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burningvelvet · 4 months

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being a romantic era poet: a quick how-to guide

walk around in nature contemplating Things. start hiking, swimming, sailing, rowing, shooting, riding, etc. for inspiration

be obsessed with the french revolution and related enlightenment-era figures like rousseau, voltaire, mary wollstonecraft, and madame de staël. be more disappointed by napoleon bonaparte than you are by your own father.

speaking of fathers, your parents and most of your other relatives are all either dying or dead or emotionally abusive. if you have any siblings (full, half, step, or adopted) who DIDN'T die tragically already, then you may choose to be close to them. you also may end up being much TOO close to them. various circumstances may also ban you from seeing them.

be at least slightly touched by madness and/or some other severe illness(es) including but not limited to: consumption, horrors, syphilis, deformities, lameness, terrors, piles, boils, pox, allergies, coughing, sleep abnormalities, gonorrhea, etc. — for which you must take frequent bed rest and copious amounts of Laudanum (opium derivation)

consider foregoing meat and adopting a vegetable diet instead to purify the spirits. you may also abstain from alcohol for the same reasons. alternatively, you may attempt the veggie diet, end up rejecting it, and becoming a rampant alcoholic instead. in romanticism there is no healthy medium between abstinence and excess.

reject, or at least heavily criticize, christianity. refuse to get married in a church and consider becoming a fervent champion of atheism. alternatively, you may embrace catholicism, but only on an aesthetic basis. eastern religions and minority religions are also acceptable, only because they piss off the christians.

if you’re not a self-hating member of the aristocracy and instead have to work for a living, do something that allows you to benefit society, be creative, and/or contemplate life. viable options include, but are not limited to: apothecarist, doctor, teacher, preacher, lawyer, farmer, printmaker, publisher, editor. there is also the possibility of earning a few coins from your art. if you were cursed to be born a She, no worries. we believe in equality. you may choose from these occupations: wife, nanny, housekeeper, spinster, amanuensis (copy writer for a man), lady’s companion, divorced wife, singer/actress/escort, widow, regular escort, tutor, or housewife.

speaking of sexist institutions, try rejecting marriage entirely. Declare your eternal devotion to your lover by having sex with them on your mother’s grave instead.

if you do get married — elope, and only let it be for necessary financial reasons, or to try and save a teenage girl from her controlling family, or out of true love with someone you view as your intellectual equal, or because your life is so racked with scandals and debt that you can only clear your name by matrimony to a wealthy religious woman as your last resort before fleeing the country.

After marriage, quickly assert your belief in the powers of free love and bisexuality by taking extramarital lovers and suggesting your spouse follow suit. If they cannot keep up with your intellectual escapades then consider leaving them. Later on, propose a platonic friendship with them following the separation, or beg them for reconciliation.

If your marriage is happy, try moving in with another bohemian couple to shake things up. Alternatively, you may die before the wedding for dramatic effect.

If you beget children (whether in or out of marriage, makes no matter), do society a favor by choosing to raise them with your beliefs. Consider adopting orphan children, or even non-orphan children. If their parents are poor enough they probably won’t mind. Try kidnapp— I mean adopting — children off the side of the road if you can.

DIE but do it creatively. ideally young. ideas: prophecy your own death, lead an army into war and then die right before your first battle and on your deathbed curse everyone and demand to see a witch, write a will leaving money to your mistresses or some random young man you have an unrequited romantic obsession with, carry a copy of your dead friend's poetry and read it right before you drown so that your washed up corpse can only be identified by his book in your pocket, die while staring at your lover's shriveled up heart that you keep wrapped up in a copy of his own poetry and then be buried with it, die of the poet's illness (consumption) while your artist friend draws you and then be buried with your lover's writing, get mysteriously poisoned (by yourself) after a series of scandals and accidents and then have your family announce that you were killed by god, die from romanticizing poverty or receiving bad reviews from literary critics, die from walking or horseback riding in the cold and the rain while poeticizing, etc.

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eldritch-spouse · 2 months

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I love the idea of Zizz becoming obsessed with a lucid dreamer.

She talks to him about things she's too afraid to talk to other people about, rants about how tiresome her work is, and doing stupid shit while they wander a dreamscape she makes. Sometimes she fucks him if he doesn't take on a human appearance (realizing she's a monsterfucker). She thinks he is nothing more than a random figment formed from their dreams, enjoying these moments that will be gone by the morning.

Zizz keeps getting drawn to her, the more time he spends, the harder he falls for her.

[Aaah, this is a cute idea. Reader is ambiguous.]

The first night, you didn't know what was happening.

There was a presence in your dream, you felt it as soon as it invaded the sanctity of your slumber. A thick shadow lurking in the halls of the manor you spent so long visualizing during waking hours just so you could bring it into your dreams.

Curiosity led you to follow that strange pull. You didn't consciously manifest anything or anyone yet, so what could it be that your brain cooked up on its own?

It seemed to be wandering, and the closer you got to it, the louder these slow thumps could be heard, footsteps making aged wooden floorboards creak in protest. The parts of your dream where this thing dwelled seemed to become somehow more vivid than the ones you created, as if it were breathing life into them. Your curious search becomes a frantic chase when you catch the outline of something massive turning the corner.

Was the manor this complex? Were there these many halls?

No, you remember it being smaller. Is it... Changing its location? Changing your dream? This has to be the product of your sudden distraction. Yes, that's it.

You remember the way you stopped breathing when you opened a door, only to see him pass by.

What you can only describe as a giant demonic entity, with pallid, ash-like skin and a great veil over its horned face. A thin tail that ended in a crescent shape swaying lazily behind a masculine inhuman figure.

Between the shock and fear, you could only watch it trudge to another division, uncaring of your presence.

Your lungs start working again, on the first desperate gasp-

You wake up.

The second time, he laughed.

Some time had passed.

You never truly felt all that comfortable in your own dreamscapes after that odd encounter and, strangely, even if you remembered the sight of that demonoid so clearly, manifesting him was proving itself to be harder than expected.

You felt like you needed to bring him back, if only because his appearance left more questions than answers, and that encounter begged some clarifications.

The versions you did manage to create always seemed oddly deformed, as if you were a novice at this.

Tonight, you were dedicating your time to making him reappear, which led you to a mostly white space devoid of features beyond a floor, and the several copies of the entity you are failing to put together.

Some are discolored. Others have too many horns, the one in the corner is... Melting? The latest keeps disappearing and popping up in random spots. None of them are behaving at all, just standing there like mockeries of statues.

They feel so fake, so paper-like, cheap imitations of something that felt so powerful and perfect! Like there really was another person in your dream...

You're getting frustrated.

It's a pointless effort born out of a spook.

After what feels like an eternity of populating an endless landscape with grotesque reflections, you simply sit down and watch them fail miserably at existing.

Except... A new one emerges from the back of a swaying, greenish copy.

It looks around, tensing, as if perturbed by something, then casts its gaze to the clones surrounding it.

You didn't make that one. Not willingly. It's... It's too perfect, he looks exactly like the demon you saw, down to a T! Even the little glowing blob on his head, that's him! That's... Him. The real one. Oh fuck.

Horrified yet oddly gleeful, you simply stay very still and watch everything unfold.

The giant demon begins exploring once more, touching the flawed versions of himself he comes across. The ones that seem to particularly disturb him are waved at, and with the simple gesture, disappear entirely. Although you cannot see his face, his tail swats quickly behind the monster's body, it's clear he's at least amused by what he's seeing.

One second he's moving to the nearest malformed abomination, the next you blink and he's standing still, fixed on you. There's no doubt he's spotted you sitting cross-legged like an idiot, you bet you stick out like a sore thumb.

It felt like hours passed in that silent locking of stares. This time, you remember to breathe. But your mouth certainly won't open. And he doesn't utter a word either, resuming his perusing.

Finally, he spots the one whose clothes keep flickering in and out of place. You don't know why it's like that, and it embarrasses you. Your brain can guess the general body type and coloration of the demon given he doesn't cover all that much, but it has no way of knowing what his genitals look like, so your mind is visibly cycling through possibilities.

Seeing himself naked, with a variety of ridiculous genital equipment, the entity invading your dream starts to shake slightly.

You fear you might have greatly offended him without meaning to, but then, this sound starts bouncing off non-existent walls until it reaches you.

A melodic sort of chuckling that fills you with some unknown lulling tingle, rising into amused, helpless belly laughter, cackling. His head throws back and his shoulders quake. It's the only thing you can focus on, a voice so clear and so distinct, something you've never heard before. How incredible.

Well... At least he finds it funny? Good, that's. Good. You guess.

When the noise dies down, you find him looking at you again.

The flustered tightening of your belly is probably what woke you up.

The third time, he spoke to you.

It must not have been more than a week.

You think he's lurking around more often, because you're starting to pick up on the way his presence alters the spaces around him, makes them feel all the more immersive.

This time, you were creating a garden, picking the flowers you'll put in a variety of plots.

