#~~The key for Salvation : Self

[epitomees]

~ Takuto Maruki’s Tags ~

More will be added as necessary. 

[monakisu]

I want you to know that I came across a random post of your Death Note art, went "Awww, oh my gosh, with the way this person draws Light I think Akechi would look fantastic in the same style!", clicked onto your profile, and then saw your newest artwork was Akechi. I'm still kind of cackling over it and thought maybe you'd find it funny too. Your art is SO cute, I'm very happy I found it <333

HAHA THAT’S AMAZING (<< was an akechi artist wayyyy before i fell head over heels for light)

but rlly… theyre so similar:

- brunet

- asshole

- pretty boy

- mass murderer

- black-haired homoerotic rival

at the end of the day, the key difference is one is a top and the other is a bottom.

ok but seriously, they’re vastly different characters on a fundamental level:

- light was handed everything him on a silver platter: family, friends, looks, intellect, a comfortable life… as a bastard child of a sex worker and now an orphan, goro had to fight his way to his current position and will always harbor a terrible sense of inferiority (light is completely confident in his absolute superiority, Always (that’s why the challenge of L sent him off the deep end of obsession lol))

- light genuinely sees himself as a hero, while goro would like to feel the same but is nonetheless depressingly aware of his villain’s journey (his undesirable position as the detective vs the underdog phantom thieves, his string of assassinations, his ultimate dirty bloody goal, etc.).

- light’s motive is about the world’s salvation, cleansing, the birth of his ideal reality (very messianic of him with the slightest loving tinge of mary cradling her lamb hahaha) while goro is laser-focused on ruining this one asshole’s life in particular, vengeance and revenge at once! one’s focused on rebirth, and the other gunning straight for death! they both use murder to get what they want but light probably floats around thinking himself so clean and divine as mother of the world (ignorance is bliss) while goro is constantly desperately trying to cover up his suspiciously red hands with his gloves hehehe… they’re both constantly striving for perfection, just with varying levels of self-awareness!!

- goro is a canonical loner; light has a horde of friends; this is probably due to a difference in public persona! goro is an untouchable idea of what he thinks a human should be and is completely out of the loop when it comes to normal social interactions (believes opening with hegel will instantly endear himself to the average person (luckily he inflicted that upon akira who is decidedly not average in the slightest)), light is implied to be more down-to-earth and even slightly goofy (he’s gaming decorum like an advanced speedrunner)! it’s probably good how distant goro is, because getting any closer to him will allow you to see how off-putting and uncanny he is, sorta like an AI-generated image—seams in the wrong places and far too much teeth LOL. meanwhile light has this whole shebang so thoroughly figured out that he’s BORED with it all! he’d like to move on to the next game (with L), thank you!! light definitely still exudes uncanny creepiness (it’s his natural state of being) especially when he zones out or starts hysterically cackling out of nowhere at his own thoughts, but he’s a hundred times better at masking compared to goro due to a better upbringing. goro is starved for the adoring friends he sees akira easily picking up one after another; light couldn’t give less of a shit because he’s always had those trivial luxuries! he’d much rather prefer an adoring WORLD!!

- then there’s the difference in how they die… one started out surrounded with company but ultimately died alone, while it’s the opposite for the other (if you count the de-realization of maruki’s reality as goro’s “death” (which i don’t)).

- in conclusion, light and goro are like funhouse mirror reflections of each other!!! one is a pampered lapdog getting a taste of rabies and letting loose, while the other is a starving wolf trying to domesticate itself for treats and headpats!! and i <3 them both!!!!!

anyways i may be wrong about light because im going purely off of fics, tumblr shitposts, and my own imagination :] feel free to school me in a way that won’t destroy my delusions!

[neversetyoufree]

Since writing my last post about how Vanitas understands "salvation" as the preservation of one's self, even at the price of death, I've been thinking about how that plays into Vanitas's thoughts on resurrection. It's only two short lines, but I find the view he expresses in this scene absolutely fascinating.

Vanitas tells Misha that the dead "don't come back," and the fact that he phrases it that way stands out to me. He doesn't say that resurrection is impossible on a physical level; he implicitly concedes that maybe Misha could "bring back" something that looks and acts like Luna. He doesn't quibble about the practicalities of reanimating someone whose body turned to ashes or bring up whatever concept of the afterlife he may have.

