#the deadliest sin

[hopidoodle]

AHHHH HE'S PERFECT @moonkissedart!!!! The colors! The pose! That absolutely spot freaking on expression!!! You're so talented!!!!!!

I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and art! 'The Deadliest Sin' with @fawn-eyed-girl remains one of my all time favorite collabs! Fawnie did such an amazing job with the story and it was so much fun working on it together!!!

Detective Taisho from The Deadliest Sin

I saw a beautiful vintage painting of Kagome by @hopidoodle, which led me to this interesting story by @fawn-eyed-girl 😍The atmosphere was so amazing, I had to draw.

You can read it here:

[sibblank]

"wholesome" celebrities always turn out to be up to no good, so how long until that baby hippo gets exposed?

[haemosexuality]

and if i say blame gluttony is a farcille song

[thegreatyin]

a thing im slowly realizing about the scoundrel is that they are decidedly not the hero in their story. they're the gay coded villain in someone elses

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: The Deadliest of Sins, Chapter Six

Chapter snippet:

A soft rap of knuckles on Lance's cubicle wall had him nearly jumping out of his chair and Hunk sent him a sheepish look that didn’t hide his concern.

“I’m heading out patrol,” he said. “You gonna be okay?”

“You want me to answer that?” Lance asked, hating the bitter tinge creeping into his voice and Hunk’s expression softened.

“Whatever happens tonight… it’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

“Someone’s going to die, Hunk. Because— ”

“Of a serial killer,” Hunk interjected before Lance could finish his sentence. “Got it?”

Lance let out a soft sigh and gave a mute nod.

He knew that.

It didn’t make him feel like he’d failed any less.

“Try to sleep,” Hunk said. “I’ll check in later, all right?”

Lance gave another mute nod.

And he waited.

xxx

At 01:12 hours no one had reported anything.

Lance wanted to believe that was a good thing, but he knew it wasn’t. It either hadn’t happened yet or they’d already missed it.

He resumed pacing around the office, almost wishing he liked coffee as he felt so tired but too jittery to sleep, checking his phone every circle and constantly watching the dispatch feed he’d put on the investigations’ television.

Nothing was happening.

Or, at least nothing related to his case.

There were a number of domestics, some disorderlies. A retail theft at the Walmart on Iverson Boulevard. A report of fraud — because who didn’t love to report fraud in the wee hours? — a bevy of noise complaints — barking dog, music too loud — and traffic stops across the board because even though it made more sense not to tie up resources on those if they came across a suspicious vehicle that way and it led to S then they would have regretted not stopping them for the broken taillight or going seven over.

Crime never slept, not even on the night Lance really needed it to.

He went back to pacing.

Read it here

[nomoreluckystarz]

Pride's a Death Sentence.

To become a leader's a big responsibility, too bad Leonardo doesn't have the minimum clue of what that entails. It's not just leading the entire army, equip them and train them with the best of the best; it is also to assume your own faults and grow as a person.

His entire life; Leonardo's been watering a plant made out of plastic.

What a disastrous mission it was.

There was not a single soldier who was not covered in blood, guts, or with some sort of limping. A few of the dead bodies were recovered, but the majority will be the Kraang’s night feast for sure. The retrieved odachi goes back into its owner’s hand; Leonardo sighs with profound heaviness, grossed out at the sight of removing the sword from of the alien’s corpse, swifts the blue cape to his side as he began to lead this troop to safety. 

He absolutely hates this; this is the way of existence –at the time of his wrongdoing, the future– he has set the entire world upon. At some intersection along the way, he’s able to find his brother Michelangelo and his group, at least the members that survived.

The red-eared slider noticed a new section of white hair on his brother’s mane; the glowing, rupture on his skin peeking through the wrappings of his arms. 

His younger brother, the sight of him aches with each passing day of the apocalypse, every darned minute of this calamity; Mikey was no longer that same jolly, happy-go-lucky turtle he knew since decades, since they were babies. Over time, he has grown serious, and mature; nonetheless, hope and the ability to see the good in everything, in everyone, remain unaltered within his heart.

Upon their return to the base, where they were once again met with disappointment and disarray, the automatic sequence commenced. Nurses clad in protective masks began to transport the injured in a line of stretchers, some of whom were accompanied by a loved one or sibling.

Speaking of siblings, Michelangelo had returned to his room, located at the very bottom of the headquarters building; a room where light was dim with no windows letting the dolorous view of the exterior to be seen, adorned by candles positioned in a circle, with a quilt in the middle of it. 

