Chapter Text
Why does life slumber?
Because someday, we will wake from our dreams.
…
…
…
Sunday closes his eyes, just before he falls out of the breaking metal of the Great Septimus. In the sky, he falls like a bird's feather gracefully drifting to the ground.
“I could have sworn everything was fully laid out in the plan.
If this is what happens then… where did I go wrong?
It wasn't supposed to end like this… What will happen if they find out that I’m-”
Sunday suddenly opens his eyes in a slight shock, as he is held into the arms of his own sister.
“Brother… the dream is over.”
He rests peacefully and calmly after hearing her soothing voice. He falls from the sky back into the city. Though sweet, he knew that he could only rest for the moment, because aeons only knew what the family would do to him after his betrayal.
He had used his power against them, and the only one in the moment who allowed him to go through with this was none other than his father, his master Gopher Wood.
But… Did Gopher believe that Sunday would have accidentally survived and failed the plan? Considering just how successful he knew his adoptive son was throughout nearly two decades, the answer was surely a no.
So… what would happen?
The answer to that would be that Sunday would end up being locked up inside of the family's prison for a very long time, forever even. This would be the price that he would pay after everything that has happened. However he couldn't exactly wrap his head around how everything had led up to here.
There were so many things that he couldn't fully remember, or even comprehend about his time in learning about order and being the family head. He wonders to himself as he's chained up in the cell about what could have been done in order to prevent his mind going down the way it did.
Was it even possible for something to happen in order to prevent all of this?
In his eyes, it seemed like a no. It was like this was his fate; being cursed to be the one who would attempt resurrecting Ena, only to fail and have it end with him being locked up for good.
Everything was already coming to a dead end… But to die knowing that he had failed to fulfill his promise to give everyone happiness was so much worse.
He felt so empty and dull, as if he had already become a corpse that would soon be decomposed to the point where it would be any other skeleton left behind in a cave.
Suddenly, the door to his cell opens, and in the shallow light in front of him stood a woman with dull magenta hair, wearing a blue and white dress.
Her hand gently lets go from the door as she says to him, “I hope I’m not too late, child.”
The moment Sunday looks up at her, his fists clench up, his brows crinkle on his face, and the insanity in his eyes grows as he stares at her with a bitter yet desperate expression, “... I wasn't expecting it to be you…”
Right off the bat, she could tell that he was in a state of nothing but pure hopelessness. However, she was still planning to continue to try to get him out of the prison, even if he was a difficult person to deal with.
She would do this by presenting him with a trade offer, but he would not accept it so easily, for he was aware of how scheming she could be. He felt paranoid enough whenever he spoke to other people that tried to get through to him regardless of background due to his meticulous nature and obsession with control, so speaking to Lady Bonajade was something else entirely for him.
However despite refusal, Jade knew that a very small part of him was desperate to leave and see the world again. His wish to do so was echoing ever so loudly within his mind, and she could practically hear it. Rumor has it that she could literally hear it, and he wasn't even using telepathy.
Sunday tells her that there's no point in talking him into making a trade- or as he phrases it, accepting her charity. This was because he already believed that he was going to die soon, and he was as good as an empty shell of what he used to be.
However she wasn't buying his words because despite his demented state of mind, he seemed to be looking okay physically.
His hair, though disheveled, was fine and his skin wasn't too pale. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but overall that was probably from stress and a lack of sleep. Although he was okay physically, the same couldn't be said for his mental state.
One word or sigh from his mouth, and it would reveal just how unwell he was. His aggression was tinged with vulnerability inside of his voice, his posture was stiff and tense, the chains around his wrists were rattling against the surface of the seat as he sat there.
She knew just how distraught that he was in this situation, which is why she kept telling him more about the trade and how Robin had come to her about wanting to break him out of here.
The mention of his sister immediately alerts him, and he looks up from the floor at her with his full undivided attention. It was almost like she knew that was the only thing that would move a muscle in him.
She explains to him about how he could still keep the oath that he had made with his sister. To build a true haven, where everyone can attain peace.
If he knew that there was still an answer lying in wait for how to fulfill this promise, then would he be willing to talk to her?
The answer was complicated, because though there was a lot of refusal, he did eventually end up accepting the trade, which had him released from the prison.