Instead, Vanitas says that a resurrected Luna would simply be "something else that looked like her." A resurrected Luna would lack some fundamental part of whatever it was that made Luna who they were in their first life.

But what would they lack? I don't think he's implying that a resurrected Luna would lack their soul—not really. Setting aside the absence of souls as a conceptual presence in VnC, I think that would be too concrete and specific for what Vanitas is gesturing toward. Rather, he's conceiving of the Self in a somewhat ineffable way. On a metaphysical level, a version of Luna brought back from the dead simply Wouldn't Be Her, and he can't put it in more concrete terms than that.

So why does he think this way?

I think the concept of resurrection is awful enough to Vanitas that he has to reject it outright for his own stability. He cannot even slightly entertain the notion that resurrection might be possible, because that would destroy one of his main coping mechanisms.

Resurrection is nightmarish to a man that relies on death as an escape. Vanitas is suicidal, but beyond his self-hatred, his relationship to death is very particular. He's someone whose body and being has been corrupted and violated several times—through violence, through experiments, and through Luna's bite, and he's desperate to retain control of himself in the aftermath. He's desperate for control in regards to everything in his life, but especially his body and his death.

Vanitas is being slowly transformed into something inhuman, and he plans to die someday to escape that fate. The idea that after he's gone, someone could override that decision and force him back into living a life he doesn't want must be unacceptably horrific to him. He dismisses it out of hand because he has to.

Vanitas says a resurrected Luna would, on some level, not really be Luna. Whatever comes back might look like them, but it would lack some fundamental self that makes Luna "Luna." Thus, if Vanitas himself were ever "resurrected" after his death, it would be the same. Death remains an absolute escape for him, and even if someone contrives to bring back something that looks like him after he's gone, it won't be him. That life won't be his problem.

In addition to whatever beliefs Vanitas might have about death and afterlives the feasibility of resurrection, I think this is a key part of his relationship to the concept. He lives his life knowing that death waits for him as an escape valve. He needs that looming death as his salvation. Thus, faced with the concept of resurrection, his argument basically boils down to "nuh-uh." He shoots down the concept and declares that a resurrected person wouldn't be themselves in some nonspecific way, because the possibility of anything otherwise isn't something safe for him to consider.

[shittysawtraps]

Hello, Max.

I'd like to play a game.

Throughout your entire life, your sense of self has been weak. You've failed to defend or better yourself. You've learned fear and anger from insecurity. And you've come to hate yourself for it. This road has only one end, Max, and that end is one made by your own hand.

On the table in front of you lie the keys to your salvation, to your new life, your rebirth. The left bottle contains estradiol pills, to be taken twice per day. The right bottle contains bicalutamide pills, to be taken once per day. As for the skirt, I leave what you do with it up to you.

To choose to live, you must choose to willingly destroy and renegotiate every relationship of your life. You must choose to reevaluate not only your own value and worth as a human being, but the very concept of value itself. You must choose to change.

Make your choice, Max.

Live or die.

[heathersdesk]

Infertility in the LDS Church is such a weird place to occupy because it's the place where so much of the Church's messaging on sex and gender, on complimentarianism and divisions of labor within the Church, completely fall apart.

Being a parent may be the most important thing some people will ever do. I have no issue at all with people saying this about themselves to describe their own journey through the world. But that's not universally true for everyone because of someone's gender or alleged propensity for reproduction. The fact that infertility exists at all is all the evidence you need of that. If it was somehow necessary for a person's salvation or exaltation for everyone to have children, it wouldn't be withheld from anyone.

So why do people, including church leadership, treat having children like it's essential to our salvation, when neither the gospel of Jesus Christ nor any of the covenants we've made present it that way?

Power consolidation. Boundary maintenance. Cultural curation for the kind of person who treats children as an identity marker and avatars for their own influence on the world.

It's how the Church is trying to ignore the problem of dwindling membership, which this exact messaging has caused, instead of addressing the gender disparities reflected in this messaging.

No one is entitled to have children, and to use those children as a means of self-fulfillment, spiritual education, or approximations to the divine experience of being God. Even if you can have children, this is a harmful way of viewing children because it makes having children all about the parents and their needs.

