the light, seeing the broken mirror on the ground. She glanced towards the sink, seeing that part of it was stained with a dark liquid. She looked into it, seeing a small appendage curling and uncurling itself in a pool of its own blood. “What the fuck…?” She asked herself before backing out of the bathroom.

She walked into the living room, immediately feeling the cold breeze hitting her. She saw the faint moonlight coming from the open front door, her heart sinking as her mind started putting things together. “Oh…god fucking damn it Adam—” She jogged back to her room to put on warmer clothes, only hoping Adam didn’t get himself killed.

When she had put on her jeans, jacket, and shoes, she grabbed a pistol from her nightstand and immediately left to go look for the missing BPS member. She closed the front door behind her, shivering when the cold air hit her face and blew through her hair. She looked around the front yard, seeing the street in front of her, yet no sign of Adam. She glanced towards the ground, seeing something in the snow; footprints, leading towards the side of the house.

She followed the trail, seeing that it was leading into the woods behind the home, seeming to go on for what felt like forever into the darkness. Sarah swallowed hard before she hesitantly began to walk into the forest, hoping that the pistol she held tightly in her hand was enough.

“Adam?” She called, almost afraid of how loud she was being. “Adam, where the fuck are you?!” When no response came, she only felt the sinking feeling in her chest become worse, knowing she had to keep following the uneven footprints, deeper into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, she stopped, seeing that the trail had ended, and her eyes widened as she stared at what it led to; a pool of rapidly freezing blood. The impressions in the snow were messy and unclear, as if Adam was struggling against something. Sarah crouched down, lightly grasping something that was sticking out of the snow, being a torn piece of blood-soaked fabric.

“Shit.” Sarah stood up quickly, dropping the cloth and turning to head back for help. However, she froze when she heard something behind her; a faint, hoarse voice.

“Saaarrah…?” It sounded as if it was in pain, drawing out the word. Sarah hated that it was Adam’s voice.

She turned her head, looking behind her before freezing in place, not from the bitter cold, but the figure standing by the trees, barely visible in the shadows aside from the moonlight bleeding through the leaves above. She found Adam, just…not in the way she wanted.

His clothes were stained with blood and grime, and he was around a foot off of the ground. Sarah noticed in horror that there were…hands covering most of his face, one barely holding his mouth shut and three others covering his eyes and grasping his hair. Two large, mangled arms held his limp body up, its hands pressed against the forest floor. Every single blackened arm was attached to his back, the main body hanging from them almost lifelessly.

Sarah watched as Adam lifted his own arm weakly, the pitch-black hand covering his left eye shifting its fingers so Sarah could see his eye; his horrified, tear-filled eye.

“H…Help…me…” He choked before his human arm fell to his side and the hands covered his eye and mouth fully.

The two large arms shifted, “running” to the side and out of view in the blink of an eye. Sarah stumbled backwards before turning and sprinting away. It was a hunt, and she could hear the alternate behind her, chasing her from behind the trees. She didn’t dare look behind her, even when she heard Adam’s voice telling her to come back; she knew it wasn’t really him talking.

Sarah finally made it out of the woods, turning towards the house to see the van in the parking lot. She sprinted towards it, seeing her salvation as she ran around it, fumbling with the car door handle before swinging it open. However, she heard a loud thump from on top of the van, and when she looked up, she froze. The alternate was perched on top of the van, its two walking hands grasped firmly on the roof. Adam’s head was facing her, forcefully moved around by the hand clasped on his hair. Two free arms from his back appeared, reaching for Sarah before she swung up her gun and fired.

           The shot hit Adam’s shoulder, and she could swear she heard a muffled, human scream under the cacophony of horrid screeches. She didn’t spend any time figuring out if she was simply hearing things or now before she spun around and ran. Sarah rushed down the street, wishing she actually worked on her cardio often as the alternate continued its pursuit.

She felt her foot hit a rock before she yelled, slamming against the asphalt before she scrambled back onto her feet. She felt something grab her ankle however, and fell to the ground once again before turning over and seeing the alternate right above her, staring down at her. Adam’s head tilted slightly before Sarah’s shoulders were grasped by two of the arms sprouted from his back. She kicked at him, but it did nothing as she was lifted off of the ground and brought to eye level. She watched as the hand covering Adam’s mouth was brought away, and when he opened it, eight spider like mandibles flicked out, his body shuddering at the action.