However…
What he gave…
Was now what he believed to be a lot for him to handle emotionally…
Nearly a few days later, he was traveling on his own, wearing a completely different set of attire, and using methods in the dreamscape to disguise himself from the public eye from noticing him, because he knew what he was guilty of; there was no way it was something so easily forgiven. Thankfully though, he didn't have to worry about it too much since he was free.
But as he walked, wherever he walked, he felt alone…
Too alone…
Despite the people nearby…
He was all on his own…
“She's gone…”
Forever …
Even if she was still alive...
His heart grows more fractured in this moment of loneliness.
But as he was standing in the dimly lit hotel room in reality at Penacony, he noticed that not all hope was lost, for he saw a potential loophole. His eyes were locked on his phone screen, specifically at the app icon for his contacts. Perhaps he may still be able to get in touch with her?
He had to say something to her. She was the only one left in his eyes, so he had to reach out when he still could. It would feel horrible if all company was lost now.
Quickly he opens up the messaging app and browses through everything but it was just as he expected. Jade, had cleared his contacts with Robin in order to secure her side of the trade she had made with him in order to have him free. It almost seemed like all the wires were cut for good.
However, he believed that he could redial Robin’s number anonymously, so he decided to create a new contact, and type in a number. He was positive that he still had it in his memory.
After creating the contact, he tried to send a message to said number. Only for him to find out that it was the wrong one.
His face reddens a bit in embarrassment and he immediately deleted the number and contact before going back to try again.
As he goes back to redial, something felt off while he was typing… Almost like it was going to be wrong yet again, and he seriously did not want to fluster himself anymore than he already has, nor did he wish to risk himself getting caught by accidentally mentioning himself. This is when he stops everything; even an act as simple as blinking is put to a halt.
All is silent, and he is left with nothing but his own thoughts.
His eyes began to water in an overwhelming amount of stress and worry, eventually leading to a tear falling down his cheek onto the ground. As this happens, his hand quivers a bit as he stares at the floor.
“I… I can't remember…” He chokes in a whisper of melancholy.
With a tremor, he sets his phone down on the stand in the hotel room. Then his hands cover his face as he starts to cry silently.
“You will never be able to talk to her again.”
“If I could take my actions all back… then I would.”
“You’ll be alone for the rest of your life, and nobody will help you.”
Everything had already been done, and there was no return. Even if he was looking forward to moving on in a logical perspective, he still felt a deep sense of regret over the Charmony festival.
The more he faced his reality and reflected on the situation, the more it began to fracture his heart. It breaks, and ruptures as the feeling of despair slowly sinks into his body. The world seemed to slowly darken in his very eyes as he realized just how many people he had actually hurt.
He didn’t want to cry, despite being alone in a room where no one could see him, which is strange, because that's usually when he cries the most, but that was probably because he couldn't risk himself making too much noise in the room.
Already, he was growing sick of the grievance of losing his sister, and now it was beginning to hit him in ways that he didn't think it would.
Every laugh they had together… Every memory they shared…
All of the close words she once said near his ears became distant echoes that were at risk of fading out, and the only thing he could do was accept it as the tears kept forcing their way out of his eyes.
Standing in the comfort and safety of the hotel room wasn't enough for him. He wanted to feel peaceful and content internally. If no one was nearby to help or comfort him, then the very least he could do was to try and create a bit of peace for himself.
To achieve this, he plans to say a prayer to the one that he truly worshiped, hoping it would be answered, because he would do anything.
Anything to just stop crying...
As he kneels on the grey carpet near the clam shaped bathtub, he whispers in a tone of distress, “O’ triple faced souI, I place this momentary sorrow into your hands… for it has brought me distress… please… lend me strength…”
After praying Sunday sits on the couch to try and settle down. A light stinging sensation in his eyes is present from crying as much as he did, but he doesn't mind it at all, for he had gotten used to this feeling thanks to the constant pressure he was put under.
Feelings like this were normal for someone to have, especially in his situation. Losing someone that was once close is not an easy thing for anyone to go through, especially in his situation given that it was the cherry on top of all of the other extreme events that he had gone through.
"Just let it pass... It's not going to be this way forever. My sister is capable of taking good care of herself, and I'm sure I can still see her on the screen somewhere whenever she performs." He murmured to himself. As much as it felt uncomfortable to say that, he knew it was true. It may not be the same, but there were bright spots that were still present.
Eventually he started to feel much more content than he once was. While he often was capable of calming himself down, this time it felt less of a suppressant and more like emotional relief.