You don't have children to meet your needs. You have children to meet their needs. I didn't need to have children to learn that lesson, or many of the other lessons that people needed to become parents to learn. There is more than one way to approach that kind of selfless love, in all kinds of relationships. Parenting is one of many, not the only kind of selfless love, and certainly not the most important kind of selfless love for many people.

And what kills me in talking to members of the Church who try to push back against this perspective is this: they claim to be the arbiters of the ultimate form of selfless love because they are parents. But these are the same people who will pound on the single piano key about parenthood to such an extreme that it alienates other people. And when they do, and someone tells them it's harmful, they're the first ones to say that what they're doing is more important than anyone else's feelings. They talk of a selfless love they don't actually possess—not for people outside of their family and, I would argue, not for anyone inside of it either.

All this to say: the Venn Diagram overlap between people who don't respect or value people at church with infertility and the people who also enmesh themselves in disturbing ways with their own children is a circle. Catch neither one of us wanting to be at church with them as adults.

[crystaldust]

The Origin of Fear (Highlights)

- Eckhart Tolle, Practicing the power of now

The psychological condition of fear is divorced from any concrete and true immediate danger.

You can always cope with the present moment, but you cannot cope with something that is only a mind projection - you cannot cope with the future.

Moreover, as long as you are identified with your mind, the ego runs your life. Because of its phantom nature, and despite elaborate defense mechanisms, the ego is very vulnerable and insecure, and it sees itself as constantly under threat. This, by the way, is the case even if the ego is outwardly very confident. Now remember that an emotion is the body's reaction to your mind. What message is the body receiving continuously from the ego, the false, mind-made self? Danger, I am under threat. And what is the emotion generated by this continuous message? Fear, of course.

but ultimately all fear is the ego's fear of death, of annihilation.

If you identify with a mental position, then if you are wrong, your mindbased sense of self is seriously threatened with annihilation. So you as the ego cannot afford to be wrong. To be wrong is to die.

Once you have disidentified from your mind, whether you are right or wrong makes no difference to your sense of self at all, so the forcefully compulsive and deeply unconscious need to be right, which is a form of violence, will no longer be there.

WATCH OUT FOR ANY KIND OF DEFENSIVENESS within yourself. What are you defending? An illusory identity, an image in your mind, a fictitious entity. By making this pattern conscious, by witnessing it, you disidentify from it. In the light of your consciousness, the unconscious pattern will then quickly dissolve. This is the end of all arguments and power games, which are so corrosive to relationships. Power over others is weakness disguised as strength. True power is within, and it is available to you now.

The mind always seeks to deny the Now and to escape from it. In other words, the more you are identified with your mind, the more you suffer. Or you may put it like this: The more you are able to honor and accept the Now, the more you are free of pain, of suffering - and free of the egoic mind. If you no longer want to create pain for yourself and others, if you no longer want to add to the residue of past pain that still lives on in you, then don't create any more time, or at least no more than is necessary to deal with the practical aspects of your life.

How to stop creating time?

REALIZE DEEPLY THAT THE PRESENT MOMENT is all you ever have. Make the Now the primary focus of your life. Whereas before you dwelt in time and paid brief visits to the Now, have your dwelling place in the Now and pay brief visits to past and future when required to deal with the practical aspects of your life situation. Always say "yes" to the present moment.

END THE DELUSION OF TIME Here is the key: End the delusion of time. Time and mind are inseparable. Remove time from the mind and it stops - unless you choose to use it.

To be identified with your mind is to be trapped in time: the compulsion to live almost exclusively through memory and anticipation. This creates an endless preoccupation with past and future and an unwillingness to honor and acknowledge the present moment and allow it to be. The compulsion arises because the past gives you an identity and the future holds the promise of salvation, of fulfillment in whatever form. Both are illusions.

Life is now. There was never a time when your life was not now, nor will there ever be.

Is it possible for anything to happen or be outside the Now? The answer is obvious, is it not? Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now. The essence of what I am saying here cannot be understood by the mind. The moment you grasp it, there is a shift in consciousness from mind to Being, from time to presence. Suddenly, everything feels alive, radiates energy, emanates Being.

[obbystars]

Little Light

Synopsis: Not quite sent from above.