The hand that was covering his mouth reached for Sarah’s neck, and the one grasping his head let go and joined the other before beginning to strangle her. She struggled to move, coughing and choking as she felt the ice-cold hands tighten around her neck. She felt herself slowly losing consciousness as the alternate tried to crush her windpipe. She shakily held up her gun, struggling against the arms holding her shoulders before pointing it towards Adam’s body, and as much as Sarah felt guilty for doing so, for the sake of her life, she pulled the trigger of her pistol once again.

The bullet hit him square in the middle of his torso, right under his sternum. Adam screamed, and the hands let her go. Sarah slammed against the ground with a thump before seeing the arms forcefully jam themselves back into Adam’s back, retracting before his limp body fell to the ground unconscious. Adam grew still as Sarah’s quickened breath echoed in the silent street. Her wide eyes fixed on Adam’s body, seeing the open wounds in his back and the blood that was pouring out of them.

Sarah had no fucking clue what she should do. She had no idea a situation such as this was even possible, and as she stood up, she wondered if the Adam she had been talking to was even the real him. She hesitantly approached Adam’s body, her gun trained on him before Sarah looked back down the street, barely seeing the apartment from where she stood.

She shoved the gun into its holster before crouching down, shakily grabbing Adam’s leg before beginning to drag him down the street. If what she was thinking was correct, Adam could be saved, though she never encountered a possession of that sort before. Whether she was actually able to help him was unclear; either way, she had many questions to give him when he woke up.

[mybrainproblems]

completely genuine curiosity but like when ppl say that dabb doesn't understand dean, i'm very curious which of his specific episodes they are referring to. bc outside of moriah (where there was a Reason and it's the abraham and isaac of it all), the main episodes i can think of from late seasons where dean is ooc in terms of violence and cruelty...... are not written by him.

[misteria247]

I've been seeing an angel and demon pairing via my dashboard and recommendations. I have no idea who they are but they look like they're married and honestly good for them. They're very cute. :)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

i was just innocently looking up hxh stuff and now i see yusuke urameshi everywhere i go

[the-heaminator]

Shhduehddhsj

[baileygirl2001]

Sans is better

I've never played undertale so alas I am unable to corroborate the topic further :")

[evilminji]

You know what's my JAM?

Extremes being treated as the Serious Dangers they ARE, even when they aren't "oooh its a spooky Grey morality and BADness!" Extreme.

Like? No, people. ALL of them are bad. They are ALL face melting dangerous. The void may crush your soul, but look upon the Face Of GOD? Not gonna be having a fun time! Doesn't MATTER if he's a cool dude! Face melting!

We are creatures of BALANCE. Tiny, fragile, little motes of dust. That can only exsist in the careful, blended, dances of territories and powers that be. We squishy.

Ghosts? Less squishy.

Poor impulse control, too. Especially ones with Fenton genetics. ABSOLUTELY ones with Fenton genetics and a trauma based aversion to therapy. That one? Pretty hardy. Made pretty tough, what with being Fates third favorite chew toy. But? Still gets the Sads, you know? The slightly longer then just seasonal depression.

Would medicine and some therapy help? Oh like a dream!

If medicine WORKED on his Ectoplasmicly contaminated ass. And he TRUSTED therapists.

But... surely, Danny thinks, as he sits grossly in his Depression sweatpants and eats suspect pizza on the floor of his moldering shoebox of an apartment, there must be SOME way to address his Depression? He should... he should DO something about it. Take a break maybe. Look up some ghost doctors or something.

.....

Oooooooooor..... >.>

He could break out that OMENIOUS af, bound in suspect leather, Big Book Of Forbidden Knowledge(TM) that he got from Pariah's.... what, fourth? Fifth? Library? Fuck that Lair is huge. He's STILL cleaning it out and it's been over half a decade. He swears it spawns more floors just to mock him. Bastard. Don't know HOW a building can be a Bastard, but it sure found A WAY.

Anyway!

Book it is! *horrifying Eldritch light as he opens it* huh. Neat. Comes with its own visual effects. *another bite of suspect pizza* Funky.

And so! Danny, the depressed King Of The Zone... fucks of to go cheer himself up in the Fields Of Bliss(TM), an area of Absolute Bliss. Which! Sounds GREAT in theory, now don't it? Lovely even.

Remember that little comment about extremes?