It was pleasant, but then he suddenly began to feel something off.
His body was still a bit tense, and something inside of him felt slightly hollow. That's when he realized that a more intimate conflict that he was struggling with started poking at him. He knew what this was, and he thought it was annoying that he did.
Laying back against the couch, he tells himself that his body is still currently full of stress and that this feeling would wear off eventually. He hoped that once it did that he would focus more on his plans for the future, because he couldn't stay here in Penacony forever.
As he tries to relax, his wings quiver ever so slightly, and then he suddenly grows more fixated on all sorts of places on his body. One of the piercings in his left wing felt a little bit loose and out of place. As he notices this, he tries to adjust it and make it more secure for his comfort.
While doing so, Sunday’s face twitches slightly as he becomes aware of just how sensitive and warm his wings were. After fixing it, he flaps his wings a light bit, trying to shake the sensation out of himself.
It was just a light bit of fixing something, he wasn't going to touch them again right? Well… this is until he gets a bit more curious and lightly pinches the tip of his wings.
A small flame of excitement starts to form in his abdomen, and his blood starts rushing faster through his veins. He started feeling a bit hot all over, and the urge to keep touching his wings was more difficult to resist.
Say… this feeling of pleasure was oddly familiar to him. It was almost like the last time he had his hand rushing its way up and down his cock as he was getting really excited. The only difference was that it was getting him a little shaky all over his body rather than just it being in one spot.
He felt alright, but he could definitely use a really good feeling by now considering just how gloomy his day was as a whole. It was okay right? He could treat himself to a bit of extra dopamine every now and then.
Sunday decided that perhaps it would be alright, so to feel a bit more of the current titillation, his fingers press against the skin of his wing more a bit more firmly. In reaction to this, his thighs start to press and rub against each other, which could look a bit suggestive in the eyes of the average person.
Obviously though no one was around, so who knew what this could be taken as? While he was pinching and sliding his fingers on his wings, his cock hardened a bit more inside of his pants, and he grew more flushed in the face. In addition to this, he lets out a pleasured moan.
That's when he slows down a bit in the process, feeling a bit embarrassed due to how it could have been louder than literally any other noise he made. On top of the embarrassment was a little bit of guilt, because he began to wonder if touching his wings was something that stimulated him sexually.
But… there wouldn't be a way that would make any sense right? His wings were just another ordinary part like his arms or his ears, not a private part that he has to keep covered up all the time. This has to be a different feeling compared to the one he got masturbating despite similarities.
Perhaps, this was just a feeling that was like going on a rollercoaster, or any other scary ride. His hand being so close to his wings was like being on the top of the hill before going down a steep drop. When he massaged them, he believed it was just that similar feeling of being thrown a hundred feet into the air, because that kind of excitement was a different kind compared to the type felt during masturbation.
Yeah, that’s how he would look at this. It was completely innocent; even if he did have an erection towards the feeling and made a bit of noise. In fact, he didn't even think he got hard to having his wings touched, at least he tried to believe that he didn't. And the moaning? He thought that was probably just because of how intense his emotions were at the moment.
Although, people don't exactly moan because they're excited on an amusement park ride. Was it just the sudden tingle he felt inside of his wings that made him do it? Probably so in his mind, he’d use any kind of excuse to not feel guilty or gross.
Sunday’s legs began to twitch a bit in excitement, and he began to feel a bit more curious. He wanted to know just how hard he could press until he began to really do something to himself.
Usually, he wouldn't even try something like this in fear that it would hurt, because it often did. The time he got his piercings would be a good example, because it hurt pretty badly. But now, something had altered slightly in him, and he began to have that desire to know himself more.
He felt like there was time to be adventurous with himself now that he technically had the time to. After all, Jade had told him back when he broke out that life was too short to miss out on all sorts of experiences; even if they were just for himself.
Although, he didn't exactly have the time she said those words to him in mind. He was saying this to himself, almost like he was hyping himself up to get more feisty on his wings.
His fingers curl up to his palm, taking hold of the entire bit of his left wing. His hand slides and massages the sensitive skin beneath his feathers, growing more hypnotized to the warmth of his own touch. In reaction to this, he whimpers in pleasure and his legs shake a bit more.