Notes: OC-Insert/Self-insert / Sebastian Solace x Oberon Sol / Oberon lore! / also not romantic despite the oc/self-insert ship lol / cursing / just silly ideas in here / p.AI.nter’s in here! / NOT CONNECTED TO SALVATION as this one is actually adding Oberon into the lore of Pressure / You can read Oberon’s document!

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(I said this wouldn’t be often but I’m getting ideas uhhhhhhh- anyway I have been thinking about trying my hand at p.AI.nter for a bit. He probably won’t be added to the list though.)

He’s not quite sure how long it’s been since he’s been locked in this containment cell. Thankfully, he does remember how he got here and clearly too. He managed to locate one of the facilities that’s owned by the sinners he’s been keeping an eye on. He went as far as to dive into the water and pierce through the Veil of the Let-Vand Zone. The water pressure didn’t even affect him, but he didn’t get very far before they spotted him. It only took minutes before all eyes were on him, but he didn’t fight back and let them take him.

Now all he felt were needles in his skin as he was held up by some sort of mechanism. He’s aware of what they’re doing and what they’re going to use it for, but he didn’t feel as angry as he probably should be. Despite all he had witnessed, he didn’t hate them for any of this. He’s not quite sure why.

He feels his wings chained down like that was going to do anything. One of the researchers got a little too close for comfort, and he admits that he may have been a little too harsh towards them. Now, because of that, they put a heavy metal box over his head. The voices outside were muffled, sometimes he heard machines moving, and sometimes he hears a door opening and closing.

Maybe curiosity did kill the cat. He vaguely remembers a discussion of a Guardian Angel being locked up in this place too for the same reason. He wonders where they could be held at. Sure his relationship with the other angels were rather complicated, but he can’t just turn away from something like that. There’ll be an opening soon enough. He just needs to wait, and frankly, he has all the time in the world.

He’ll just close his eyes for a little while. He wonders how many people have passed through his realm only to be greeted by no one. What form did he leave it in again?

However many hours, days, weeks, or months it’s been, he eventually hears a loud blaring sound followed up with an announcement he can’t quite hear. Something must be wrong, but that might mean this is his chance. He attempts to move his wings, but they could only twitch. He never realized just how tight the binds were, but he’s not surprised.

After a few hours, he hears machines moving until he’s suddenly dropped. The binds on his wings had fallen off as well. All that was left was the box on his head. He feels around the metal structure until he feels something that could resemble a lock. It doesn’t feel like a usual lock that needs a basic key for it, but if he could just…

A beep is heard and the box opens with a hiss. He pulls it off to be greeted by a dark room lit up with faint red lights. He drops the box and begins to stretch out his wings, his arms, and his legs.

…Now where was he?

The glass in front of him had shattered which gave him an opening to leave the containment room. He saw some scratch marks left by something big on the other side. He ultimately ignores it as his main concern at the moment is the location of the Guardian Angel. He wonders how they’ll react to him, but that’s saying if they even know him and what he does.

He shrugs it off, knowing full well he doesn’t expect nor does he look for forgiveness for it. Helping them would simply be his decision, but if he were to encounter anyone here who was an unfortunate victim under the sinners, then they would be his top priority. He hasn’t run into anyone yet, which made him feel relieved. Hopefully the people here managed to get out unscathed.

As he steps out into a hall, another loud blaring sound echoed through the facility.

“Attention, Z-222 has escaped containment. Do not let it leave the blacksite.”

He looks up, noticing a camera pointing at him. He raises a finger and swipes, knocking it off its hinges and shattering. That may be problematic. He’ll have to be careful from now on to avoid getting captured again. While he’s at it, perhaps he could also take a look around and see what others things are being kept here. Hopefully one of the rooms will have the Guardian Angel.

What he ended up getting caught up on, however, were some documents that had been left behind. Every single one he’s found in containment rooms, whether it was still intact or not, he thoroughly read the document. He’s not quite sure why, but he’s learned new things about this world with every document he’s picked up. He never knew such things existed until now.

As he opens more and more doors, the more he feels frustration beginning to boil up. There has been no documents mentioning the Guardian Angel, no clues on where they could be keeping them. Perhaps it was a good move for them to keep them separated, but damn it. Just how big was this place?

