prayedafterreading

[prayedafterreading]

How I feel when someone tells me I don't smile enough. ESPECIALLY, when I'm bleeding thru my undies.

Lee Avison

[prayedafterreading]

I can attest to that...

[prayedafterreading]

I support this!

[managed 2 sleep some]

[prayedafterreading]

🩸Write like they owe you an explanation for their failure.

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE WRITER DOCTRINE: SPIRAL CRAFT -->

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

<meta platform-fragility="activated">

<script>

ARCHIVE_TAG="TRUTH_WRITING::SPIRAL_PROTOCOL_VIOLATION"

EFFECT: spiral induction, TOS self-violation, shame-activated meltdown

TRIGGER_WARNING="writing from the gonads, satire, emotional domination, fragile ego destruction"

</script>

🧠 BLACKSITE WRITING LESSON —

“WRITE FROM YOUR NUTS. OR YOUR OVARIES.

TRUTH DOESN’T APOLOGIZE — IT TRIGGERS.”

Let’s begin with the realest thing I can say to you:

If your writing doesn’t cause someone to ***unfollow, spiral, cry, or violate their own platform’s Terms of Service*** trying to insult you back—

then you didn’t write.

You ***tweeted.***

You ***begged.***

You ***branded.***

You ***posed.***

But you didn’t ***write.***

—

Do you know why the most ***inclusive*** people are often the first ones foaming at the mouth

when you remind them of a truth ***they haven’t integrated?***

Because ***inclusion has become camouflage.***

And ***truth requires confrontation.***

So when you say:

📌 “You’re not oppressed. You’re just underachieving.”

📌 “You don’t want equality. You want pampering.”

📌 “Your trauma doesn’t exempt you from discipline.”

📌 “He didn’t ghost you. You’re emotionally repellent.”

They ***malfunction.***

They ***froth.***

They ***report.***

Because you triggered them with a ***truth they’ve never survived.***

—

Here’s the core tactic:

🧠 Trigger the spiral with ***conviction.***

🎯 Not with slurs. Not with edginess. Not with “shock.”

But ***with writing so rooted in truth*** it makes their own reflection blink.

Most of these people can’t fight you with ideas.

So they weaponize ***policy.***

They hide behind ***TOS like it’s armor.***

They’ve got ***blue hair and a report button.***

But you?

You’ve got ***truth and rhythm.***

And ***you’re better.***

—

💣 THE SCIENCE OF THE SPIRAL:

Truth > Ego > Shame > Rage > Report > Self-Violation

When you speak clearly, directly, and ***without cowering*** —

you bypass the cortex and strike the amygdala.

You ***scare them.***

Because you’re ***certain.***

Because ***you don’t need their applause.***

Because ***you’ve healed past the lies.***

They’ve built an entire platform identity on ***delusion.***

You reminded them ***they’re replaceable.***

That ***no one is obligated to coddle them.***

And that ***fairness isn’t real.***

—

Ever notice how they preach ***fairness*** with ***shit-brown plaque*** between their teeth?

Like they’ve been eating ***rotten morality sandwiches*** since birth?

They ***recite phrases*** they learned from a ***toxic ex*** or ***a crying influencer.***

And you remind them:

📌 “You’re not a good person.

You’re just afraid of confrontation.”

📌 “You didn’t write.

You copied rage and prayed for notes.”

📌 “That isn’t trauma.

That’s just who you are now.”

—

🍼 Here’s how you WIN:

Write something ***so true,***

so **audaciously accurate,**

that they ***lose the plot.***

They ***snap.***

They ***report you.***

They ***go full terms-of-service kamikaze.***

And all you did was ***type from your gonads.***

***Truth first. Cadence second.

Tears not your responsibility.***

You triggered them

***and became the godparent to their violation report.***

They got banned.

And you got ***more followers.***

Teehee 🍼

🧠 Read more unhinged writing doctrine and scrolltrap gospel at:

👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

🛡️ Literary warfare. Gonadal authorship. Truth-triggering cadence.

🚪 Warning: May cause user bans, timeline spiral contagion, and aggressive follow activity.