When you head to the little gazebo in the center, you find that not only has it increased twofold in size, he is sitting at the table you placed there.

The demon seems calm, legs spread, one hand resting on the table, the other holding his covered head as he watches you freeze.

Your first instinct is to turn back and pretend he's not there, to walk away, maybe try shoving him out of the dreamscape. But do you really want to?

" Stay. " He beckons, the moment you take a step back.

" Who are you? " Is instantly shot back.

The monster leans back on his seat, the clawed hand previously resting rises, and with a snap, day turns into night, a brilliant sky with millions of stars and swirling cool hues.

It's nothing short of gorgeous.

At this point, you think he has more control of your dream than you.

As if to prove that, the chair opposing him slides back, and he tips his head towards it, waving.

" I like your dreams. " The demon starts. " You're interesting. "

" ... Thank you? " Because what else are you supposed to say.

" Sit. " He beckons again. " Talk to me tonight. "

You didn't believe it.

Didn't believe who he said he was.

How he managed to enter your dreams.

Didn't believe that someone like him could ever find you worth any time.

You chalked it up to total madness, and took the entire conversation as a humorous game, laughing when it seemed as if he was getting almost enamored with you.

After an admittedly delightful night sharing drinks he had conjured for the two of you, Zizz sighs and tells you that it's time for you to wake up.

You're about to ask how he would know such when he leans forward to gently tip the glass up to your lips, and the richness of your favorite drink is the last thing you feel before it all fades away.

Tonight, he offered to take you into one of his dreamscapes.

A smile in his words and a shine to the soft paw he extended your way convinced you to accept the offer.

Maybe the way he purred and whispered your name like a prayer should have been warning enough that you were playing a dangerous game.

It's been hours. A day? Too long. Longer than you've ever been dreaming for. Tracking time is harder in a location you have no control over.

This is a very beautiful royal mansion, and you've been having lots of fun spending time with Zizz in it and all...

But you'd like to wake up.

It's not happening. You can't bring yourself out of the lucid dream. You... You're stuck.

When a quiet moment falls between the two of you, a small hand taps the supposed demonlord's arm.

" Zizz? "

" Mmm? "

There's a gulp. " ... I need to wake up. "

Seconds bleed into what must have been a minute of complete silence.

Until his palm lands on your head and he affectionately combs over your hair, leading you forward beside him as you're about to enter his dreamscape's bedroom.

Claws tighten on the skin of your scalp.

" Don't be silly. "

#Zizz oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #yandere demon #monster x reader #not sfw #minors dni #monsterfucker #terato tag

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 22 days

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Comfort(ers) & Sheets - Joel Miller x Reader [Drabble]

[moodboard for moodboards sake can easily be read as game or hbo joel <3]

warnings/themes: allusions to sex, no smut, fluff, lots of romance/love, pov swap, implied plot, it’s sweet & short that’s it.

a/n: just a quick drabble based on a thought I had at 11pm when I should’ve definitely been sleeping. thoughts loved and appreciated if you enjoy <3

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You could spend every late Sunday morning all wrapped up in the huge white comforter you’d invested in when you moved into this house from trading.

Specifically under it, with your very sleepy husband sprawled out on his side of the bed, as you lay, naked (Joel had made sure of that the night before) your stomach pressed against the mattress, your fingers tracing down his face, over his nose. His scars.

The cool summer breeze from the morning seeps in with the dim sunlight, the warmth and coolness all at once of the oversized, stuffed blanket makes you want to lie there forever.

He doesn’t stir. Not anymore. When he knows you’re there he stays still, content even in his sleep.

You slip out of bed, only a loose sheet wrapped around you, opening the back patio door and settling in a rocking chair he’d built for you. You watch the trees behind your home, in the warm sun, your body sore and relaxed all at once. You took pride in that, even if Joel didn’t believe you. He made you feel like you could just…melt, soak into the dark ground and dig your way right back out just for him again.

“Sugar…” Joel all but spoke loudly as he leaned on the doorframe, he’d been there for a few minutes now, but he wouldn’t tell you that. In his mind, when he got to watch you think, about anything, he’d been blessed by some divine grace to have you.

“Honey.” You smile, turning enough to see him.

“Still early…come back to bed?” He offers, his tone convincing, always too convincing.

“We have a day to start.” You remind him, as he leans down to take up your hand, letting you make sure the sheet that covered you was wrapped still. You’d shown him every piece of you, and every second of that he wanted more. But until he had you safe and comfortable…that piece of you only he got, stayed hidden to the world, and to him.

“The day can wait on us.” He replies simply, picking you up completely as he carries you back in, and you shut the patio door.

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Your soft breath. That’s what he listens to. It’s the same as a heartbeat to him. It means you’re alive, and still here with him, sheet left to the floor, the same with your clothes, to be found when you meet the day. His eyes watch your resting face, pensive but restful nonetheless. His right hand snakes into your hair and out, a repeated motion, his left placed over yours, on his bare chest. He’d managed it again. Managed to keep the most beautiful and most precious thing in his life in his bed, sure, with his head buried deep between your thighs, and a slow and sleepy push back into sleep.

But he likes it that way. He’d stay like this for an eternity if he could, ignorant to every sin and deformity that is the world now, mapping out every inch he could of you, instead of escape routes and patrol paths.

He wanted every piece of you, just the way you are.

His eyes are tired but the last thing he wants to do is sleep. He watches his calloused hands, destroyed by the grips of countless guns and weapons.

He should marry you again.

Even with the years that take a toll on both of you now, years that you can let show on your faces and bodies, he wants to be smooth like a whiskey on a bar with a new finish, soft like a shower, washing the dirt from your body after a long day, a relief to you the way a breath of fresh air feels after the restriction of a gas mask. Those are the things he strives, no, begs some higher power to be.

Even in his dying breath, he is yours. That’s all he knows.

#pedro pascal #writing prompt #joel miller #game joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #fluff #fanfic #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #tlou2 #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou game #pedro pascal fandom #writers on tumblr

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callmerainman · 1 month

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When You Know, You Know | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader / GuitarSpear

plot. Lute finds out that Adam is still alive, reincarnated as a sinner in Hell. Unable to keep the secret from her, Sera gives her a chance to see him again. Just a warning: something more powerful than she could ever imagine is keeping him in Hell. And when she witnesses it, Lute feels like she's losing Adam a second time.

word count. 1.5k

pairings. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader | side GuitarSpear

tags. jealous!Lute, angst, kissing, soft Adam, Adam and Reader are profoundly in love, GuitarSpear can either be platonic or romantic.

taglist. @call-me-nyxx

a/n. here I am! this short fic comes from an idea by @sleeplessdreamer14 who inspired me with the jealous!Lute hcs! This also can be considered as a spin off of my other Adam fic (First Man on the Earth), I envision the same Reader. Hope you enjoyed some angst!

"cause when you know, you know"

—

“Sera, I’m begging you please, open the portal!”

Her golden eyes teary, face deformed in a mixture of pain and resentment towards the seraphim angel. Lute can’t help but hate her guts right now. For hiding the fact that Adam is still alive. He fell into the depths of Hell, but Adam, a piece of her she thought it died inside her heart, is still alive. And she found out only because she overheard Sera and the higher angels talking about it at a meeting.

“Lute, no matter how many times you come here to beg on your knees, I can’t let you go to Hell” Sera says. Her voice is resolute, but a grain of sadness can be heard.

“But I mourned him! I saw Adam die in my arms and you’re keeping me away from him? How cruel can you be, Sera?!”

“Me and the other seraphim angels are ourselves still trying to figure out this situation. It’s very delicate, we can’t jump to conclusions”.

“Can’t you just take him back?!”

“It’s not easy like that, Lute. There’s…something that keeps him there. Not only judgement. We can’t bring Adam back right now”.

Lute falls on her knees, her watery eyes planted on the floor. Her wings close around her, in a way to comfort herself. Then, her fingers clench, clawing the floor. She grits her teeth, pushing the tears back. She looks up at Sera, her eyes are pitiful. She doesn’t care. Lute would do whatever it takes, even beg again and again.

“Please, Sera. I promise I won’t try to take him back. But please, let me just see Adam again once. I just want to see him with my eyes and then I’ll stop crying for your fucking help until we figure out how to save him”.

Sera finally directly interlocks eyes with Lute. She feels every inch of her burning, angry desire of seeing Adam again, the one person she stood by for eternity. Sera sighs, massaging her temples with the tip of her fingers. Then, she looks at Lute again, her face as serious as ever.

“Alright, Lute. But please, don’t do anything unwise. I’ll give you some time”.

Lute gets up, an incredulous expression on her face. She nods, her heart is pounding in her chest. She’ll see him again. Adam, the First Man, her idiot, arrogant, egomaniac of a Commander. The one she stood by all her life, who she grew to love in her own way.

“Thank you, Sera. I promise we’ll find a way to bring Adam back”.