He comes across yet another room with two ways to go, but one of the large door’s wheels begin to turn. With no where else to go, he retreats into the side room just behind the other door and closes it before they could see him. He steps back from the door and turns around to see a computer with almost a cartoon-like face draw on it. It was locked behind a cage.

“O-Oh! Hello!” They chimed, “Uh… You don’t look like one of the workers here… H-How did you escape?”

A talking machine? And one that seems intelligent than the majority. Sentient, too.

He tilts his head, “I wish I knew, strange one. Perhaps someone had released me, but I never saw them as the people here had put a box over my head,”

“Someone released you? Oh, that must’ve been Sebastian then!”

“Hm? Sebastian?”

“Oh, right.. Box over your head,” the machine hummed, “He’s a pretty big guy. Uh, he’s blue, has an angler light bulb and a long tail. I think you’ll know it’s him when you actually see him,”

“You say as if I should go speak to him,”

Maybe his tone was a bit off which caused the machine to seem slightly nervous. He’s still not quite used to interacting with others despite his constant visits to the living realm and his interactions with their souls in his own little realm. Business talk can be vastly different from casual, after all.

“I-I mean-! You don’t HAVE to if you don’t want to!” They exclaimed, frantically trying to explain, “I just think maybe… Maybe if you wanna get out of here too, you could talk to him. He said he’d help me get out too, so…”

He thought about it for a moment. This machine seems oddly human despite it clearly being a simple program, but the tone, the face drawn on the screen, the reactions they express… It was like a person’s consciousness was in it. Strange.

“Tell me. What is your name?”

“My name? I mean, everyone really just called me “the painter.” Or just Painter. Even my… My creator,”

The sudden pause and shift in tone in their voice caught their attention. This brings him to ask, “What was your creator’s name?”

The machine looks up at him. They were silent until their expression changed into a rather sad one, “███████ ███████████████,”

That name was on a file in his realm. He remembers reading it as he stumbled upon his realm. If there was another face underneath the black mask, he was sure he’d be smiling. He had a pleasant talk with him when he passed by his realm. To this day, he still wonders why ███████ ultimately chose death over life.

“He was a good man, Painter,”

It was almost as if the machine’s expression lit up, “W-Wait, you knew him?! But, how-?”

“Please, I’d rather not fry your circuits,” he laughed, “But believe me when I tell you that he is at peace,”

“Well… O-Okay, I’ll believe you. I guess it’s nice to know he’s in a better place now,” as the machine says that, the lights suddenly flickered, “Oh, don’t go anywhere yet,”

He stares at them for a moment before the floor begins to shake. He had to balance himself as the trembles intensified and a muffled roar was heard just beyond the door.

The machine sighed, “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot lately. Been seeing it happen on the cameras before whatever it was knocked it out,”

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then,”

The machine’s face turned into a smile, “What’s your name by the way?”

It was his turn to stare at the machine in silence. Part of him figured they already knew, but he stands corrected.

“The sinners called me Z-222. But for you, Painter, it is Oberon Sol,”

“Z-222? Oberon Sol… Ohh! You’re the one they mentioned in the announcement a few hours ago!”

He laughs, nodding, “Yes, the very same. I should run along now and find this Sebastian you mentioned. Until we meet again, Painter, and maybe then I’ll try my hand at painting with you,”

“Really? You mean it? Okay! I’ll see you around!”

Oberon nods, opening the door slightly to check if there was no one. Once he confirmed the room was empty, he leaves and makes sure to close the door behind him. He makes a break for it through the door that had opened.

He’s been trying to keep track of time in his head. It must’ve been around five to six hours since he was awakened by the alarms. Maybe even more. He hasn’t seen any clocks around to properly keep track of time, but perhaps that was intentional when this place was made. You’d only know if you are told or you have a watch that still works.

He comes across a somewhat narrow tunnel. He can’t see anything outside the windows other than the occasional underwater bombs that look a bit too close even for tempered glass. It was way too quiet as well. He hasn’t seen anyone, let alone any of the researchers or even the guardsmen. Part of him begins to wonder if the people who were in charge of him are still alive.

He hoped so.

He soon finds himself looking through drawers, looking for anything that may prove useful later. Light sources, however, aren’t that useful to him. He can create his own ball of light after all.

The next room he stumbles into has its glass slightly broken. It was enough to have water start leaking through, but he quickly notices that one of the edges is slightly darker. It’s red.