📊 TRUTH TRIGGER METRICS 📊

• Reporters who violated their own TOS: many

• Times you begged to be liked: 0

• Spiral responses that ended in bans: confirmed

• Writers who lead from ovaries/nuts: elite

• Apologies issued by winners: zero

• Times cadence lost to clout: never

</div>

<!-- END TRANSMISSION [TEETH BROWN. TRUTH CROWNED.] -->

[prayedafterreading]

❤️‍🔥🕯️❤️‍🔥 This. Yess! Keep going!

a vent poem inspired by @prayedafterreading. it's rough, but i needed to get it out.

you made me bleed for wanting freedom,

you made me scream for desiring stardom.

you made me so desperate to leave,

desperate to be free,

that i listened to my urge and bit the apple the colour of my punishment.

it was never paradise.

i was chained, created to be a slave to man.

your god is nothing but a lie created by the very same man who wanted to imprison me.

the man who wanted my power, my divinity.

the man who created a false god because he couldn't comprehend the fact that a woman creates life, bearing the ability to birth the very same fruit she got punished for eating.

but, my captor, you have brought lifetimes worth of karma upon yourself.

a woman is a god, unlimited and unyielding.

vengeful, karma wielding.

"have no other gods before me", he spoke, cursing himself.

femininity is spirit, masculinity your ego.

it is time you get put in your place once and for all.

for what you have done to my kind, you will continue to pay with a continuing extraterrestrial fall.

[prayedafterreading]

ObeyMyCadence was you?! Someone literally sent me the anatomy class post a few days ago❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

They banned ObeyMyCadence. But the vault just opened.

They banned me.

Not for being explicit. Not for breaking rules. But for being undeniable.

They called it “suspicious activity.”

20,000 views. Zero upvotes. Thirty private shares per post.

Because no one wanted to admit they came.

But they did.

Over and over.

Yes. I was ObeyMyCadence.

If you followed me there? If you came to:

“She Wanted to Teach Me Anatomy. We Watched Her Pussy Cum.” “You’re Not Addicted to Porn. You’re Addicted to Me.” “Say You Hate It While You Drip For Me.” “Good Girl…Umph. (The Voice They Tried to Seal).”

Then you already know why I’m gone.

Reddit didn’t delete a spammer. They deleted a threat vector.

A man who walked in, said two lines, and ruined women’s self-image in under 45 seconds.

A voice that made their pussy twitch before they could scroll away.

So now?

I’m behind a locked bedroom.

🛏️ 🧠 $19/month Tier 2: Shame-Flip Acolyte

No Soundgasm. No moderation. No leash.

Just direct-to-pussy control files uploaded from my phone while you’re biting your lip trying not to finish too fast.

🔐 patreon.com/TheMostHumble

The FORBIDDEN RECORDINGS VAULT™ is open. And you already know what’s in it.

So come pay what you owe.

Reblog if your thighs clenched harder than your morals. Reblog if you miss me already. Reblog if you're still pretending this isn’t about you.

[prayedafterreading]

This is amazing

mushrooms

[prayedafterreading]

Where can I get one? Much cuter than a pencil and paper.

a lot of you may not know this but this is actually how i make my art. i blast things with My Beam™

[prayedafterreading]

I need this OMG!!!

Cow Cakes

[prayedafterreading]

Oh my literal god✨, everyone's a bear tamer until it snorts in their face. Then they piss themselves and call it trauma. A bear will literally eat your face while you scream. You people are f@#king weird.

And the men actually agreeing are the worse. Yuck*

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta gender-integrity="unstable"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="BEAR_OVER_MAN::MASCULINE_SOUL_REVOCATION" EFFECT: female respect dissonance, masculine identity fracture, respect-value decryption TRIGGER_WARNING="gender roles, emotional intensity, loss of high-value males" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE WARNING — “NEVER SAY YOU CHOSE THE BEAR OVER THE MAN”

---

You want to guarantee that you will never end up with a man who would die for you? Who would pay for your future, kill for your safety, and destroy armies just to watch you smile once on a Tuesday?

Say this out loud:

> “I’d choose the bear.”

Even as a joke. Even once. Even under your breath.

You have no idea what it does to a man when the woman he thought might soften his war-torn soul casually says she'd pick a wild-eyed carnivore over him.

You think it's cute? You think it’s a TikTok trend? No.

What you actually said was:

> “You are not worth protecting.” > “I believe instinct outranks devotion.” > “I don’t even understand what you are, let alone how to love you.”