Sera doesn’t say anything. She just tightly presses her lips together and looks away, in a very, very distant place. She looks sorry. But Lute doesn’t have time to second guess her statements, she just has to see Adam. With a snap of fingers, Sera opens a portal. And, without hesitation, Lute flies in. Speeding through crimson skies and clouds, Lute asks herself why Sera opened the portal right above the Hazbin Hotel, which appears to be rebuilt after the last Extermination. The one that took Adam away from him. Why would Adam be at the Hotel? There’s no rational reason. However, that’s not her concern right now. What matters is that she gets to finally see Adam again.

Suddenly, Lute stops mid-air. She saw a frame while flying around the Hotel. Still meters and meters high, Lute spots him.

“Adam!” she exclaims, a wide smile spreading across her face, one she lost along with him.

He’s different. His robe is now stained of dark colors, horns sprouted on his head and his golden wings are now of a deep, coal black. But it’s still Adam. He’s sitting on the Hotel sign, holding an electric guitar in his lap. Lute’s breathing becomes erratic. How much time has passed. Before thinking that he was dead, and after begging to see him once again. And now he’s here, and she’s here again. With no more hesitation, Lute starts zipping towards him.

But then, something stops her. She freezes, her body stiff, she tightens her fists around her angelic spear. Someone is there with Adam. Lute didn’t notice at first, but it’s definitely a sinner. You. A female demon with wings, sitting right next to him. You’re looking at Adam, your legs swinging in the air underneath. Adam seems to be playing something on his guitar right now, a quiet tune, humming words that Lute from her high spot can’t hear. He alternates between looking at his own fingers strumming the guitar and then meeting your eyes. Lute can see the relaxed and mesmerized smile on your face. What is even happening? Why is Adam with a sinner? Why is he playing the guitar with you? There’s something behind all of this. Lute needs to find out. Reincarnating in Hell probably made him powerless, she needs to protect him, especially from filthy demons like you.

Suddenly, Adam stops playing the guitar. He puts it aside, and keeps his eyes on you. And then, you move. You put your legs on Adam’s sides, squatting down right in front of him with your elbows pressed against your knees. Lute clenches the angelic spear harder, about to rush towards you to stop you from hurting Adam. Of course you’re doing something to him. You’re probably about to bewitch him, or take advantage of him to strike when he leasts expects it. But, once again, Lute has to stop. You had reached out with a hand towards Adam. Instead of doing any harm, you just touch some strands of his hair with the tip of your fingers, stroking them oh-so-delicately. A lingering smile is permanently impressed on your features, your eyes lost in Adam’s. As Adam feels your light touch, he smiles back. He brings a hand to your face and places it on the side of it, stroking your cheekbone with a thumb. His black wings and yours close around each other, in a sort of hug.

And Lute stands there, horrified. She recognizes that smile Adam is giving you. With his eyebrows arched upwards, his lips so soft and his face looking at you so fondly. It’s the same smile he reserved to her when he died in her arms. The same smile burned in her mind every time she went to sleep and thought it was a gift for her and only her. A distraught expression contorts Lute’s face as she can’t do anything but watch.

Lute finally understands. She understands when she manages to read Adam’s lips and yours when you reply to him “I do too”. You aren’t bewitching him. It’s such an absurd and terrible situation, she feels crumbling on the inside. Weren’t her and Adam supposed to fight sinners? Didn’t they promise that they would always have each other’s back against demons? Adam falling out of Heaven was a mistake, for sure. But this is a choice. Lute knows from the way Adam is now leaning towards you, that this is his choice, not the result of a devilish spell. Adam means it, she knows. She knew the second Adam smiled at you in the same way he did to her the day he died. There’s a love she can’t understand but she knows it’s here between you and Adam. But why. Wasn’t she the only always by his side? Golden tears start rolling down Lute’s pale cheeks, as she feels her grip on the angelic spear get more and more lose.

When you and Adam kiss, Lute asks herself what happened to the Adam she knew. What did he become. Is there something left of her and him? Or is it just you and Adam now? Adam, who swore to Lute that he would kill every sinner left in Hell, who is now kissing you and holding your face in such a loving way. She was by his side when he died. Who did you think you were to stand by him in that way? You weren’t the one who fought with him for centuries. Who put up with his lame pranks and childish behavior that she ended up getting so fond of. You probably were trying to end his life the day he died during the Extermination, in Lute’s arms.. You weren’t the one holding onto his halo every time memories of him would come back. Lute knows it. She lost Adam a second time. And as soon as she realizes it, her eyes still fixed on you and Adam tenderly kissing, she mumbles in a shaky voice.

“Sera…”

The portal immediately flashes open behind her. Sera had been watching Lute the whole time, and knew that this would happen. She tried to warn her. That things weren’t the same, that it wasn’t just her and Adam anymore right now. As holy light invests Lute, she looks at Adam one last time. His soft smile after you and him pull away from the kiss, your hand still caressing the strands of hair falling on his forehead, trying to put them back in place. She looks at a deep, unconditional love she knows well.

Lute knows. Turning back with her eyes squeezed shut, Lute flies back in Heaven as the portal closes behind her.

—

"the soul that you bring to the table, the one that makes me sing in a minor key"

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam #adam x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel lute #lute #adam x lute #guitarspear #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam x you #writers on tumblr #angst #hazbin hotel adam fanfiction #vivziepop

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meiluu · 5 months

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“Touch Her, and I’ll Kill You”

Leon S. Kennedy/ AFAB!Reader [no gendered pronouns, if there are let me know so I can fix it :D] cw: SMUT 18+, blood & gore, Leon goes feral, protective Leon, Plaga!Leon. Terms you may not be familiar with and their meanings: Round- the entire bullet and its casing, the bullet is the tip and the casing is the metal that surrounds it and holds gun powder which allows for the bullet to travel when the gun powder is ignited. Magazine- the term for rounds that are incased in either a type of metal or hard plastic and feed into a handgun or a rifle from the bottom. It is not the same as a ‘clip’.

not edited

Leon pov.

Leon was beyond pissed, this mission to save the presidents' daughter had gone from bad to fucking horrible. He was lucky enough to have another agent along with him, you. Someone who Leon cared for-trusted and you had been separated from him and Ashley. And he was losing what last bit of sanity he had left, he knew that you were strong, capable and so smart. All logic pointed to you being able to hold your own until they were able to find you, or until you found them. But Leon's heart was overruling his brain, taking full control, as his mind was in overdrive as it pushed each of his senses and his knowledge to try and find you. And all of this was pushed into the extremes now because of Leon being infected with the Las Plaga.

Saddler wished he could control the lethality that Leon possessed but the Plaga that he had been infected with seemed wholly under Leon's control and wouldn't respond to his commands.

With his guns at the ready, knife sharp enough to cut through anything, Leon was prepared to go to hell and back to get you. Having heard some spanish grumbles from one of the infected villagers giving him a much needed lead to find you. The chill air of the night nipping at his arms, the darkness of the night keeping him concealed as he made his way to a decrepit building. Turning back to make sure that Ashley was still in the secure spot he left her in- satisfied that she wasn't following him, he continued onward. Gun at the ready as he silently made his way into the building, once inside he made quick work of scanning his surroundings seeing no infecteds around, he moved further in. Footsteps light, measured breathing as Leon moved with a purpose, but that all falters when he hears your enraged cry.

There are hundreds if not thousands of stories out there that talk about feeling so angry that you see red. Stories of people blacking out as they fight whoever it was that threatened them or someone they cared about. That was not the case here. Leon has never felt so focused than now, as he ran to the sound of your cry. Reaching a room with dozens of infecteds along with a grotesque monster trying to give you the las plaga. What was only a few seconds, felt like an eternity in Leon's mind. His vision had completely zeroed in on the monster in front of you, his mind coming up with the perfect way to get you out and kill everything within this room. Then he was moving.

Firing off three rounds into the monster, in its faltered state it let go of you, letting you fall to the hard floor below you. Running towards you in long strides, Leon grabs your arm flinging you behind him- sliding you across the floor towards the entranceway of the room. Unnatural strength that only the las plaga could give him, using every facet to his advantage.

By the time the creature had gained it bearings Leon was right in its face, grabbing onto the creatures deformed face- bringing it down to ground. Smashing its skull into the concrete floor, its dark red blood splattering onto the ground and onto him. Raising his head he saw the swarm of infecteds running towards him- quickly aiming his sights onto the closest ones. Seven more rounds leave his gun, seven infected fall to the ground with 9mm holes through their skulls. Hearing the click of an empty magazine, with not enough time to reload Leon's holstering his gun and grabbing his knife. With an infected near inches from his face, he's stabbing the knife into its skull- a satisfied squelch greets Leon's ears. Its face falls as the life in its eyes is smothered out. Retching his knife from the skull, he's swinging wide cutting another infected’s neck-nearly taking its head off its shoulders. Both of their bodies crumbled to the ground- but there are more headed his way.