He’s in the middle of a meditating session, his hair spreading out on the bedding as the candles ignite with the might of his mystic powers. Three white butterflies emerge as apparitions from his palms, a golden lux reflecting on his watercolor eyes as he tries to smile, the markings that peeked from his bandages eventually go away, creating an additional gray section on his hair instead. 

The youngest of the clan, the one who’s got a promising future ahead, only if it weren’t for the fact that his power is so unbelievable that it’ll shorten his lifespan. It is something he’s willing to do ever since he managed to open a portal to save his brother from the Prison Dimension; their second father had previously stated the same thing. 

It is a regrettable fact for Michelangelo, the Mystic Warrior; despite everything he is humble about it. 

Which is the complete opposite of his dear older brother, whose life sentence is his own pride.

-- Amy Jade (REDHEADZ AU)

[divinekangaroo]

There's also this joy in sk’s incredibly claustrophobic feeling settings and scenes, compared/contrasted with these spheres (or spears) of Tommy's global influence or influences coming through, because that, too, is a compelling juxtaposition. Tommy's horrors/hauntings by the man in the shadows (so close, in his house, at his heels, coming into his territory, invading, all the while it's the man [in the constituency] next door) while there's this weight and horror of global war on the horizon. (And I think about: if Mosley *doesn’t* go down, Tommy’s brokering of the IRA, American and Mosley’s connection might have been a very large part of Mosley's success? I mean, talk about a gamble...)

Anyway, I do like writing my fic!Mosley constantly slagging Tommy with the label domestic all while Tommy’s sitting there *seething*

[asquared-ohgodnotthehorrors]

Blogs that I think should be made to replace Subreddits:

- A dedicated Ask Blog, where users submit asks (anonymously or not), and the blog either automatically (using a bot) or under review posts them to signal boost the question and get other blogs to answer them. A few generic “ask anything” blogs would be good, but then over time more specific ones would develop.

- Various confessional blogs. There are a few fandom related ones, but some general and more irl related ones would be good (like Gardening Confessions or something, in addition to a general “IRL-Confessions” blog)

- Hobby blogs, focused on specific hobbies that users can follow to see their posts and reblogs concerning that hobby. There are already some but we should have more. Maybe bigger ones that are automated can allow people to submit posts.

- Resource blogs, where people can request and provide specific resources through submitting asks. Great for computer people and hobbies. And there could be a pinned master post of especially popular posts.

Basically I’m saying we should make blogs that use bots + submissions to replace subreddits, because Tags will not do shit I guarantee it, and tags allow staff to develop an algorithm and we will not under any circumstance allow that.

Also I’m not saying everyone should start making dedicated blogs (although that would be fun but forces people to organize and compartmentalize their likes so maybe it wouldn’t be), but some people should start blogs that their communities (or the site as a whole) should make popular so people can be directed to them when they’re interested in asking questions, finding resources, or dumping their random thoughts on something somewhere. Reddit had its issues but its numerous subreddits made that easy, but with the right approach we can make that possible on Tumblr too!

[plaguefated]

Watch me dance around possessed,

with your noose around my neck.

ASTHORA MARREK. Private and Selective Witch OC. 21+ only. A STORY OF death, resurrection, loss, vengeance, selfishness, magic, darkness, wickedness, reclamation of power, pain. Love.

CARRD. Established 2018. Resurrected 2023. Beloved by Vex.

[fawn-eyed-girl]

@moonkissedart this is absolutely DIVINE! He is EXACTLY how I imagined him: the suit, the cane, the beautiful, yet slightly smug face. Thank you so so so much for drawing him! He is GORGEOUS ✨

My version of Naraku from The Deadliest Sin.

@fawn-eyed-girl @hopidoodle

[excstacies]

The state of the world is so bleak right now. I still have to believe humans are good and capable of peace and love. It is greed that corrupts us.

[the-muppet-joker]

I know you thirsty bitches want my bald head soooooooo bad... Well no bald pics for you! Lust is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins, and will kill you faster than poison!

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: The Deadliest of Sins, Chapter 10

Fic Summary: (Police/Detective AU) There’s a serial killer haunting the streets of Garrison City. Detective Lance is assigned to the case, trying to solve the killer’s motive and identity before another victim shows up in a week. He can tell there’s something very personal to the killer about these crime scenes and how each victim is killed, but even Lance has no idea how personal this case is about to become.