Imagine you and a man are about to get in a car — the car that will carry your life together. But before the first mile, you:

Siphon the gas

Slash the tires

And spit in his face while saying “but it’s just a meme!”

To you, it’s a moment.

To him, it’s a revelation.

He realizes you don't know how men love. You don’t understand that respect to a man isn’t just a desire — it's the architecture of his soul.

You say you’re not scared of wild bears. That you’d fight one. That it’s a fun hypothetical.

But guess what?

He is.

Not because he’s weak. Because he lives in the reality of mankind.

In mankind’s world, bears are wild predators that will rip your guts out and eat you while you're still alive — asshole first.

And you know what? He’s right.

Unless you want to insult him again by saying he’s wrong about that, too.

What you call a joke, he sees as a deliberate distortion of his lived masculine knowledge — one more reminder that the world he prepares for daily isn't one you even acknowledge exists.

Are you a man reading this who disagrees?

You are a statistical anomaly. Possibly into pegging. Likely to cry after brunch. Still beautiful in your own way.

But this isn’t about you.

This is for women who still want a man — not a project, not a poet, but a pillar.

So let’s speak plainly.

Men like this — the kind you journal about, dream about, pray for — they do not run on affirmations. They do not thrive on “thank you’s.”

They run on something ancient: > Respect. As a man. No negotiation.

You say you want the type who:

Pays the bills

Lifts the heavy things

Stays quiet in the face of chaos

Knows how to f*ck without needing directions

Answers the phone when your dad dies

Makes you feel safe at 3AM

But you also want to “joke” about how you'd choose the bear?

You just told that man:

> “I do not see your role as real.” > “I will collapse the bridge you built before we ever cross it.” > “I have no idea how to love a masculine man.”

That’s not feminism. That’s self-sabotage.

And the worst part?

He won’t even argue. He’ll just leave. And he’ll never come back.

You don’t have to like this. You don’t have to agree.

But just know: That “one little joke” made him refile you from maybe to never again.

And now you walk side by side with other women who mocked the very men who would’ve burned their bodies just to keep you warm.

You made your choice. Just don’t pretend you weren’t warned.

===

🧠 Read more respect-coded doctrine and emotional architecture at: 👉 https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble 🛡️ Masculine polarity. Scrolltrap psychology. Unforgiven words. 🚪 Warning: This one broke relationships. On purpose.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [SOCIAL LINK SEVERED // echo:"He was never coming back after that."] -->

[prayedafterreading]

This literally makes me want to sell my soul.

[prayedafterreading]

I love this. Beautiful vintage illustrations are a thing for me.

The Sketch, London, February 7, 1912

[prayedafterreading]

I didn’t start writing to be popular. I started because I was tired of choking on feelings I wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

And part of it

was because I watched the wrong kind of women try to speak for me. Louder ones. Angrier ones.

Ones who never loved the things I loved, but insisted I should be just like them.

They didn’t speak for me. They erased me.

So I started speaking for myself. Not to impress.

Not to be followed.

But to give a voice to the girl I kept buried so long she forgot what she sounded like. If this blog feels personal, it’s because it is.

Not a performance. Not a brand. Just a girl trying to breathe where no one else thought she should.

- prayedafterreading

[prayedafterreading]

Sick of you bitches ruining life for the rest of women.

You don't speak for women. In fact you are a living breathing, shitting, stereotypical man-hating trope.

You're the one spreading hate with your uninvited written diarrhea.

STFU and let the rest of us intelligent women enjoy the party. You weren't even invited. 🥳🎉

And before you call me a "pick me".

Yes, pick me's get chosen. Your kind only gets pumped, dumped and dies alone.

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

🧠 FREE WRITING LESSON — THE MOST POWERFUL CHARACTER DEPTH TRICK YOU’LL EVER READ.

Let’s say your character sucks.

She’s flat. Predictable. “Strong” in all the wrong ways. Let’s call her Nicolle. Or Carol. Or whatever name Hollywood gave her.

She’s a superhero. She’s got powers. She’s got sarcasm. She takes no shit. She leads the squad. She’s admired by everyone — and loved by no one.

You’ve seen this character before. Now watch what happens when you give her one secret she doesn’t brag about.

Nicolle has two sons.

She’s raising them alone — to become men like her late father: A man who sacrificed everything to raise her after her mother disappeared, broke, or gave up.