Eyes that no longer held that sky blue color but instead were a red crimson with black veins standing out against his skin that became more prominent as he fought. With the last infected slumping to the ground with its decapitated head being carelessly flung to the floor. Breathing hard, shoulders rising in falling as Leon gains control over his breathing again. Satisfied that there was no more threats within the room he's turning back to where you were still sat near the entrance. Your face was marred with a shocked expression, a mix of fear and awe at what you had just witnessed. "Are you ok?" Leon's voice is husky with exertion, your eyes meet his as you nod your head. With quick long strides Leon closes the distance between you two.

Picking you up from the floor like you weighed nothing bringing you into his embrace, burying his head into the crook of your neck inhaling your mouth-watering scent. Letting it ground him, he had found you and you were okay. His arms were wrapped tight around your waist, he felt your arms hesitantly wrap around his shoulders. "I'm okay, Leon. Are you?" your voice was nervous. Not that you didn't secretly relish with the embrace from someone who you had been crushing on for awhile but after what you saw you were a bit afraid of pushing him too far. Though somewhere in the back of your mind you knew Leon would never hurt you- even with the plaga, within him. "Yes." a short and gruff reply was all you got from him.

"Where's Ashley?"

"Safe."

"Ok, lets go meet back up with her so we can get you both help."

"No."

"Leon-" unable to finish as Leon warm tongue is licking a long stripe from the base of your neck to the spot right below your ear. "You smell so good, we don't have to leave now." his voice is smooth and full of desire. "But we-" a soft gasp interrupts you, as Leon gently bites into the sensitive skin of your neck. “Let me have you.” His words are rough as he says them into your skin. Your mind blanks, there’s no way this is happening right now! “Leon- right here?!”

“Yes here, now.” No hesitation to be found in his proclamation. Maybe it was the fact that his scent was overwhelming your senses or maybe it was the fact that you’ve dreamed about being with him (maybe not like this). Whatever the case your mind was giving into his advances just like your body had already surrendered to him. Not that there was really ever a want to ‘fight’.

“Ok, but what if someone comes in here?"

“I’ll hear them before they get that close to us.” So assured of himself, no room for doubt. But you never had reason to doubt him and his capabilities.

And with some of your worries eased Leon is lifting his head from your neck. Locking his gaze with yours, his once beautiful baby blue orbs are a vicious red with black veins to accentuate them. You knew this was because of the plaga but it seemed that he had full control over himself- unlike the other people who were infected. But your thoughts are halted by his soft lips claiming yours.

Eyes fluttering shut at the sweetness of his taste, a gentle dance that quickly turns heavy as Leon nips at your bottom lip- pushing in his tongue to dance with yours. A rumble of satisfaction vibrates through Leon's chest, the intoxicating taste of you has his body burning with need. Pulling you both down onto the hard floor, lips still locked together- soft gasps of air echoing out in the space around you. Your hands are running through Leon's soft blond locks as his hands drift down. Rubbing his thumbs over your pebbling nipples eliciting a whimper from your swollen lips, hands leaving a fiery trail down towards your navel but then he is pulling his hands away from you. A pathetic sound leaves your lips at the lose of his warmth but you are quick to shut up when your eyes catch onto his teeth pulling off his gloves from his hands, discarding them like trash.

And as quickly as those gloves where thrown away are his hand back onto you, pulling up your shirt, his calloused hands caress the soft flesh of your navel. One hand travel up back to your left breast as the other dips below the waist of your pants going straight to your neglected clit. "Leon." a breathy moan of his name leaves you as he begins to swirl your clit with his thumb while two of his fingers work you open- stretching you out. The hand that had been massaging your breast retreats from under your shirt as it goes to unstrap your leather harness where your empty gun rests in. Clattering to the ground Leon pulls your shirt off of you- freeing your tits. Leaving your mouth his head is headed down taking a perked nipple into his warm mouth- swirling his tongue and softly nipping at it. Making sure not abandon the other nipple as he gives the same treatment to it.

With all of his combined menstruations your already close to your peak, fingers diligently pumping into you at a stead pace, clit buzzing in ecstasy while your chest radiates pleasured tingles throughout your body. Mouth hanging open to allow all your noises of pleasure to run free, but before you can reach that blinding peak Leon is harshly removing himself from you. A cry leaves you, you were so close, eyes raising from where they had been watching Leon worship your breasts. Now your eyes are watching Leon as he sits up on his knees, undoing his belt nearly ripping it in half. Then shoving his pants down along with his boxers- freeing his cock. Precum dibbles down the angry tip- weeping in anticipation. His hands soon find your pants yanking them down and off of you along with your drenched panties.

Your arousal hits Leon at full force now that there was no barriers between your cunt and him. Every basic instinct within him coiled with his care for you and then amplified by the plaga had turned him to a much more raw version of himself. This, what he was doing to you, was something so much more than just fuckin someone who he cared about or found attractive. (Both of those things were true). He needed you like he needed air, you had always balanced him out and you both were always so in sync with one another. Maybe it was the plaga within his veins, but at the end of the day, in the back of Leon's mind he knew all of this was true. He needed to fuck you so that you knew how much he needed you- in his plaga riddled mind combined with the past adrenaline of trying to find you and nearly going insane without you beside him- it made perfect sense to him. You were his just like how he was yours, wholly and completely yours.

He killed for you and would do it again without hesitation, he would search to the ends of the earth to find you if you became lost. And so, warm and calloused hands pulled you to him- no space left between- cock bumping against your clit and then was pushed into your wet heat. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the fullness, something you hadn't experience before. His pelvis meeting yours, hilt buried deep within you, he had reached heaven and nothing could ever compare to this feeling of being in your embrace. Grabbing your legs and placing them upon his shoulders, leaning down until his face was right above yours- with his hands now down below at the base of your spine lifting you up for him to fuck into as deep as possible.

Rough and deep was the pace Leon set, your moans unashamedly are cried out into the air around you. Not like you had a chance to smother your noises- how could you when he was hitting the inner most parts of you? With the tip of his cock bruising your g-spot as it sweetly kissed your cervix.

He was utterly ruining you, nothing would ever top this, you could never fuck anyone else without thinking of him. But would you want to fuck anyone else besides him? No, he was so perfect, the two of you fit each other so well why would you want anything else?

Deep groans mixed with husky moans tumble from his beautiful mouth, hypnotizing you in their melody. Your mind was dripping out of your ears to make room for the mind-numbing pleasure his cock was giving you. Every vein and ridge massaging your walls just right, the girth stretching you out to near pain and his length was able to mold you into the perfect cocksleeve for him. "Fuck-Fuck," Leon's words are rough with exertion, but he never once slowed down his pace.

Skin slapping against skin, the lovely sound of your cunt squelching with ever thrust of his cock into you, all in tandem with his full balls hitting your ass. Your peaking is coiling tight within your belly, and it snaps before you can even voice it to Leon, cunt erratically spasming around him milking him for his own release. With a couple more thrust Leon is burying himself as deep as he can get, as his balls tighten, releasing every drop of cum within your warm cunt. Pants leave him as you both try to come down from that earth shattering orgasm. And just as you think Leon's going to pull out of you he's turning you onto your stomach, leaning over you- shadowing your body with his- as he starts fucking with just as much vigor as before.

"Leon!"

"I'm not done with you yet-"

Mind going hazy with pleasure as your cunt lovingly continues to suck in his cock- obviously on the same page with Leon. You needed more and he was going to deliver on that. Somewhere in the back of your mind you hoped that Ashley was safe, where ever she was because you and Leon would be here for a long while.

*hehe i've cooking this one for awhile, hopefully y'all enjoy it >:) *

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reality-detective · 7 months

Text

TEXT TAKEN FROM JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER MASONIC CREED

We will keep their lives short and their minds weak while pretending to do the opposite. We will use our knowledge of science and technology in subtle ways so that they never see what is happening. We will use soft metals, aging accelerators and sedatives in food and water as well as in the air. They will be covered in poisons wherever they turn.

The soft metals will make them lose their minds. We will promise to find a cure from our many funds, and yet we will give them more poison. Chemical poisons will be absorbed through the skin of idiots who believe that certain hygiene and beauty products presented by great actors and musicians, will bring eternal youth to their faces and bodies, and through their thirsty and hungry mouths, we will destroy their minds and systems of internal organs. reproduction. However, their children will be born as disabled and deformed and we will hide this information. 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think for yourselves #think about it #think for yourself #do your homework #do some research #do your own research #ask yourself questions #question everything #water #poisoning humanity #toxic chemicals #toxic water #contaminated water

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thedevilspatronstf · 3 months

Note

I want a beer than can turn me into a hairy, super muscular cigar smoking bear.

You burst through the big doors of the devil's lounge and make your way up to the elevator. That Peter-guy you met earlier told you where to meet the man you could fulfill your contract with and turn you into the man you always desired to be.

There is a hidden button underneath the others, and you press it multiple times. You're shaking in excitement since Peter told you about his own transformation. Even though he told you that this wasn't at all what he thought it would be, you didn't listen to him anymore.