Chapter Snippet:

Lance awoke to a pounding headache, an overbearingly sweet and yet musky scent, and the sensation of cold hands on his chest.

His bare chest.

His eyes flew open and he immediately regretted that as light, dim as it was, assaulted them and his stomach rolled dangerously and he let out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut then while trying to pull away from the hands that no doubt belonged to S and…

And going nowhere.

His eyes flew open again as though he needed to see the fact he was restrained, ropes tight around his wrists and ankles, in a chair to believe it, and he could feel equally coarse rope and cloth stretched across his face and he swallowed thickly, willing his stomach to settle as vomiting with a gag would be beyond awful.

But the unwelcome hands did remove themselves and were replaced instead with an almost amused sounding, “Waking up, Detective?”

Lance did not recognize the voice.

Read it here

(posted up to chapter 7 on AO3)

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ nicholas alexander chavez as father charlie mayhew

TW : unholy AF , smut MDNI - oral ( m receiving ) , p in v — swearing , not proofread

word count : 2917

¡! ❞ a/n : i am NOT a christian so i really do apologize for any inaccuracy or disrespectful connations this has . also so sorry for the long ass lead up to the good bit

lust.

the deadliest of sins, the one father charlie had preached against thousands of times from the pulpit. yet, here it was, not in the confessions of another but gnawing at the edges of his own heart. he could feel it now, burning low in his chest, a desire forbidden, pulling him toward the very thing he was sworn to forsake. he closed his eyes, whispering a prayer for strength, but the silence that followed held no answer.

“in the name of the father, and the son and the Holy Spirit.” 

it was all your fault – the dark-haired vixen that had appeared one sunday at mass, sitting in the front pew with wide eyes and soft pink lips. for the first time in years, he stumbled during his sermons. spew of holy words stammering to a stop as he met your gaze. you knew what you were doing—he was sure of it. sitting there with legs crossed in that tiny dress, making charlie reconsider the church’s dress code. you lean forward just enough for him to catch the curve of your chest. absentmindedly toy with the hem of your skirt. your fingers brush your bare leg, drawing his eyes like a moth to a flame. it was deliberate, a quiet rebellion against the sacredness of the space. but father charlie couldn’t deny the way his body stiffened under his long alb as he watched your meaty thighs rub against each other. lord, give me the strength to honor my vows. 

each lick of your lips felt like a sacrilege, a violation of the very sanctity he was sworn to protect. the altar, the rituals, the prayers—they all seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the pure desire that radiated from your presence. the air thickened with your heady vanilla perfume, intoxicating him with every breath he took. 

communion makes his cheeks flush. you approached the altar, hips swinging and grin already wide as you looked up at him. 

“this is the Body of Christ, given for you.”

his fingers brush over your jaw, then your lip as he slips the host in your mouth. a flash of the inside of your mouth, warm and pink, sends his mind reeling. 

you begin chewing immediately, mumbling an ‘amen’ as you stare up at him with a sly little smile. “thank you, father charlie,” your voice a sultry hiss that wrapped around him like a silky ribbon. 

he told himself it was just a test—one sent to strengthen his resolve. but you were the devil incarnate, and he couldn’t deny you – couldn’t deny the thoughts that slipped into his head late at night as he tossed in bed, torn between the lifestyle he had vowed himself to keep and the wild, reckless sin you ignited within him. it was pathetic almost, the way he found himself pumping at his length, eyes squeezed shut tight as he imagined your face behind them, your hands instead of his. he was perilously close to surrendering. 

“go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

father charlie turned to step off of the altar, collar itchy after another long 2 hours of simmering desire. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself as he adjusted the altar cloth behind him. after an hour-long sermon on moving away from the temptations of the flesh and into the light of God’s love, he couldn’t shake the irony that gnawed at him. a voice from the pews broke through his thoughts.

“father charlie!” 

is this some type of sick joke?

he hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned to face you, standing in front of the front row of pews with a Bible in hand. 

“yes?” he replied with a kindly smile, forcing a calmness he barely felt. you were dressed in a pretty blue dress today that barely reached mid-thigh. oh lord, forgive his wandering eyes.

“i need some help,” you said softly, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the altar. he towered over you as he balanced on the edge, breathing heavy as he glared down at you. “i’ve been struggling with my prayers.”