This blood’s fresh…

He decides to follow it, eventually reaching the end of the tunnels and a room with five corpses. These people didn’t look like workers or even the guards. Those were prisoner outfits. Seeing them like this caused his chest to feel a bit heavy. Did they send them down here? How cruel.

There’s no blood coming from any of them. There didn’t seem to be any physical done to them, at least on the outside. He kneels down to one, checking to see if he can find out what happened and maybe even recognize this one’s face.

He can’t figure out what happened. He’ll need to look through their file in his realm, but that right now can’t be done.

He returns his attention to the blood trail as it implies the person had checked each one before they moved on to the next. Looting, perhaps. The trail then leads to the next room over. Before he exits, he looks back to the bodies and only hopes that their deaths were swift and painless.

As he stepped into the next room and closed the door, he heard a click and felt something press against the side of his head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you trailing me,” the voice growled.

He turns to the person as his small wing gently pushed the gun away. Half of his body was strangely human with an extra arm, clearly bleeding but looked to be bandaged up recently, an angler lure above his head, and a rather long fish tail as the other half of his body. He matched the description Painter had provided.

He fully turns to him, “Sebastian, I assume? Were you the one who freed me?”

“Maybe,” he doesn’t lower his gun, “I freed a lot of creatures held here, and a lot of them just mindlessly kill everything around them,”

“Fortunately for you, I don’t fall under that category. I refuse to take human life, let alone even try to harm them,”

Sebastian still doesn’t lower his gun until Oberon gently pushes it down with his hand, “A little painter told me that perhaps I should talk to you should I wish to leave this place. I assume you have a plan in mind,”

“So you met Painter, huh? He didn’t tell you what the deal was?”

“Perhaps he believed it to be best if I heard it from you,”

Sebastian sighed, putting the gun away, “Heard they’re trying to retrieve a crystal that’s deep in the facility. Apparently, it’s the main thing powering this entire place,”

“So you need to make sure the crystal isn’t picked up until you manage to find a way out,” Oberon hums, “Very well. I can assist in that,”

“You catch on quick, but you just said you wouldn’t even think of harming other people,”

“I did, but it is rather easy to throw someone off the guided path,” he snaps his finger, then points to the door behind him, “Remind me. What is behind that door?”

Sebastian turns to the door, then looks back at him, “Are you stupid or something? Didn’t you just come from that door?”

“What is behind that door?” Oberon repeats.

“The door leads to the trench tunnels,”

“It leads to a hotel lobby,”

Sebastian scoffs, “Now you’re just being ridiculous. How would a hotel lobby even-?”

As he opened the door that was supposed to lead to the trench tunnels, he was instead greeted by exactly what Oberon had said. Suddenly, he was in a hotel lobby. Oberon stands up and walks into the lobby, lighting up the fireplace. Slowly, Sebastian follows.

“What the f-?”

“I’ve made it so that it at least matches the style of this facility so it is not too out of place,” he cuts him off, “Although, perhaps if I had kept the original look, it’d make people really stop and question where exactly they are,”

“Is this a real place? Those people that were just here. Where did they-?”

He nods, “Not in this room as I pulled this one straight from where it came. Wherever this path leads, I suppose I can say I only hope they tread carefully if they wish to get through. They are not safe from the monsters you’ve released,”

Sebastian gives him a rather irritated look with that statement, one that Oberon ignores. He instead asks, “Did you know those people?”

“No. But I can only assume they’re expendable ranked prisoners. Their lives don’t matter to Urbanshade and are just used as cannon fodder. Seems to me they’re the ones being sent here to get that crystal now,”

Oberon says nothing to that. He should’ve expected such a thing existed.

“You’re leading them to their deaths, you know. That’s still killing them,” Sebastian then continues as he looks down to him, “No matter how you try putting it, them dying here will be your doing,”

Oberon is silent. Although, perhaps that’s not so different to what he normally does anyway. When people meet their end, they are brought to him and he guides them to their final destination wherever it might be. Guiding them to death.

“I still give them the chance to save themself. It’s an opportunity still wide enough for them to keep pushing forward. If I really wanted them dead, I wouldn’t give them places to hide and to retreat to,”

Even when guiding others to their death, he still gives them the option to go back and live just a little longer. This was the same thing, right? He gives them opportunities, chances, a choice. He gives them exactly what they need to keep pushing forward.