You can ENTER those fields. But no one leaves. No one CAN. The deeper you go? The more doomed you become. Less will to do anything at all. Eat, talk, move. So much as think. Like ALL extreme "Goods", it sounds lovely, but the reality is no gentle little thing.

It's a glue trap.

But how could Danny have known? Honestly, who would have TAUGHT him? Textbooks can only go so far, after all. And placing blame will not rescue the young monarch.

I imagine it's one of his helpers that pieces together what's happened. Come for further clarification on WHERE exactly he wants certain statues moved. Only? Your Majesty? Your Majesty...? Where ever could he BE? Oh? He's left out some of his books. Well, I'll just assist by putting them away for-.....

Oh.

OH ANCIENTS, NO.

But! What can the poor man DO? Ghosts are Beings of Will, Emotion, and Obsession. Were it some sort of Holy Blade or Sentient Tree, you know, something INDIVIDUAL with a will they could FIGHT? Oh no problem. But an area of effect? Especially an EMOTIONAL area of effect!? Ooooooh, this is bad. The Zone can't AFFORD to lose ANOTHER King!

We JUST GOT THIS ONE!!!

Wait. He's heard that there's an organization for this! That loudly cursing fellow who got violently thrown back into the Zone. "Ruined his fun" and all that! Perfect! He'll just hire THEM!

Smashcut? To a nice, peaceful, everybody's screaming Justice League Meeting. John's cursing life, extremely hungover. Zatana still has three cracked ribs. Wonder Woman is enjoying the new sword she... liberated... mid battle. Truely stunning craftsmanship. When?

Knock Knock!

Heads swivel. There... is a glowing green... accountant? Dandy? Dandy accountant. With an equally radioactive day glow green Actual Pirate's Chest Of Treasures, floating next to him. In the void of space; Just beyond the glass. What, the, fuuuuuu-

He seems to be under the impression they are some sort of Heroic mercenaries. And has come to request the retrieve-

"NNNNNOPE! Pariah can SHOVE it!" Snarls a suddenly very awake John Constantine, sitting up straight for the first time in hours. The rest of Dark grimly nod in agreement. Let the fucker rot. It's a kinder fate then he deserves.

No, no, NO! King PHANTOM! Pariah's SUCCESSOR by right of combat! They are not, and were never, allied in any way!

Well, all right then. Road trip to save a young idiot then.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe

[nvuy]

an ode to a nightingale — sunday

summary. you were never anything. sunday begs to differ, in his own twisted way.

notes. a thing i did as an experiment and also as a little gift to a special someone (you know who you are) because we both enjoy staring at this guy's face. he's a funky little dude and a massive green flag. 100%.

i redownloaded hsr and i’ve started penacony. i have no idea what’s going on. it’s probably because i’ve been stuck staring at dr ratio’s boob window the whole time. i’m like a toddler watching cocomelon. i cant look away.

warnings. mdni, for safety. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is a controlling dickhead, you’re an implied streetwalker, yandere themes, insulting, threatening, possessiveness, mentions of kidnapping, gaslighting, obsessiveness, lots of nice stuff like that. please let me know if i've missed anything!

“What do you want from me?”

You looked in the mirror as you spoke, and you saw some pathetic state of a person staring back at you. Behind the edges of the golden vanity was the outline of the filled bathtub with steam wafting from the surface.

And him.

You watched as he sank into the water with a satisfied gleam on his face.

You refused to linger on the scratch marks that left gorgeous red and white lines down his arms, and his chest, and his spine.

It smelled like coconut. Coconut and dusted sugar on creamy pastry. And the clogging smell of mascara.

It smudged down your cheeks, and your lips were ruined and swollen, and your skin was painted in purple bruises and teeth marks.

And you were sore. Every part of your body was aching.

Sunday was leaning against the edge of the tub, staring at you through his lashes. He always preferred his baths boiling, as if he wanted to melt his skin off. Usually, he’d bring a book with him and read it during his off time when given the chance.

He didn’t answer.

“You’ve changed,” he said instead. His voice echoed off of the white tiles in the bathroom.

“I look the same as the night you took me off the streets,” you murmured. “Like a whore.”

Sunday hummed. “Is that how you see yourself?” The wings extending from his ears dipped below the water for a moment. “A ‘whore?’”

You didn’t want to turn to face him.