“what kind of help?” his voice came out low and husky. you were like a little lamb, begging to be defiled. so innocent. so willing, so warm, so wet. 

you shrug in response, still steps below him. “i thought maybe you could help me find the right words. show me how exactly to connect with God.” 

father charlie felt a flicker of indecision. here, in the open church, with other mass attendees milling about, he was a man of God first and foremost. no matter how raging his desire was, denying your request felt like a sin of its own.

“perhaps we should talk in my office,” he said, finally. “it would be better to discuss this privately.” 

your eyes darken at the suggestion, and he couldn’t help but notice the stiflingly close distance you kept as you followed him down the aisle. 

his office door opened with a click, and he gestured to the singular chair in front of his desk with a wave. “have a seat, please.” you slid into the chair, the fabric of your dress shifting in a way that left him momentarily breathless. he took a seat opposite you, trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism as he laced his fingers into each other on the desk. 

you leaned in over the desk, resting your elbows on the surface, your gaze fixed intently on his. “i want to feel a real connection,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “but sometimes I feel so lost, like my words are just… empty.” a flitter of a smirk plays on your lips as you watch father charlie lean forward as well, so your arms are inches apart. 

“well, i can help you with that,” he offered. “why don’t you start by talking to me? many people believe in men and women of the church to be intercessors to God.” his pulse quickened as his gaze, despite his will, dropped to your chest yet again. lord almighty, he was so hungry. “it’s about sincerity, about opening your heart to the divine,” he continued, his voice strained. “you need to be willing to confront your innermost thoughts and feelings.” 

“what if my innermost thoughts are. . . unconventional?” your voice was low.

“every thought is valid in the eyes of God, even those that might seem inappropriate,” father charlie smiles shakily, spreading his hands so they were resting right under your elbows. he could feel himself pulsing at the confines of his pants, so hard it was painful. 

“what if,” you pause, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head, waiting for the right time to deliver your next line. you were savoring the moment, the way he hung onto your every word like a puppy. “what if i want to fuck a priest?” 

father charlie’s breath catches, jaw going slack as his eyes dart over your face. your pupils were so dilated they swallowed the color of your eyes. the room was silent for a few moments, the only sounds his heavy breathing and your nails, raking over the wooden desk as you stood up. 

the priest was motionless while you swung around the table, slow and purposeful. father charlie's heart pounded violently in his chest, his mind scrambling for control. but the moment you stood beside him, he felt his resolve crumbling. your fingers grazed his shoulder, ghosting down his arm. “is that too sinful of a thought, father?” you coo, lips dangerously close to his ear. 

forgive me, lord. 

his eyes practically rolled back in his head, body taut as your fingers trailed back up over his arm and found their way to his neck. “hm?” you hum, your hands sliding to his shoulders, fingers beginning to lesuirely knead at the stiff muscles beneath the black fabric. he looks up at you, his mouth slightly agape as your fingers glide over his shoulders. “talk to me,” you purr, your voice dripping with honeyed sweetness.

“what do you want me to say?” he managed, his voice a low rasp. “this isn’t right, and you know it.”

“mm, but you’re not protesting much,” you teased, slipping your fingers into his hair. with a soft tug at his dark locks, you pulled his head up closer to your face as you leant over the back of the chair, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

he swallowed hard, heart racing, as you traced the outline of his lips with your fingers. “let me help you, father.”  your fingers lingered just at the edge of his mouth, teasing, inviting. “it must be years since you’ve truly felt good.” 

he couldn’t think. the weight of his collar felt heavier, tighter around his neck, as if it was constricting his very soul. forgive me, lord. 

his mouth fell open, tongue immediately reaching for your fingers. they slid in easily, curling wet and slippery against his tongue as he swirled around them desperately. you pressed a touch harder, your fingers slipping deeper into his mouth, urging him to take you in. his lips form around your fingers firmly, suckling at them all the way up to the knuckles.

you pull your hand out of his mouth, reveling at the way his entire body shudders at the loss. 

he tried to swallow, to form a coherent protest, but the words clung to the back of his throat like ash. instead, he found himself leaning upwards into your face with desperate urgency. his tongue slid in between your parted lips with a frantic sort of passion, whimpering inside your mouth as you moved over to bend in front of him. he took you onto his lap eagerly, pulling you around him so he was nice and straddled before his starved mouth seeked more of yours. his large hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. oh lord, he wanted to devour you. the thought was almost primal. a small guttural moan escaped his lips, the sound barely audible over your ragged breathing and the scrape of the chair against the floor as he pushed it back. when he finally pulled away, the room was enveloped in silence. charlie’s lips were swelled, spotted with red where you had bruised them. a smile spread across your face, bright, as if you had just won the lottery.   