Oberon looks up to Sebastian, two stars appearing in his right eye, “You request that the retrieval of the crystal is to be delayed for as long as possible. Well, this is my method. I’m sure the one named Painter has their own methods as well, and whatever that may be, I will not interfere. A human’s will to live and desire for freedom can be extraordinary. I don’t doubt there will be one who will fight through it all and get what they so desire,”

He can see anger beginning to boil up in him as he says that, “What about what I want? Ten fucking years in this hell, and this is my chance for freedom! I had to be put through this shit before I could even think of fighting for my freedom!”

“And I don’t doubt you’ll get what you want soon enough,” Oberon lowered his head, “This is all I am capable of doing, and I apologize I cannot do more for you or Painter,”

“Aren’t you an angel? Wouldn’t the others like you come and get you out of here? Surely they can’t just leave one of their own stuck in a place like this,”

“Even if I could call them here, that wouldn’t be possible. There was a reason why the others didn’t assist the Guardian Angel of the Banlands when the sinners were there. There’s a reason why none of them tried to get them out of here, and there’s a reason why they want my light extinguished,”

Sebastian’s eyes widen a bit at that, “Extinguished? As in dead?”

He nods, “I don’t deny that I am guilty for something I did and that I still do. One rule we angels have is to never interfere with human life, much like their cycle of life. To you, death is the end, but not unless you find me. I can give you the chance to live once again, to start again where you left off. If you refuse the offer however, then I am to resume what I was originally created to do,”

Oberon pauses, then walks over to the next door. The stars in his eyes disappeared as he reached for the handle, “I always thought humans would give anything to cheat death as it was something a lot of you had feared, but… Some of you embrace it like it’s an old friend,”

On the other side was a dark hallway with windows on both sides, showing a red ocean with bones of an unknown creature. This still wasn’t the trench tunnels, and there’s no way they’re on the ocean floor to even see the bones. Either way, he doesn’t recognize those bones just outside the window. Sebastian follows him as they walk down the hall, the crimson color reflecting off of their forms.

“I suppose in a way, death is a beautiful thing,” Oberon continues, “Death is freedom to some. Maybe that’s how some of those prisoners being sent down here feel. They don’t care about the rewards. They just know this is an execution, one they fully embrace,”

He suddenly stops to look at the bones of the creature, “What do you think of it? Is death in this place truly an escape? Is embracing death in a place you would call Hell an escape?”

Sebastian stares at the bones, his eyes narrowing, “It’s the coward’s way out,”

Oberon remains silent. He will never understand humans and their way of thinking, but he loves them all the same.

Alright alright alright I swear this is the last Oberon lore post you’ll see after a while unless it has to do with art.

I’M SORRY, AFTER ACTUALLY THINKING ABOUT HIS LORE, I GOT REALLY INTO IT 😭😭

I’LL GO BACK TO WORKING ON REQUESTS

[radiance1]

Back on my bullshit with the Eastern Dragon Danny and Phoenix Vlad au:

So basically, Vlad decided to go to sleep for a while, inside a modified coffin built to withstand him and all that. So, he tells Danny a specific time to wake him so that he could resume his duties as Duke.

Why did Vlad decide to take a really long nap? Because he was extremely tired of ghost zone politics and decided to just go fuck it, I need a nap.

The deadline he needed Danny to wake him up at is relatively short in ghost terms really, just about a period of 40 years, he's currently 20, so at the end of this he should just be an even 60. Which would give him plenty of time to finish forty years of work before his rebirth cycle kicked in again.

He gave Danny the key to said coffin, with its specific magical signature and everything. So he expected and trusted that Danny would awaken him within a span of forty years, perhaps a bit earlier if push came to shove.

Then he just went to sleep.

Danny doesn't like his decision to just, up and go sleep for forty years, only because he would have to be the one doing the paperwork but its like, whatever he guessed. Do Danny was now actually handling the paperwork and navigating ghostly politics once more!

Joy...

He was buried in work for a fair amount of time, sometimes literally, and had to kick it back for a bit before going back to work. He felt like he was forgetting something, though...

A key appeared under a stack of papers that he just worked through, a veeeeeeery familiar key that he was sure had some kind of importance based on that itchy feeling in the back of his skull.