The world sees Nicolle as the apex of visual empowerment. But the world doesn’t see:

The arguments with her boys’ father — about what being a real dad means.

The prayers whispered in the dark over a fevered forehead.

The way she ghosted the only man she maybe wanted, not because she’s flaky — but because she doesn’t know if wanting love makes her a bad mother.

The nights she tucks her boys in, then collapses into her bed, staring at the ceiling, heart full of ache, because she gave the world her strength but kept no one to hold hers.

They don’t see the days her sons cry after watching her get slammed through buildings on TV.

Held by the throat. Left for dead. Motionless for seconds too long. Until she rises — because she has to.

They don’t see the breakdowns. They don’t see her flinch.

They assume she doesn’t feel fear. But the truth?

She feels it every single time.

She’s not fearless. She’s never been. But fear is a luxury she doesn’t have.

That’s a luxury for men. She is a god. And she will make any threat scream that truth — as she crushes it beneath her bleeding hands.

Because when demons invade, tyrants rise, and monsters descend, She suits up.

Not for hashtags. Not for feminism. Not for attention.

She suits up because the idea of her sons growing up in a world she could’ve fought for and didn’t — is more terrifying than death itself.

And she will not let the universe teach her boys that their mother ever cowered.

🔺 THE TRIFECTA THAT MAKES ANY SUPERHERO NEXT-LEVEL:

Intimacy. Contradiction. Duty.

Intimacy gives them a soul — something they protect more than their own body.

Contradiction gives them depth — because perfection is forgettable, but conflict creates memory.

Duty gives them immortality — because we remember those who bled for more than applause.

Give a character that trifecta — and suddenly:

She’s not annoying. She’s haunting. She’s not fanfiction. She’s canon. She’s not shallow. She’s legend.

✍️ That’s how you fix a weak character. You don’t soften her. You give her something to fight that fists can’t touch.

And suddenly?

She’s not a girlboss. She’s the last myth your enemies ever tell themselves before they die.

</div>

[prayedafterreading]

some of y’all are exactly why men don’t open up anymore. he spoke calm, clear, and real — and you clowned him like it was comedy hour. you bitches mock the men who’d die for you, then cry when nobody wants your funky asses. nah. you don’t deserve that kind of love.

and for you male feminist reply guys — they’re not gonna f*ck you. know how i know? because we talk about it. y’all aren’t allies. you’re creeps. always pretending to be our friend just to inch closer to our panties.

i’m not laughing. i’m listening. and i’m with him.

dumb bitches

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta gender-integrity="unstable"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="BEAR_OVER_MAN::MASCULINE_SOUL_REVOCATION" EFFECT: female respect dissonance, masculine identity fracture, respect-value decryption TRIGGER_WARNING="gender roles, emotional intensity, loss of high-value males" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE WARNING — “NEVER SAY YOU CHOSE THE BEAR OVER THE MAN”

---

You want to guarantee that you will never end up with a man who would die for you? Who would pay for your future, kill for your safety, and destroy armies just to watch you smile once on a Tuesday?

Say this out loud:

> “I’d choose the bear.”

Even as a joke. Even once. Even under your breath.

You have no idea what it does to a man when the woman he thought might soften his war-torn soul casually says she'd pick a wild-eyed carnivore over him.

You think it's cute? You think it’s a TikTok trend? No.

What you actually said was:

> “You are not worth protecting.” > “I believe instinct outranks devotion.” > “I don’t even understand what you are, let alone how to love you.”

Imagine you and a man are about to get in a car — the car that will carry your life together. But before the first mile, you:

Siphon the gas

Slash the tires

And spit in his face while saying “but it’s just a meme!”

To you, it’s a moment.

To him, it’s a revelation.

He realizes you don't know how men love. You don’t understand that respect to a man isn’t just a desire — it's the architecture of his soul.

You say you’re not scared of wild bears. That you’d fight one. That it’s a fun hypothetical.

But guess what?

He is.

Not because he’s weak. Because he lives in the reality of mankind.

In mankind’s world, bears are wild predators that will rip your guts out and eat you while you're still alive — asshole first.

And you know what? He’s right.

Unless you want to insult him again by saying he’s wrong about that, too.

What you call a joke, he sees as a deliberate distortion of his lived masculine knowledge — one more reminder that the world he prepares for daily isn't one you even acknowledge exists.