As the elevator doors close, you smile, but then the elevator goes down instead of up. Like the cables were cut, the whole room around you drops at rapid speed, causing you to desperately hold on to the golden railing all around you. For what feels like an eternity, you fall deeper and deeper, until it all suddenly stops.

Your head is spinning as you fall to the ground. What is happening?

The golden doors open up, revealing a beautiful, big room with antique furniture, big armchairs, sofas, and a huge wooden, standing clock in the midst of countless, even exotique, decorations. It's so hot down here, and when you take the first step inside the room, it feels like your skin is melting.

You look around the room until you find a well-dressed man sitting on a pompous throne.

"Speak." The guy said, and a sudden thought rushes through your mind.

'Be careful around Ludwig; he's not what he seems to be.'

Peter told you this when you met him, but whatever. You have a contract and a right to become what you want to be.

"I want a beer that can turn me into a hairy, super-muscular cigar-smoking bear." You shout as your heart beats so, so fast.

Ludwig tilts his head barely, starring at you with cold, judging as before he steadies his head with one hand.

With a wave of his other hand, an ancient-looking glass comes into being right in front of him, and, at the same time, it's filled with a yellow-ish brown liquid.

The glass moves toward Ludwig as he proceeds to smell it. "Beer. A foll's beverage." In disgust, he waves his hand again, ordering the glass to glide over to you.

Your eyes widen the closer it gets, and your whole body shakes. This is it—the moment you've been waiting for. But it stops right in front of you and begins to tilt slowly. Panicking, you jump underneath it, lift your head, and open your mouth.

Beer pours from the glass, covering not only your face but your clothes as well. Luckily, most of it enters your body through your mouth or nose.

You're expecting a bitter yet delicious taste, but it's nothing like you hoped it would be. It's much thicker and more sticky, causing you to swallow multiple times to get it down your throat as more and more enters your mouth.

However, you feel its effect right away.

As it runs down your throat, it's heating up rapidly and burning what's feeling like your insides. You grab your throat and start coughing heavily. The liquid is covering your entire face and upper body; you can't see or hear anything.

Your skin starts burning as well, causing you to let out a low, breathless scream.

Yet, your body is going through something even more intense.

You wipe beer out of your eyes, and in horror, you see your hands deform and grow much bigger and bulkier. At the same time, with every breath you take, you feel your entire upper body enlarging steadily.

A burning sensation erupts inside your belly, forcing it to widen quickly, much to your dislike. You're feeling nauseous as more and more of the sticky liquid covers your throat and mouth.

With a bone-crushing sound, your upper body grows bigger, causing your shirt to be torn apart and exposing a still-growing chest. What's left of your shirt drops to the floor and catches fire.

Just then, it feels like a million little needles press through your chest, and you look down, watching dark hair break through your entire chest.

The feeling spreads to your neck, and you instinctively grab it out of pain, and more and more hair forms a thick beard.

As the pain and pressure get more intense, you feel your junk expand as well. This sends shivers of pure pleasure through every fiber of your body.

You want to feel this and run a hand down your own body to your crotch. It feels so good to be touching your new, large member, so you let out a low moan. You're rubbing your cock through your jeans, making it rock-hard in an instant.

Underneath your hand, your jeans widen before they turn into even tighter leather pants. You can't tell if it got tighter or if your thighs grew larger. Anyway, it feels extremely good. Squeezing your member firmly, you can tell it's already leaking slightly.

Leaning your head back, you give in to this feeling, and your head spins even faster.

But then you hear someone cackling quietly, and you remember who's with you. Unable to move or form a coherent thought, you watch your surroundings shift quickly.

The beautiful decor vanishes, and huge trees erupt from the ground. Underneath your feet, the wooden floor turns into ashes, and the ceiling breaks open, revealing a gray, cloudy sky.

Once your head stops spinning, you drop to your knees, looking down toward the ground.

"Where are we?" You cough, exhausted and drained.

"Oh, somewhere in North America, I think." You hear Ludwig say, and you lift your head to find him standing a few feet away with his back turned to you.

"What the fuck?" You raise your voice, but he just lifts his hand. It feels like a truck is standing on top of your chest. Unable to breathe or move, you look at him, turning around.

"Manners." He growls deeply and looks at you with disdain burning in his eyes.

"You just burst into my office and demanded to be heard." He takes a few steps toward you before he bows down, just enough to look into your eyes while keeping his head high. "Have some respect for my craft."

The pressure on your chest subsides for a moment, giving you a chance to catch your breath.

"I'm almost inclined to turn you into a real bear." He smirks, and as you try to say something, a deep, animalistic grunt leaves your lips.

Shocked, you wrap a hand around your thick neck. What is happening to you?

"But." Ludwig tilts his head again.

"But?" You try to say it, but you just growl like a wild animal, causing him to smirk even more.

"I will give you a chance." He turns around and walks a few feet away.

All of a sudden, you're released and drop to the ground again. Slowly, you get up, and for the first time, you look down at your new body. You feel and look so good.

"Somewhere around here, there should be a little town." Ludwig says, looking into the sky. "Find it, and I shall leave you to your new life."

He turns to you, licking his lips and running a hand through his well-groomed beard.

"What if I can't?" You ask him pleadingly.

"If you can't, I will find you instead. And make you my new plaything." He raises an eyebrow, and images flash through your mind—your possibly future, bound, strapped to a wall, forced to be an unwilling toy for this man.

Holding your head, you hear him chuckle.

"5 Days." He waves his hand again, causing a cigar to emerge inside your hand. "As a show of good will." With a snap of his fingers, the cigar ignites.

Before your eyes, he vanishes, leaving you to find this town or be his slave.

#body swap #masculine smoker #body switch #male body swap #male body switch #male tf #male transformation #bear tf #bear transformation #thedevilspatrons #male body change

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pika-ace · 1 year

Text

Disney Knowledge Yuu: Masquerade Edition Part 2 (aka Yuu gets Fucking Mad)

Holy shit, things went from 0 to 100 REAL QUICK! Anyway, SPOILERS AHOY!

Rollo: (covers his mouth with a starry handkerchief that looks like Esmerelda's scarf)

Yuu: Oh HEEEEEELL NO, I ain't trusting this kid for a SECOND!

Silver: Why not?

Yuu: Call it a feeling >:/

-----------------

Rollo: There's a festival being held today and you're all welcome to attend... (softly) Ugh, I hate the festival...

Yuu: Oooh, Topsy-Turvy Day!

Rollo: How did you know that was the name??

Yuu: Lucky guess...(softly) and I got my eye on you >8/

-------------------

Noble Bell College: (taking about how Frollo was a Righteous Judge and did nothing wrong)

Yuu: …I hope this place doesn’t believe in God cause I’m about to go FULL HERETIC ON THEIR ASSES

Riddle: Wait STOP-

—————————

Azul: I-I swear the gargoyle just moved!

Yuu: (gets up close) *whispers* Victor...? Are you alive...? :0c

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Epel: Aww look at these alphabet blocks; A for Apple, B for baby, F for festival

Yuu: *snorts*

Rollo: Evidently the words used to be more complicated; a shame, really

Yuu: (sarcastically) Damn, what a shame that kids can no longer learn the classic alphabet of Abomination, Blasphemy, Contrition, Damnation, and Eternal damnation

Rollo: O_O’

Deuce: …Are you okay…?

—————————

Shopkeeper: (holds up dreamcatcher necklace) It is said when you hold this, the city is yours

Yuu: (rolls eyes) Actually, it’s ‘When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand’

Team Azul: …

Yuu: (sighs) It’s a map of the city -_-

Team Azul: Oooooooh! :0

--------------------

Rollo: These handkerchiefs are smoke bombs; children use them for pranks

Silver: I'll take one for Lilia :)

Yuu: Me too; if Esmerelda could make use of these then I can too

Idia: Huh...?

—————————

Trein: They used these underground river ways to hide people

Riddle: Ah yes, they called it The Palace

Yuu: *coughs* Court of Miracles...

Sebek: What was that?

---------------------

Rollo: This is a town goat; they wander the city

Sebek: DO NOT APPROACH MASTER MALLEUS, GOAT!!

Yuu: Don't yell at Jolly! >:O

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Jamil: Apparently these curly wooden shavings are the classic hairstyle of this city

Yuu: *thinks for a moment* Oh wow, that's a REALLY obscure easter egg, even I barely remember the Gargoyle song O_O

Malleus: Gargoyle WHAT?

---------------------

Rollo: Don't you hate magic? Isn't it the worst? You understand right?

Yuu: ...If you tell me to choose between you or the fire, I'm gonna throw up >:(

—————————

Festival leader: The Kind Bell Ringer was adopted by the Righteous Judge who saw past his deformities and loved him as his son. Their bond was strong and special and the Bell Ringer used his teacher's lessons to save the city

Yuu: ...(starts towards the stage)

Silver: Where are you going??