It was difficult enough to hold his unwavering gaze in the mirror.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Because I think you look damaged.” He was honest this time, and there was bitterness swelling with his tone. He instinctively fluttered his feathers to dry them off.

“By your design.” You were speaking of how he made it his duty to ruin your skin with his teeth.

“What I’ve done to you is nothing. You had already ruined yourself by offering your body to those disgusting animals before I had ever even laid my eyes on you.” He waved his hand as if he meant no harm with his words. “I’ve merely saved you.”

Your jaw clenched.

He fluttered his lashes at you in the mirror and sighed.

What a pretty sight.

“‘Saved me?’” you repeated hoarsely. You tried not to claw at your skin in frustration. You willed yourself not to lunge at him and puncture his eyes from his skull. “Do me a favour and save me from your arrogance next. You’re deluded if you think trapping me in your bedroom is praiseworthy.”

He smiled.

“Think of it this way: a bird is much safer trapped in a cage than free to the winds.” The smell of coconut and sugared powder made your head spin. Of course, he would use the soaps and creams you wore when he first met you. The smell was engraved into his mind like a branding.

Although covered by a robe, you felt vulnerable. His gaze held strong. You weren’t sure if he was even blinking.

Sunday seemed too relaxed. Your freedom was a joke to him; what is freedom if you’re too busy giving your body to strangers? Did you want to go back to that life?

“You want me to get in the tub just so you can humiliate me,” you accused with a dangerous flash of your teeth.

You wanted to sound angry. You wanted to sound furious, but it was only a pitiful whimper of a phrase. You felt pathetically weak.

He was quick to answer, “I did not request your company.” He patted the book with golden edges that sat on a ledge of the bathtub. You didn’t want to ask of its contents. “You came here of your own fruition. You felt lonely.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“But of course.” Sunday plucked the book from the ledge, careful not to wet the pages as he turned to the page he’d marked. “You are mine, after all.”

His tone was light. Confident.

Your face was burning. “Fuck you.”

Who even were you? Who were you next to him?

Nothing, was the appropriate answer. He insisted otherwise, though he’d never given you a definitive answer of what you were. He’d never explicitly stated you to be a whore, disobedient, disrespectful, too independent for your own good.

Everything you hated to hear about yourself, even if it was all true.

He’d only tut and usher you away with a wave of his hand.

You’re his, as well.

His teeth in your skin, his feathers tickling your neck, his wandering fingers that crept below your navel. He’s stained your skin with his. It’s hard to wash off—even harder when he shares the same soaps as you.

Perhaps he knows this, and that’s why he hopes you share a bath with him.

So you’re reminded that there’s a chain around your ankle.

“You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, y’know. You think you’re so high and mighty, and yet you’re naked and pining after some street whore. And then you insist that I belong to you, but also beg for me beneath your own sheets.” But that wasn’t true.

As soon as the words left your lips you screwed your eyes shut and you leaned over the vanity.

His smile only grew, and the tip of his tongue touched the sharp edge of his canines.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the marble countertop.

Here he was, vulnerable. Susceptible to a swift slice of a blade to his neck, to being held beneath the surface of the water until he stopped flailing.

And you’re still so afraid of him.

He reads you like the book in his hands.

Sunday cooed. “Just like water, you are destructible, easily poisoned, and ever changing. You are lost, entrapped within four walls, so desperate to escape, but you cannot think for yourself.”

You furrowed your brows.

He turned the page of his book. The water sloshed as his arms moved.

The smell of coconut was hurting your head.

“You speak in tongues because you’re scared of ruining your perfect image,” you said. “You’re just an insecure little boy who's stuck in a daydream.”

That forced his head to turn. He almost snapped his book shut. Instead, his fingers froze on the edges of the crisp paper.

Then, he let out a hearty laugh.

“Allow me to rephrase: your beauty is wicked. It is rotten, vile, and evil.” The sweet scent of sugar was a cruel joke. It juxtaposed everything that spilled from his filthy lips. “Your blood is muddied and ruined. You’ve allowed strangers to see your skin.

“You’re lucky I’ve tolerated your behaviour for this long. If you were anybody else, you would have lost your foul tongue after our first night together.”

The way he said it all made you feel so much smaller than you were.

You finally turned around to face him. The reflection in the mirror made the bathtub seem further away than it actually was.