Damn, if it felt this good when he touched his wings, then it probably was going to be crazy if someone else got their hands on them. Perhaps that would be possible in his future endeavors in traveling. He was a bird freed from the cage that was the family.
Sunday lures another light moan to escape his throat and yet again, he believes it's just a response to the sensitivity and not much else. While applying more friction, his breath hitches while his body starts to jerk a bit.
His legs spread open slightly in a reaction to the exhilaration that was rippling in his core. His other hand takes hold on his other wing, causing his legs to jolt out slightly while his fervorous desire to feel good blooms brighter.
There's audible shaking in his breaths, as his back presses against the board of the couch. His stomach and chest were visibly contracting despite the many layers of fabric he had on. His ears and face began to flush, as he was growing more dazed and sensitive.
The temperature around him was becoming too hot to handle- or at least he believed it was the room temperature. As he was in a wave of heat, he removed his coat and gloves, placing them down on the couch and leaving him in nothing but his dark nightshade blouse and his pants.
“Is this act of stimulation still innocent to you?”
Yes. Yes it was.
Even with the painfully stiff and sensitive erection that was pressing against the fabric of his boxers and pants, he still believed it was a so-called coincidence, because that's what made him feel the most peaceful while doing this.
His moaning then becomes a little more frequent, he finds it harder to stifle himself while feeling up his wings. With every minute, he felt his sensitivity levels rise higher and it was getting more difficult to play pretend with what he truly wanted to do.
Thoughts spin and race through him faster and the urges are striking him until he's completely dazed. His sight moves down to his crotch as he's still slightly writhing his hips against the cushions. There were so many reasons not to do this, but at the same time there was a reason that he should.
~•~It's detrimental to your health for you to hold back like this.~•~
If only he could actually hear the words being said from the voice of the one who blessed him.
~•~As my creation and the ones crafted by the rest of us, you humans are meant to have these emotions, for everything happens with reason.~•~
What is the reason exactly…? To experience relief? To fight back tension? To develop more awareness? To just feel more emotions?
Something kept pushing him to give in to those lewd urges that he had, as if it was a gut feeling. He was still unsure of doing so, but it almost seemed like it was the right thing to do. Almost, being the keyword to him.
He grows more desperate to satisfy this aching need of his, as if he was going to lose his mind and start groaning in pain if he didn't take care of himself.
His crotch kept tingling and throbbing, getting hotter and harder. His craving for a release was searing to the point of pain in his abdomen, and he couldn't hold it in any longer.
Sunday suddenly snaps on himself mentally, letting go of his wings. With his hands trembling, he undoes the button and unzips the fly on his pants.
As the fabric slid down from his waist, he felt so embarrassed for giving in, but he still felt like getting rid of this “issue” of his was more than necessary.
Oh dear God… this was it.
His thighs quiver as they are exposed in the cool air of the room, and he actually went ahead and slid his boxers down, taking them completely off. He was absolutely certain that he was going to make himself reach a climax judging by how sensitive he was right now.
“... So Revolting…” Sunday’s face and ears flushed redder. It was so embarrassing to see the small amount of precum that was present on the fabric of his underwear.
Not that he had it first thing in mind, but there wasn't really much he could use on himself. The most he could get was a couple of drops on his bare fingers. The rest was a waste really.
Even if he didn't have much to work with now, more would come out eventually. Perhaps he should take it slow on himself for now.
His finger caresses the length up to the tip, sending a shiver down his spine. His cock felt increasingly more sensitive the more he lightly traced and teased it.
He didn't want to moan any harder than he already had, since he didn't want to risk disturbing other people. Oh, but he did; he seriously did. He felt a sense of freedom whenever he moaned unsuppressed, but obviously he couldn't cross that forbidden line.
It made him conflicted, but he still wanted to look around and search for what he enjoyed the most, so he decided to twist up the sleeve on his coat and bite down on it.
“... Repulsive… utterly repulsive.” He thought as the saliva kept uncontrollably moistening the fabric of his sleeve. Though he wouldn't be one to take it out due to his consideration of the other people, he definitely began to realize that suppressing his voice during this sort of activity was not comfortable for him.
How interesting; even in the bedroom he carries that trait of a born leader.
In order to make the procedure of extracting his precum a bit faster, his other hand goes back to touch his wing. As this happened he let out a needy whine. Out of excitement, his breath got heavier, practically steaming in his face and the fabric.