Yuu: (rolling up their sleeves) To commit a HATE CRIME >8(

Trein: YUU-

Yuu: THAT IS NOT HOW THE STORY GOES AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!!! >8(

Ruggie: Holy shit-

---------------------

Rollo: (absorbing the magic with flowers and ready to kill literally everyone)

Yuu: So I was wrong about the racism and the lust, but the genocide was spot on. …Small victories, I guess

-----------------------

((Drama Bonus))

(Yuu spends the whole trip trying to convince the others that Rollo is not to be trusted but no one believes them, and then when shit goes down, Yuu is standing back in no danger while everyone else is fighting)

Deuce: Yuu, help us! We're getting attacked by the flowers!

Yuu: Hmm, okay Deuce. But first, a deep sip from a very tall glass of 'I TOLD YOU SO' >:/ (starts slowly drinking an imaginary glass)

Riddle: YUU!!!!

((This event isn't done yet, so we'll see if I can get more out of it ;3))

#glorious masquerade #twst glorious masquerade #twisted wonderland #twst #yuu #twst yuu #twst mc #yuu twisted wonderland #the hunchback of notre dame #judge frollo #disney knowledge yuu #malleus draconia #rollo twisted wonderland #twst rollo

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fairestar · 6 months

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“awakened imagination” by neville goddard · a summary

this post is the first of a forthcoming set in which i summarise and simplify neville goddard’s book “awakened imagination”. you can read the original here, and you can check other summaries here. please note this book is heavily reliant on his religion and, as much as i will try to make it as non-religious and simple as possible, there are still passages and comparisons that i can't take out without hindering neville words’ meaning. take these posts as if i were taking notes for future reference during class.

❁ chapter I : who is your imagination?

“imagination” is the kind of word that has been used for so long it has gathered plenty of different meanings, which often oppose each other: thought, hallucination, suspicion... neville identifies “imagination” with the power that makes achievement of our goals inevitable. there is only one thing in the world: imagination, and all our deformations of it. imagination is the very gateway to reality.

according to blake, man is only a natural organ subject to sense; the eternal body of man is imagination: god itself, the divine body. by imagination we have the power to be anything we desire to be; only as we live by imagination can we truly be said to live at all.

with this book, neville wants you to function imaginatively, to open your “immortal eyes inwards into the worlds of thought”, where you have all of your heart's desires ripe and ready to harvest. imagination is the hidden mystery from the ages, the hope of glory.

“every man is mary and birth to christ must give”.

imagination's birth and growth is the gradual transition from a god of tradition to a god of experience. if the birth of imagination in you seems slow it is because you are unwilling to let go of that comfortable, but false, grasp to tradition.

man is the garden in which christ —imagination— sleeps. man is awakened by his imagination getting lifted up to heaven and being made god-like. in the moment of awakening, he meets the test of sonship, of his imagination being christ: the forgiveness of sin (“sin” meaning failing to achieve one's aim in life, falling short of one's ideal; “forgiveness” meaning identification of man with his aim/ideal in life). this tests man's ability to inhabit the nature of his opposite (go from the state of the undesirable self to the state of the desirable self), to perform the work of an awakened imagination.

is imagination power sufficient to, not only enable us to assume, but to execute the idea too?

suppose i desire to be in some other place, but i lack the social and financial resources to do so; could i, just by imagining myself in such place, cause the physical realization? would only my imagination be sufficient to incarnate my desire? does imagination understand what is deducted from the senses? does it recognise the outer world?

suppose i am capable of sustaining the feeling of the wish fulfilled, of acting with continuous imagination; will my assumption harden into fact? and if it does, will i find that my actions throughout this period have been reasonable? after assuming that i already am that which i desire, must i constantly guide myself by “reasonable” ideas and actions so as to cause the fulfillment of my assumption?

the answer to all these questions is that an assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact; continuous imagination is sufficient for all things, all of our “reasonable” plans and actions won't ever make up for our lack of continuous imagination.

“imagine that you are and you shall be”.

truth depends upon the intensity of imagination, not upon external facts. you become what you imagine. you have a self-determined history. imagination is the truth, the life revealed.

but the thing is, we cannot get hold of truth with the logical mind (stop thinking and worrying about the how! logic does not come into play here, let it go, you don't need it), it cannot be enclosed by facts: as we awaken to the imaginative life, we discover that imagining a thing is to create it, that true judgement doesn't need to conform to the outer world to which it relates (this means, the truth doesn't always look the same as the 3D does at that moment).

the imaginative man does not deny the reality of the sensuous outer world (3D), but knows that the inner world of continuous imagination (4D) is the force by which the outer world comes to pass. he sees the 3D and all its situations as projections of the 4D. to him, everything is a manifestation of the mental activity present in his imagination, without the outer, reasonable man being aware of it. he knows that everyone must become aware of their inner activity, and the relationship between the inner and outer worlds.

the moment you discover that your imagination is god-like, you accomplish acts that can only be described as miraculous. but until you realise that everything you come across is part of yourself, you won't accept that you are the one that has chosen the conditions of your life, that they are in affinity to your mental activity. you must firmly believe that reality lies within you, not without; although others have bodies and lives of their own, their reality is rooted in you and ends in you.

it is a marvelous thing to discover that you can imagine yourself into the state of your wish fulfilled and escape the prison of ignorance. embrace this new knowledge and let go of your past beliefs for they're untrue. live in continuous imagination and make your desires come to pass.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ© fairestar, 2023.

#💐; evolve #law of assumption #awakened imagination #neville goddard #edward art #manifestation #fairestar

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kibbygutzzzz · 2 months

Note

I saw your post about Feng and arcade in the New map, went to check your page bc it is funny and got jumpscared by your reblog of my art

Anyways, hiiii🌸

ooga booga

but also im very much a "the unknown is dwight" theory/au truther, although my favorite thing about the unknown is how up to interpretation he is!

getting into my theory however, first off, i mean. look at them.

same hair and the same pants. however, dwight has short sleeves while the unknowns are rolled up. so take that how you will.

there were also three lines of his in the lobby that stood out to me.

"i lived in dungeons long forgotten."

"i'll send you a postcard."

"prepare for the expedition."

the first one could potentially reference the fog itself and the various realms within, the maps the trials take place in. many of which are relics of the past, left to rot.

the last two stick out to me due to dwight having entered the fog on a camping expedition, being abandoned by his coworkers in the woods.

dwight before the fog was already a bit of a questionable person, having drugged his boss in his tome lore. granted, he had no idea it would result in his boss nearly beating someone to death, but it was odd he even did that in the first place.

take this one with a grain of salt as it references a non canonical game, but could give us insight into dwights feelings regarding the fog and being the "leader" of the survivors.

to paraphrase his monologue down to the most telling parts,

"watching wraith get eliminated was the first time in this unending spiral staircase of pain that is my life that ive felt even a modicum of joy."

"every minute that i'm alive is a nightmare."

"please, erase me from this existence. make it so i was never born. pull the plug on this experiment and let my soul be free!"

if this is how he feels about being in that resort for eternity, how do you think he feels leading such an increasingly large group of people? in a realm such as the fog?

dwight most likely finally went off the edge, and the entity took that opportunity to turn him into it's newest killer, possibly using him to lure in new survivors as well.

as for the the unknown being so violently deformed and twisted, i can see that representing dwights once altruistic ideals being contorted and twisted over time into resentment and a desire for power.

although. this is just a theory. i wonder what kind of theory :3c

#what if we call this au....... undwight #dbd #dead by daylight #dwight fairfield #the unknown #hooked on you #killer dwight #the unknown dbd #dbd theory #dbd spoilers #tw body horror #all things wicked

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bloody-teared-angel · 2 months

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I'm gonna take a wild guess they haven't read any of my other posts.

(Don't send hate or harassment to this person, please. I might get heated in this writing so, if I go out of line, stear me back in)

So um...Miss Medrano isn't some random person anymore. Random person would be a fanfic writer with no name to themselves, writing a fic for funsies and got dragged for it - which don't do it unless it has some really effed up stuff and issues behind it. (Stockholm for example)

Miss Medrano has enough money, to hire BROADWAY ACTORS into her shows - even f KESHA - her show getting picked up by A24 and being stremed on Amazon Prime. This is hardly a random person.

The issue is, Hell, doesn't feel like Hell. It's just second Earth with funny colored people that have deformities (horns) and have a bit more hairs on them (Hellhounds). Sinners don't really suffer - unless they sign a contract to an Overlord - then they just straight up chilling.

Heaven is depicted as this big hypocritical mess that doesn't even know its OWN LAWS.

You know there are good ways in criticising Heaven and the Big Allfather upstairs while still keeping the core of things.

That's why Horror movies about Hell (some) that depict them in their own unique way work because they keep the core of things the same.

Hell is supposed to be punishment, eternal torment for the sins they commited while alive.

The last Hellraiser movie did it well - bit the one with almost incest but the other one.

I'm not going to delve deeper since I already did in my few posts that I made.

What's also really funny to me that they called Miss Medrano some random person on the internet.

