Facing certain death, yet finding new life.

everything is in its place, excellent.

semi-selective, public or private. written by sen (he/it) 18 could be canon complicit, canon divergent, or au-based. touches on sensitive topics, such will be tagged. multiverse && ocs friendly.

unless stated otherwise, graphics on my blog are done by me

rules before interacting further on: 001. i will write with adults only, it's for my own comfort and anyone els. i don't actively write nsfw but even if I do, I would prefer a space where those who are over the age can interact with. i also block freely. 002. I don't mind shipping and I welcome it with open arms, I am a multishipper so any ships that clicked in my brain are adored (including rarepairs too!) I don't have a main ship for sunday, I enjoy all of them in one go but feel free to ask! 003. I don't write often with others, if I do it's mostly between mutuals/friends. that doesn't mean I wouldn't write with others but it's under the jest that our writing styles are aligned and both parties' needs are met without a problem. but I tend to mirror people's writing styles when together. 004. regarding headcannons I have for him, it is actually not set in mind and are interchangeable. i do present him as a transmasc/genderfluid individual at times and have written him in said way. i don't have a set sexuality for him so take as you will, i have more but I'll keep it short. 005. i am new to the tumblr side of rping, i am more accustomed or roleplaying one-on-one or primarily on discord. not that i won't learn and follow etiquette rules that have been set into stone, but i do apologize ahead of time if i seemed a bit clueless wwww.

Identity was a finicky subject for Sunday. It's kindling for a fire he doesn't wish to burn further, as he'd much rather it die out slowly. Even the warmth left him with an indescribable feeling, a deep feeling that bites and tears at his heart like a hungry dog.

he had accepted the idea of remaining as what he'd been given, to accept and cherish the body he had; it isn't replaceable, it's one of a kind just like everyone else. yet, what is the point of cherishing a corpse, where is the joy of loving that part of him that doesn't align with his heart?

Gopher's words installed rules he abided by. Even if the cage was small and cold, he remained still as he sang his song to the unknown. It's all Sunday has known. It was like an unfulfilled routine. There's always something missing from the routine, a puzzle piece that keeps changing and changing, refusing to let itself fit in with the others. clip his wings, call him docile, he'll remain the puppet who assumed he's the puppeteer behind the show, a show of his own life that he couldn't even control.

but once Sunday was given the chance to spread his wings, to be accepted for who he is, to be in control of himself, why did everything feel so wrong yet right?

has he finally found the answer to his question or has he written himself more questions than answers he needed?

there he stood, hugging himself in front of the mirror as he stared bewilderedly at the reflection. the Astral Express remained quiet as everyone was engulfed in a deep sleep yet here he was, wide awake in a nightmare.

why is he questioning his own reflection, why isn't it him? Is he still him? 

tears were so heavy as he painted his cheeks, barely making out the blurry reflection that was supposed to be him as he stood there, his fingers sinking into his flesh while his sobbing accompanied him. nothing feels right, nothing is his.

why do I not know what I wanted, is it selfish to ask what I wanted, to receive it? Sunday couldn't help but ponder to himself.

what does he need to become something, to be born something once more, to feel like him, to be them?

Sunday couldn't comprehend the feelings that scratched the lonely spot in his heart, the lost puzzle piece he didn't dare to put in. it's not that he's afraid of being himself, he's afraid of the freedom that comes along with it or the fact, would he regret it?

sometimes Sunday wondered how different he would become if he embraced that part of it early on in his childhood, would things been happier if he had, would he have been happy with the decisions he made, would anyone remained by his side despite the selfish decision he made for himself?

His knees gave out as he slumped to the bathroom tile, how he was glad no one was able to see this horrific display of emotions he was playing, a show with no audience.

utc timezone (12/2/25)

semi-selective, public. (or private) sunday muse, canon complicit, canon divergent, or au-based. sensitive topics can/will be mentioned, do beware!