The tub was in the centre of the room, craved meticulously from a blue crystal. To you, it closely resembled aquamarine. It was big enough to be considered a swimming pool if you removed the golden faucet, but you refrained from insulting his fussy craftsmanship and adding fuel to the fire.

Sunday was particular about everything; sizing, shapes, colours. Everything had to match, everything had to make sense, everything had to be perfect and presentable. Any faults or flaws were dealt with swiftly, whether that be a person or an object. You weren’t sure if you were considered one or the other.

Then came the specifics. A ledge for placing things, voids in the walls for storing soaps, adequate cupboards, flooring, walls, forms, everything.

Aeons forbid you dropped a glass and scratched the precious tiling.

And he was particular about you, though he never clearly stated what he wanted from you.

He wanted you. That was clear from how he would coax you to join him with gentle words and fleeting touches. How he would stain your skin and leave an imprint of your body on his bedsheets.

Anything other than that was muddled, muddied, lost in his own deluded mind.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him again.

Sunday fluttered his lashes at you. “Nothing at all.”

“Have you ever told the truth?”

You had instinctively drawn yourself closer to him. You leaned over the tub, fingers curled around the rim of crystal.

Sunday sighed. He looked sick, like delusion had twisted through his mind like poison ivy crawling along the walls of the gardens outside. “You are afraid of the truth.”

“You’re lying again.” He wasn’t lying, but you refused to make him feel as though he was in control.

That was he fed off.

Your fear, your touch, your taste, your words, every inch of your skin. His. All of it.

“I want everything,” he stated.

You wanted to break the tub and slit his throat with the shards of crystal.

“I want you to give yourself to me. All of yourself.”

How selfish of him.

He still views you as an offering.

You turned away and moved to storm out of the bathroom. You would wait until he was finished. You couldn’t be in the room with him.

The steam was burning your skin, and your scent on him was making your head feel like it was splitting apart.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look back.

You would have described his eyes as beautiful; golden irides with hints of plush velvet and a deep sapphire. But all he did was stare. He’d never look away, and he never wished to.

He saw things you did not.

“I want undying loyalty.” When you squirmed, he held your cheeks harder. “I want hopeless devotion. I want compassion. I want to see the silhouette of you in my bed first thing every morning.”

Your nails were frozen digging into his wrist, still wet and hot from the water.

He seemed as though he wished to say more, though refrained when he let go of your face. He’d abandoned his book now, his gaze remaining locked onto you.

Your cheeks stung from his fingerprints. You feared the patterns would be burned into your flesh.

“I want you to stop,” you whispered.

You knew what he was doing.

“Oh, I will.” This time, when his fingers raised for your face, he simply grazed them along your sore cheek. “Join me.”

You didn’t answer at first. You didn’t even move from your spot, frozen as if he’d drawn ice down your spine.

You breathed out. Your fingers were trembling.

“I’m not stupid,” you said. You were trying to convince yourself it was true.

Sunday only tilted his head. “No, you’re not stupid.”

He was already pulling the string of the bow around your waist. His wings bristled.

“I know what you’re doing,” you insisted, holding onto the fluffy material when he undid the knot holding the robe together. “I know what you’re doing.”

He smiled playfully. His hands pushed away the robe. “What am I doing?”

Your eyes welled with tears.

You don’t know what he’s doing. You are stupid.

You wished you’d never met him. You wished you’d never let soft hands and kind words and those pretty eyes of his draw you into his bed.

You shouldn’t have ever crawled back to him.

You let out a pathetic sob.

“Oh, you sweet thing.”

Sunday tutted pitifully and offered his hand.

Almost instinctively, as if it had been written in your blood since the moment you were born, you took it and leaned into his embrace.

His hair smelled of sugared tea. The feathers of his wings grazed over your face, now soaked with your tears.

He gently drew you into the water, murmuring something bordering on praise. You didn’t even hear what he said.

“I will make you all better.”

The water was hot. His lips on your cheek made you dizzy. The mirror had completely steamed up by now, and your chest pressed flush against his.

You tried to push him off you. You tried. You really did. You’d done this before, many times. Letting him break you down and watching as you lost control of your limbs and clawed at him until he held you.

He was good at that. Predicting. Letting things form the way they always did.

You were so angry. Angry at yourself, at him, at everything. Weakly, you curled your fists and hit his shoulders defeatedly. You heard him laugh.

All you did was betray yourself, surrendering and stilling as his cold hands dipped below the water.

“I will make you whole again.”