“tell me what you want, father,” you breathed. 

charlie closed his eyes slowly, not willing to gaze into the face that had become a symbol of sin to him. “you know what i want.” 

“i want to hear you say it.” you murmured, your voice a coarse mix of seduction and command. 

father charlie’s eyes flit open, voice coming out in a little raggedy whisper as he grips at your waist. “you. i want you.” 

he watched as your eyes light up. “what a confession.” your fingers swept down from his lips, brushing against his jawline as you kept him pinned under your gaze. his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow gasps, every tense muscle quivering under your touch as you leaned down, lips grazing his throat. “well, i can help you with that,” you say, smiling up at him as your mouth made it to his high collar. 

✮✮✮

how you had managed to get his alb off of him in such a short amount of time, charlie had no idea. perhaps you had experience with other men of god. 

he could barely think, lethargic, as you dotted kisses down his torso, hands lying limp on your back as you moved lower and lower. you kneel on the ground, lips grazing over his still covered erection. you look up at him with an imploring look in your eyes. please. as if you even had to ask anymore – you already had him half-dressed and a sinner in his own church. 

lord, forgive me, lord. 

you unzipped his pants pain-stakingly slow, letting them drop to the ground. he barely even looked at you as his boxers came down next. his hands found their way to your head and his fingers tangle into your locks. you run your tongue down his length, tracing the outline of his tip. you give a little shriek as his hand shoves you down onto him – forcing the entireity of his manhood down your throat. father charlie’s head goes reeling back, giving a low moan as you hollow out your cheeks to accomodate his size. you begin your sloppy endeavour of giving him head by bobbing up and down over and over until charlie’s moans turned into wild whimpers, hand still firmly gripping at your head. one of your hands reached out to lightly grip at his balls, eliciting yet another pornographic keen from the man. “shit,” he hissed as he bucked his hips into your perfect mouth. he spurted wildly down your throat before lifting your head off by your hair. you pant, using the back of your hand to wipe the spit and remanants of his climax off of your mouth. finally, charlie releases your head and you collapse into his knee with a sharp intake of air. 

you watch as the man slowly stroked at himself, red and puckery from stimulation. father charlie craned his neck down, extending a hand to cup your cheek. you look up at him with big doe eyes, placing kisses on his palm as he rubbed at your jaw. “stand up for me,” he muttered, grabbing at your waist when you obey, shoving you back onto his lap. you sit just inches from his dick being inside you. you’re silent as he runs a hand down your neck. his hand reaches the neckline of your dress, and he wrenches it downwards with a crooked finger. your tits spill out over the hem, and you see as his eyes darken even further. 

charlie wasted no time before latching his lips onto you, slurping at your left nipple while palming the other. he lapped at the smooth skin ravenously — not daring to leave a single mark as he soflty nips at your chest. he trailed wet kisses up to your face, stopping so he could look you right in the eyes. “you’re beautiful.” beautiful enough to make him forget his vows ever existed, beautiful enough to have him accept that fornication is not a sin, beautiful enough to make him have full confidence in the fact that this was love, and not simply a lustful infection of his brain. 

“don’t make me blush,” you reply, pressing a long kiss to his lips before shifting on his leg, hands postioned at his shoulders. you hover just over his dick and gaze at his scalp while he continues to plant kisses on your throat and his hand finds your panties. they’re pulled eagerly to the side, a single finger testing the slick entrance before you drop yourself onto him, two simultaneous groans filling the room as you adjusted yourself on his cock. charlie’s hands find their way to your hips under your dress, grip iron-tight.

you felt better than he could have ever imagined.

you let out a slow exhale as you push yourself up by his shoulders, trying to bounce on him like you had so many before – but he was too big. 

father charlie observed as you winced, eyes pressed firmly shut as your walls scraped against his length. a little mewl escapes your lips. a lazy smile creeps up on his face. he lets you struggle for a few more seconds before stopping you with a little scoff. “shh, it’s okay,” he cooed as you protested weakly. “let me.” he snapped his hips into you, satisfied when he hears a lewd, long moan from you. your fingers grope at his chest as he relentlessly thrusts into you – rapid and hard. your mouth hangs agape and your head is crammed into the crevice of his neck while he fills your ears with breathless moans. with each frenzied push, you felt your walls tighten, your climax approaching quick. finally, your vision goes white and you let out a loud scream as your body falls limp onto him. charlie continues to fuck you as you drooled on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the pure force of the orgasm you had just experienced. eventually, he finished up as well, murmuring something about buying you a pill before releasing his load into your warmth.  