His body couldn't keep still any longer and he felt himself losing more control while he quivers and moves on the couch. More precum oozes out of the tip of his member, and his fingers collect it. Now with enough lubricant on his hand, his fingers slide down and curl up, grasping his cock tightly.
This feeling sent a shockwave through his crotch, fueling his hips with energy. His hand acted as a spring that would recoil at the tip and then shoot back down the body of his length. The rush hits him like a bullet, sending him into a frenzy.
Immediately, his other hand releases his wing and presses the fabric closer to his mouth, allowing it to soften the feverish moans that he couldn't hold himself back from making. They just kept coming out as he pumped himself at a slow rhythm thanks to how sensitive he was.
But that was beginning to become a problem. He was too sensitive, and it was feeling too good. If he ended up losing himself all the way, he feared that he would let go of the fabric and accidentally let everything spill out.
Sunday was still eagerly wanting to experience that sweet feeling of a climax. He couldn't fully remember how good it felt the last time it happened, since it was nearly a year ago. The feeling seemed like something only achieved if everything was done perfectly.
He tries to balance out the stimulation; sliding his hand faster than slower, maybe a bit in between, and there was a bit of wing touching for an extra rush. When his other hand wasn't focused on his wing, it gently kneaded the skin of his balls. His teeth sank harder into the fabric, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep himself toned down.
Sunday laid back on the crimson couch to make it a bit more comfortable for himself and easier to keep the sleeve in his mouth while panting heavily. His face and ears flush into a deeper shade of red; he was falling further into a trance with his back arching up from the cushion.
His heart pounded violently in his chest, and he felt his orgasm approaching him. His eyes close as he quickly turns his head, constantly moaning and whining into the fabric of his coat.
The urgency was present in his voice and body. Each breath and dirty little noise that he made only became more desperate than the last as he massages his cock with a lot more intensity.
Actually, he did so with too much intensity, because he found himself beginning to grow a bit overwhelmed with just how long it was taking for him.
He grew more impatient while fixating on when he would finally come, because he wanted to really badly. He could have sworn that things didn't take this long, especially when he felt like he was giving it his all.
His fingers were already trembling so much, and his arms were getting exhausted. Despite all efforts, it was like it seemed unreachable for him.
Whenever it felt too good, he had to stop for a brief moment for some of the tension to leave, which then led to it not feeling good enough. He would go in head first and create some sort of messed up cycle out of it. This wasn't like him, he was much more controlled than this. He needed to have control if he wanted it to happen, but the fact that getting touchy in the bedroom was all about losing control made it seem impossible for him.
He began to grow irritated at his body for being so sensitive, one could say that he hated it even.
With that mentioned, he decided that it would be best not to stress himself out over it. Since he did decide that however, he stopped touching himself, removing his fingers and putting all acts to an end.
As he got up from the couch, he realized that even though he had stopped with his actions, he still felt the heavy sex fever that was burning up his body.
Hmmm… Maybe he could go back?
Maybe it wasn't over.
He still felt like there was enough time left, so maybe he could utilize the time effectively.
Though as he was thinking about getting back into the act, his stomach started to feel something off, draining even.
This feeling wasn't just exhaustion, it was regret and weakness. Something that was more peculiar was that nothing even came up in his mind this time from what it seemed, it just felt like a drop in serotonin with no explanation.
Laying on the couch, he stares up at the ceiling blankly. A disappointed sigh leaves him as he starts to really see into the set back he had.
“Just like last time… even if everything was in my control…
I still failed to achieve what I yearned for…”
It happens. If someone falls down, then they’ll eventually get back up on their feet and try again some other time.
It's fine…
It's okay… It's fine…
He could write, “I’m fine.” in the journal that he kept with him over a thousand times to prove to himself that it was alright.
Eventually he told himself that he couldn't just lay there forever, so as exhausted as he was, he still got up and got his pants that were on the side of the couch near the fireplace along with his underwear. As gross as it felt to him he had no other choice but to put them back on. It was either that or he was going to have to do something much more embarrassing.
If freedom was about getting used to these sorts of imperfections and messes then it was going to be a hell of a long time before he could truly enjoy it. He was so used to having a schedule and spending the days going left and right to take care of things and maintain order in the family. Not doing anything nearly drove him crazy on the first few days of his release from the prison.
Though free in an environmental sense, it was safe to say that he was still trapped in a cage mentally in some spots.