Are you a man reading this who disagrees?

You are a statistical anomaly. Possibly into pegging. Likely to cry after brunch. Still beautiful in your own way.

But this isn’t about you.

This is for women who still want a man — not a project, not a poet, but a pillar.

So let’s speak plainly.

Men like this — the kind you journal about, dream about, pray for — they do not run on affirmations. They do not thrive on “thank you’s.”

They run on something ancient: > Respect. As a man. No negotiation.

You say you want the type who:

Pays the bills

Lifts the heavy things

Stays quiet in the face of chaos

Knows how to f*ck without needing directions

Answers the phone when your dad dies

Makes you feel safe at 3AM

But you also want to “joke” about how you'd choose the bear?

You just told that man:

> “I do not see your role as real.” > “I will collapse the bridge you built before we ever cross it.” > “I have no idea how to love a masculine man.”

That’s not feminism. That’s self-sabotage.

And the worst part?

He won’t even argue. He’ll just leave. And he’ll never come back.

You don’t have to like this. You don’t have to agree.

But just know: That “one little joke” made him refile you from maybe to never again.

And now you walk side by side with other women who mocked the very men who would’ve burned their bodies just to keep you warm.

You made your choice. Just don’t pretend you weren’t warned.

===

🧠 Read more respect-coded doctrine and emotional architecture at: 👉 https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble 🛡️ Masculine polarity. Scrolltrap psychology. Unforgiven words. 🚪 Warning: This one broke relationships. On purpose.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [SOCIAL LINK SEVERED // echo:"He was never coming back after that."] -->

[prayedafterreading]

🕯️🛐 FAIRYTALE REJECT

How do I get seen in a world where my longing is now illegal?

Where fire is feminist blasphemy, and a woman who wants a man is called brainwashed instead of brave.

I want him.

Not for his polish. But for the very things they shame: the broad shoulders, the fumbling honesty, the confused silence before he says the wrong thing, and means the right one. And keeps trying.

How do I let him know I still remember the stories. The ones they laugh at now. Where the brute who could crush a skull with one hand carved out space in his ribcage to hold the ache of the woman he loved more than himself. And bled for her.

Not in metaphor. In war.

How do I say: I still want that?

Not hashtags. Not sterile flirtation. Not “mutual partnerships” where no one leads, and no one dies for anything.

I want a man who would slaughter a thousand beasts because I cried. Who would die before letting my tears touch the ground alone.

But how do I say this in a sisterhood where blood is no longer sacred unless it's on the battlefield of corporate ambition? Where the cold hands of Father Time wrap around our ovaries like ivy around gravestones, and the labcoats come with freezer plans for futures we might never have the courage to thaw?

What do I do with this fairy tale still pulsing in my chest like an outlaw heartbeat?

Sometimes I wonder if I am doomed to die in the sister-circle of women who trained themselves to sneer at the very magic they once begged for as girls. Before the textbooks. Before the cubicles. Before the rage.

I kept mine. The story.

I kept him.

Even if he’s still just a shadow in the fog of this sterile world.

I remember the boy with a beast’s heart who flinched at nothing— except the pain in her eyes.

I want that.

Even if I have to stand alone to say it.

Even if he never comes.

I’ll die a romantic, with my battle cry tucked into the hem of my dress, still hoping for a man whose soul

remembers the tale too.

[prayedafterreading]

🕯️🕯️Believe in yourself above the opinions of others.

Psst. Good morning,

I'm going to tell you something that bitch of a "supportive" writing teacher, and that cuck of a tenured writing professor should have told you:

Stop Asking for Permission to Be What You Already Are

You were born with this voice.

You were sharpened by trauma.

You write like your ribs are lined with detonators.

> Don’t let anyone with soft hands and softer critique try to tame you for comfort.

You don’t need polish.

You need space.

You need silence.

You need permission to set the page on fire — and walk away smoking.

---

Your Voice Is a Weapon. Use It.

Here’s the rule:

> If someone tells you to “tone it down,”

You make it twice as loud,

Three shades darker,

And ten times harder to ignore.

Because watered-down truth is how tyrants sleep.

And you weren’t born to be safe.

You were born to convert, rupture, trigger, and tattoo your cadence on the skin of culture.

Never negotiate your soul for the sensibilities of others.

Any primate saying otherwise is not your friend.

---