✮✮✮

“in the name of the father, and the son and the Holy Spirit.” 

you sat, head bowed, fingers interlaced, trying to focus on the familiar cadence of father charlie's voice echoing through the chapel. for the first time since the few months you had been at his church, his sermons were smooth as honey, flawless and hypnotic. you dared a glance up, just a flicker of your gaze through your lashes, and caught the moment his eyes found yours, however briefly.

“go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

"father charlie!"

he hesitates for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned to face you, standing in front of the front row of pews, an innocent expression that didn’t fool him for a second.

"whatever you're about to say," he cuts you off, his voice low and tight. "is better discussed in private."

¡! ❞ © sstargirln 2024

[merakiui]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔥.

yandere!twst x (female) reader

♱ synopsis.

after your faith is called into question, you're locked away in a tower for the sake of self-reflection. seven demons, each one a representation of the most deadliest of sins, will visit over the course of seven days in hopes of shaking your faith. refusing to yield, you dare them to do their worst.

♱ general content warnings.

r18, yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, descriptions of religious imagery/symbolism, demon x nun, solitary confinement, dubious morality. [chapter-specific warnings will be applied to each chapter. please be sure to read them.]

♱ chapter index.

prologue. wrath. sloth. greed. envy. pride. lust. gluttony. epilogue.

[vxnuslogy]

— broken toys. ft sunday

— warnings: slight angst

— author's note: my entry to the sunday brainrot, aka me manifesting for playable sunday.

sunday was the most desired man in all of penacony, and for a good reason too.

head of the oak family; the most handsome bachelor on the planet; a preacher of harmony that wanted the best for his home; what was there to not like about him? you were no stranger to the way he stared at gatherings hosted by the family, his gaze lingered too much on you; happened too many times to count as a mere coincidence. it sent your heart into a blazing beat, one that made your cheeks flush whenever he stood anywhere near you. just hearing his voice – the awkward laugh that rang like wedding bells when mr. gopher wood joked about the two of you being a match made in heaven – it became your favorite thing in the world.

the idea of marrying sunday has always been on the table ever since you were children. one playdate after the other – most of which were spent on the beach – where you, sunday, and his darling little sister robin would create sandcastles for miles. role playing as the kingdom’s regency while robin sang you songs until she fell asleep. such fond memories manifested itself to a lightcone that now sat in your bedroom. mr. wood was not blind with the way sunday looked at you – neither were you – and ever since then, he’d consistently bug you to marry his adoptive son who hid behind his wings to save his face.

and so you did. you married the man of your dreams and relished in being loved like a saint. 

every waking hour with sunday was spent with him worshiping the very ground you set foot on. slipping his hand under the table in meetings to fit yours because you were his rock, making sure he never strayed too far from you because to him, being away from you was the deadliest sin of them all. he loved you like the sun; burning brightly and warming your coldest days with only a whisper of sweet nothings in your ear as you let his touch scorch your skin in a way that made you wince but love him all the same. basking in the way his lips carved his name in your own with such passion you would close your eyes to everything else - he was the only view you would ever look at.

sunday burned brightly, but he burnt too quickly. just like how the sun could never stay in the sky forever, his revelry in you also faded like the waking night when the moon and stars started to replace him. sunday became too consumed in his goals of harmony, so much so that he lost his way that not even you, his darling, couldn’t save him from. 

even if his hands still gravitated towards yours, they no longer had the same warmth that you savored in his presence. he confessed his deadliest sins – the sin of being away from you – every night under the night sky’s judgment, only to commit them again the following morning. 

such was the cycle of sunday’s habit when he obtained his favorite toy. 

he drowned himself in the great pleasures of finally having his hands on the toy he’s been pining over for years. indulging himself in the adoration he had for you even if sometimes, it flickered with something more sinister, something much darker than the adoration he bathed and convinced you in. you let him suffocate in this false devotion until he started to pull back in boredom. until his favorite toy - you - was no longer his favorite.

you would pull away, starting to realize how this was not right, only for him to come sweep you of your feet – the same awkward laughter that once rang like wedding bells now sounded like red sirens, warning you of the danger you’d always ignore – and your falling back into the same maze that was your husband.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.