#hazbin hotel critique #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critique #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critical #anti vivziepop #anti helluva boss #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #don't harass anyone in this post

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vamqyr3 · 1 year

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↳ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY // DO YOU KNOW THAT? 𐚱

CW// ANGST, YELLING, HES NOT A GOOD BF, ARGUING, CRYING, GN!READER, ECT.

NOTES// shout out to Eric by Mitski for summing up the entire fic

His name is fitting. Ghost, The Ghost, untouchable, phlegmatic, glacial and dead. You’re dating the outline of a man. Rubbing elbows with half committed looks, restraining touches, you’re kissing the back that turns to you.

You’re in love with the man that buzzed your phone pleasing sympathy, begging mercy, asking for your love. In love with the way he shadows your moves, watching over you from room to room. With the man who helps you unstick lids, who opens doors and changes lightbulbs.

But The Ghost is illusive, he’s still somewhere back in Manchester, England, screaming for change bolted to a child’s mattress. That’s where he goes with every step father from a bullet casing. He’ll return there every time he bellows out of the house and drives off fresh from an argument.

It’s fine, Simon Riley will come back all the same. But Ghost is no where to be seen under the sheets. You could only hope to date all of that man.

“You didn’t even say anything about the new mugs I got for us, did you see them?”

“I told you I didn’t, I’ve been busy,”

Whatever came next died on your tongue. You could only hope to say, ‘Sorry, no Si’ I forgot.’ ‘You didn’t do that at all, you’re too busy.’ ‘You’re always busy.’

Simon Riley is, he is ever working, forever strained, eternally choked. Which is exactly why you sucked it up, untwisted your lashes and smoothed the ditches in your forehead. It’s a mug either way, just be patient with him.

And you’ll always be, you’ll play nice. You would choke down insecurity, regret, your needs, wants, ambitions and put them all together to mold a new man. He asked you as much, hoped you would hear him out in sincerity as he asked for your love. Wished you would return his hesitance with kindness, rigidity with sandpaper to buff out the deformities in the uncharted waters of commitment still newfound to him. You would do as much, as long as he loved you, gladly, you would do as much.

But as he smelt of frustration, looking everywhere but at you, blanched In the adrenaline of your most resent dispute; You were reminded once again of the carcass you bedded as he reversed in the driveway.

Every now and again you’ll have to solidify his affection in your eyes. Rationalize that there is in fact love behind his emotionless routine, his left footed dance around you and your relationship. Yet still it never felt like warmth, it felt like a schedule, like you were living with an object and you hated it. It didn’t even matter how far away he was from the house, it still felt dumb to cry. It felt foolish to hold your head about your fingers and cover your eyes, curl back into overcast of chair and sit devoid of noise.

You have no reason to move, you hold your breath and beat down any noise to break this palatable stalemate. There’s no reason to text him to come back, to apologize, go racing to the window and watch the headlights blackout. You don’t do anything. Next time he leaves you’d opt to say, ‘Simon, when you go- I know your angry- but just know, if you leave I can’t promise I’ll still be here.’

You would hope he would stop there, turn back, drop to his knees, kiss your eyes and apologize then and there. Realize all the times he’s made you loose sleep over his temper tantrums. You wish he’d peck at your hands and ask you to stay.

But with every aphonic, dusty stilled moment that passes it’s becomes increasingly difficult to ignore how he is in fact not doing any of that and how he probably never will. So, it’s pointless to cry, it won’t change anything.

You feel sick, there’s air running through your head and wiping clean any sense of autonomy. You’re sleepwalking between the minutes that pass as you remain placid in the chair. It’s a proper mess, whatever you were bickering about is irrelevant, you want Ghost back.

Times unintelligible by now, everything surrounding it white noise, unrecognizable and unimportant. You don’t care to move your numb leg, rub out the ache in your fingers, tend to the fingerprints in your temples. You don’t care hear for the crunch of rock under tire rubber, register the cry of the house door opening. It’s all a feedback loop.

He becomes level with the chair, looking, hoping to meet the eyes that disguise behind your shielding hand. You don’t move, you don’t care. He goes for your arm, shaking you a bit in the movement, no change. His face wrinkles and his head stretches higher, no dice.

“Love,” Still nothing.

“M’ sorry,”

“It’s fine, Simon,”

“Pleas-”

“I said it’s fine, Simon.”

Whatever guilt he held before in seeing you so defeated goes burning up with spark of your last response. He’s backing up and finding his words.

“I just told you m’ sorry, there’s no need for you to have a fuckin’ attitude problem,”

And he’s right, you think. He was angry, but he left without snapping. He needs you to have patience with him, like you have before. You inhale, backing into the chair and rake your hands into your eye sockets. Elbows pointed to ceiling fan, bottom lip chapped and shaking with the rest of your face.

“Shut up, Simon, fuck,”

He’s saying something back out of anger, standing upright looking down and digging into you. You hear it, but you don’t listen. You’re just feeling the strain of his dissatisfaction, the sore aftermath of him ripping you apart. Aching, churning, stretching farther into the back of the cushioned seat, trying horribly to close your eyes tighter and plug out your ears. You’ve forbid crying in front of him for so long, as if it would scare him away, it’s surprising to see you do it now.

“Please, please, please be quiet, please,”

“What the f-”

“I said shut up, Simon-Fuck, how hard is it?”

Your lungs are folding with your body, collapsing under the weight of every emotion you’ve swallowed. Eyebrows meeting over your look of sweat and distress.

“Fuck I just don’t even understand why you come home anymore, you see your work more than me, what am I even here for? decoration?”

“Love,”

“Simon please, I’m so fucking tired of pretending to ignore you, Why?”

It’s his turn to be silent. You spiral.

“Why, Simon, did you date me knowing you can’t even love yourself? I feel like a fucking idiot-shit, why did I agree? What did I ever do to deserve this? What the hell did I do wrong?

“Nothing, you didn’t,”

“Am I not pretty? Is that it? Too loud? What? What, Simon? Why don’t you love me?”

“I do,” he’s back down in the floor again, trying to take your cheek in his hands, “don’t you know that?”

“No, how would I? You’ve never told me it before, you don’t act like it. You don’t hold me you don’t spend time with me, talk to me, look at me, nothing. How would I know?” Your body’s turning away from him, escaping into the backrest, garbling nonsense drowning on salt and snot. “I love you, Simon, but I shouldn’t have dated you.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley angst #cod ghost #angst #mw2

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hazbin-hotline · 5 months

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Heavenly Angel ReImagined Concepts

Concept drawings I did for the ReImagined versions of the angels in this AU. Note: While I did take inspiration from Biblical angels for aspects of these designs, the mythology is entirely different. I labeled this as Heavenly Angel just because it’s easier to distinguish from Angel Dust when I eventually post about him.

(The first two are halves of a concept page of general angel design aspects, the drawings on paper are meant for a specific angel that is important in an episode of the Helluva Boss Rewrite. Pardon the Blitzo I drew him entirely from memory there.)

Hot take(?): I do not like the design for the Hazbin angels in the slightest- the Seraphim Sisters are fine I guess, but Adam and Lute just look like recolored Imps with those horns. The strange body shape given to Adam as well throws me off, I think there are plenty of other ways to make his robe design look a little better. That, however, is not entirely the focus of these reimagined angels (however the original Hazbin Angel designs will play a certain role in this rewrite, which will be explained below).

For more details and a full version of the split image, check under the cut!

- The angels have three different forms: their default (which resembles the ones shown here), their more Humanoid form, and their True/Powered Up form.

- Their bodies are made from a sort of liquid metallic substance, which can shapeshift and transform at will. Their ‘hair’ is the most clear example of this on their bodies in the default forms.

- The only Solid piece of their body that cannot transform is their torso, which houses the angel’s ‘core’ (that Eye shown in the image above). When they enter their Full Powered form, their torso opens up and exposes the core as the rest of their body transforms.

- An angel’s rank can be seen in the number of wings they possess on their pendent- More wings indicating a higher position.

- Their wings fold around their bodies and act as a sort of robe when not needed- that aforementioned pendent acts as a sort of ‘magic clasp’ that holds the robe in place.

- When an angel becomes corrupted or ‘falls,’ the liquids of their body begins to melt and deform them into a twisted version of themself. One can see this in the example I gave above of Adam, whose form twisted into something more akin to that of the Hazbin Angel design. Their halos also blacken when they become corrupted, and eventually will break and disappear entirely as they fall from grace.

- These Fallen Angels, while still being immortal, come to possess aspects akin to the weaknesses of mortals- that being, they can now feel pain and suffering, as well as conceive and fall ill. They fell from grace and now will suffer for the rest of eternity.

- Children of these fallen angels will often bear scars that represent ‘what could have been’ as well as possess seemingly random aspects associated with these angels. Ie. Multiple eyes, small wings decorating their limbs, melting, etc.

…

#hazbin hotel critical #rewriting helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #rewrite #my art #myart #concept art #the angels #Hazbin Hotline #hazbin critical #hazbin critique #hazbin hotel au #helluva boss au

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pininghermit · 11 months

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Hiiiii! I love your writing so far and I’m so excited to have found another sub Alucard blog, you have no idea! Could I be able to request a soulmate AU with Alucard? What do you have in mind? 👀

Wait Worth an Eternity (Alucard x Reader)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Summary: to the world, the Tagar are a legend or a figment of the past long gone. None in the world have seen or heard of them for ages. None who speak of them, anyway.

Word Count: 2.2k

AN: hey thanks for requesting this awesome fic. I loved writing this and I may have gone a little over board. I hope you like it and look out for a part 2 if you do like it.

"Leave," you whisper into the air, and the darkness behind you vanishes into the nothingness of the night. Yet two remain next to you, lingering as their forms evaporate.

"Are you sure about this?" your brother whispers as his hand reaches to touch your shoulder. The black mist of his vanishing form engulfs both his hand and your shoulder from the barest contact.

"Allow us to wait here for you," your second brother adds as the night remains quiet as ever. "Come on, are you going to ignore us? We came here for emotional support." The swirling darkness continues to surround you with dramatically offended expressions on their concealed faces.

A looming castle stands in front of you, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it was a wise choice to walk into something you avoided for so long.

You take in the rotting corpses speared in front of the castle doors that lay carelessly ajar. "Visibly welcoming," Aes, your brother, mutters under his breath. "Leave," you repeat, hoping for your brothers to listen to you for once.

You had to do this yourself. No amount of cowardice would stop you from it anymore. "Alright, we will leave for now, but if there is even an iota of doubt or danger, call for us." Maer, next to Aes, turns to you with his form materializing as he offers you his hand.

"I promise," you take your brother's hand and put all your conviction into your expression. Soon both your brothers leave you alone in the company of Castle Dracula and Belmont library.

The past filters into your conscience as your steps lead you to the withering doors of the unkempt castle.

The Tagar are an ancient race, long gone from the face of the world that monsters, humans, and in-betweens live in. They are people of old who came to life with the first breath of the world.

Many legends of the world speak of them as gods of old. Some call them creatures alike to the fea, for they were winged. Well, some of them were.

But none that live now know what they were. For words did not exist when they did. A race from a time so long ago did not speak similar languages as the current ones who freely roam the world do.

To the world, the Tagar are a legend or a figment of the past long gone. None in the world have seen or heard of them for ages. None who speak of them, anyway.

You are part of the Tagar, a legend from long ago. You have lived through ages of the world forming and deforming itself. In doing so, you watched your people build the society and then leave it for the solitude of peace.

The Tagar held the wisdom of age. With the addition of new races into the world, the oldest saw it as the time for their retreat. They held little love for conquering or coveting what they had built with so much love.

In those long years, you too had been a part of the ones who moved into the veiled world with the oldest of the world resided. Maybe the years had left you with much weariness that you need nothing more than peaceful existence besides your family.

You lived concealed in your mountains, valleys, and plains that the other races held no knowledge of. The world protected its oldest in those hidden places. Away from the newer races of its being.

It was in those uneventful hours of peace that you felt it. A tug. The world that your kind left so long ago called for you again. With a renewed urgency, you found yourself being led to the borders of the ancient magic that kept the Tagar hidden.

That day when you barely held yourself from exposing the existence of your kind, you dreamt of the bond that left you restless the entire day. Flashes of gold, silver, and black filled your vision. Swords, books, and coffins were the figments that revealed themselves as time progressed. Pain, anguish, and grief followed as the years went by. That is how you got to know Adrian, son of Count Dracula and a human healer.

You resisted every pull, every urge. The soulmate your elders spoke of had to wait. You would not burden him with your infinite eternity. You would give him decades free of the bond. He should have every right to be his person before he gets to be yours.

You waited for his quest as a savior to end. You waited for him to experience the world he saved, and witnessed him being chained to the land of his trauma. At that moment, you had wanted nothing more than to rescue him from the loneliness and sorrow of his own thoughts.

But your steps faltered when you saw them: Sumi and Taka. Ignoring the searing bindings of your bond, you stepped back as you observed the happiness that Alucard found next to the other two who entered his life. They were younger, more a part of the world that Adrian lived in. You forced your consciousness to move away from your fated, who remained unaware of your bond.

You slept little to avoid the dreams that would not stop torturing you with visions of him. You dared not look at the sun that shone with the color of his hair or the moon that seemed to reflect his eyes.

The Tagar loved intensely. Most loved once in eternity, and very few of them were granted a fated one. Maybe that is why you felt the bond before Adrian did. You felt it separated by worlds and veils of ancient magic.

You were lost in the motions of forgetting the incomplete fragments of your bond when you felt it—the fleeting end of the other end of the bond. The tug that reminded you of the world foreign to you felt lighter than ever.

That night, you dared to let your dreams guide you into the bond you ignored for long. You found yourself in the unlit halls of Castle Dracula, trashed furniture and floor adorned with broken glass, torn curtains, and rotting food. Among all the ruin lay your mate, Adrian. He lay there alone, bleeding from wounds you could not find with the fleeting form of your dream self.

The world you had wanted to give him by your absence no longer mattered. It wouldn't matter if he faded into the nothingness of grief and betrayal. Only oblivion greeted the ones who turned their backs on the world. You knew it better than any, and you could not fathom that end for him.

So after millennia of hiding, the first of the Tagar ventured into the world that forgot them. You came with your brothers and others who vehemently insisted on escorting you.

Now as you walk the path your soulmate once walked, your heart beats louder than ever. For a moment, you suspect a flying sword to rush your way with how loud your heart beats. Your steps remain sure. And from the periphery of your vision, you observe two rotting corpses that catch your attention. You do not turn to look at them, but a layer of black surrounds them as you move past them. There remains a mystery as all proof of their existence leaves the face of the world. The Tagar, after all, remain most mysterious in their ways.

The huge wooden doors to the castle do not creak as you expect them to, remaining functional as ever despite their age. You walk through silent and dark corridors that you remember but still remain unfamiliar to you. Scouring your memory, you look for clues that could lead you to Adrian.

It is then that you smell it - a cloying stench of death and decay, similar to the one that permeated the graveyard in front of the castle. Death, despite being foreign to the Tagar, remained the most familiar to your fate. It was one of the very first things you felt at the beginning of your visions, a death that reeked of fear, restlessness, but also of peace and relief.

Your anxiety increases with every passing second as you wander through the unknown halls. Rushing through unfamiliar paths of Dracula's castle, you pray to the forgotten gods of the Tagar, hoping that Adrian is still alive.

"Let him not be dead," you plead to anyone who dares listen to you. Not even the wisest of Tagar know of the fate beyond death - it is a truth known only to those who experience it. And you, for once, do not wish for your mate to find that truth.

"Adrian," you allow his name to fall from your lips. For the first time, it is uttered in the world without an ounce of doubt.

"Adrian," a name he does not remember, yet it never before felt more fitting than when he hears it from the echoing recesses of his mind. A voice he does not know, yet a voice he cannot let go.

After months of feeling a lifeless void, Adrian feels the beat of his heart. He feels something snap into place - a scary feeling for someone whose life lay in shambles. He is drunk out of his mind, and his vision remains shaky at best, but even then, he forgets to breathe the first time he lays his eyes on you.

You walk through the halls of his home with feather-light steps. Even in the dark, moonless night, you shine with a light he has never seen before, a glow that seems to mimic ancient stars. You remain put together in your haste, not even a single strand of your hair moves from its place.

"Adrian," you call his name again, and Adrian yearns to answer back. He aches to reply and answer to every call, but his words fail him. He notices your wings tucked behind your back - black like the endless void, yet even tucked away, your wings are majestic. Feathers that look soft at the very sight line your wings. Without a word exchanged between you and him, he knows the long ages you have spent before him.

Past, present, or future, you give him everything without him ever asking. He finds the ease of this fate to be unbelievable. Has it always been this easy? Were you always this close?

With the ease that rivers meet oceans, Adrian finds his head on your lap. Your worried gaze on him, your hands thread through his hair, and he does not suppress the shudder that runs through his entire body. He feels the warmth of your feathers on his cheek.

You have waited so long, for ages, for this. At that moment, he feels the weight of ages spent waiting for someone, the weariness of a lonely forever. You have loved him without any expectation of reciprocation, and Adrian feels wronged on your part. How did you not think of yourself? Why did you not come and claim him? He would have left; he would have let go of the world if that is what needed to be done for you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat and Adrian finds it hard to stop you. His limbs feel heavier than ever. 'Not your fault,' he wants to tell you. His soul screams at him to comfort his fated, who is now sobbing next to him.

He wills his hand to wipe the tears lining your face. 'Don't,' he tries to say but his throat dries up at the sight of you. You hold his hand in yours as you interlace your fingers.

#alucard #alucard x reader #castlevania #pining #soulmate au #and they were soulmates #immortal reader #angst with comfort #hopeful ending #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader

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