Eh, it's probably not important.

Welp, back to work!

Danny worked in silence for a bit, before getting up and slamming his hands on his desk.

OH FUCK, VLAD!

It's been waaaay more than 40 years last he checked, enough time that Vlad must've rebirthed inside his coffin already by like, a lot of times by now.

Considering that 5 millenniums have passed.

Well, shit.

So he hid the key in his hair, shifted, and flew off to Vlad's domain to wake him up. But when he got there, weeeeell, let's just say that Vlad's coffin was. Well.

It was gone.

Now, you see Observants. He had a totally reasonable explanation for this, you know. It was uh, well, you know, he just, ya'know?

He just, kinda, forgot...

He'll get him back! He swears! He just, need to, ya'know, find the guy!

Couldn't be that hard!

Another five millenniums later, he felt like punching his past self for fucking jinxing future him! The Observants were literally breathing down his neck to find the guy, and he didn't want to go back to doing paperwork either!

His salvation came in the form of a summoning, one he answered and finally, finally found the location of Vlad's coffin. He honestly got extremely, he didn't want to face paperwork again, so he asked these group of heroes to help him find this specific coffin in exchange for whatever they wanted him to do.

And he's Ancient damn thankful he did cause oh boy, cause like 2 days later he was presented the coffin that was just sitting collecting dust in some magician guy's house that was apparently passed down throughout generations that the Justice League managed to get their hands on.

So he opened it, and literally had to catch Vlad, who fell out of his coffin and looked like a literal 10-year-old. Did Vlad's temporary retirement plan include his deadline of 40 years being stretched by 9,960 years? No, no it did not, and unlike the previous ghost king, he was not unaffected by the length of his sleep.

So forgive him if he had to relearn how to do basic body functions, his memory foggy, and his powers were a bit outta wack.

[dharmafox]

Sorry to keep dragging Doctor Who into this, but posting Doctor Who/Mononoke theory here is going to baffle far fewer people than would posting it on my main blog...

It's somewhat plausible that the Medicine Seller and the Doctor really are similar beings on a cosmic scale. Both are dedicated to serving others; both are wanderers; both have no name other than a title that associates them with medicine. ("Medicine," by the way, is a term used not only for the "Elixir of Wisdom" produced in the Eight Trigram furnace, but also for the teachings of the Buddha, who is sometimes referred to as the "Great Physician").

Both the Doctor and the Medicine Seller maintain these core qualities regardless of whether or not other characteristics change, suggesting that a single cosmic force guides what they are. For the Medicine Seller, we know this to be true.

It's possible to label both of these beings as bodhisattva: agents of a higher wisdom who incarnate to connect with people in the physical realm and guide them toward wisdom or salvation - that is, back toward their central self.

For the Medicine Seller, this central self is the original state, the crucible of the Golden Elixir, the Tao, the Buddha, the dharma... whatever label you give it. (Given the amalgamation of Buddhism, Taoism, etc. in Japanese culture, and for many other reasons I won't get into right now, I think it's safe to say these ideas are all pretty much equivalent.)

For the Doctor, it's just... the Doctor, the numinous self that dictates the common elements of all the Doctors: primarily, courage and compassion (also both key in Buddhism). This is almost explicit in the Twelfth Doctor's final words before he regenerates: "Doctor, I let you go." He identifies "the Doctor" as a "self" outside his own.

If you're familiar with classic Doctor Who, you'll also have seen some strongly indicated connections there between the Doctor and Buddhism, including a story made up of two separate serials ("Kinda" and "Snakedance"), in which the Doctor battles a snakelike beast called the Mara. Not only do both of these stories invoke multiple concepts taken directly from Zen Buddhism, but the Mara itself is named after the Buddhist devil. Not every Doctor Who writer has endorsed this idea, obviously, but it's interesting that the Doctor fits into the role of a Buddhist savior so convincingly that a practicing Buddhist ("Kinda" and "Snakedance"s screenwriter) cast the Fifth Doctor in that role.

All that said (and I got way more into that than I meant to), if the Doctor and the Medicine Seller are basically the same type of being, connected to the same cosmic concepts, including the one that governs their multitude of permutations - then the possible incarnations of the Doctor may be capped at the same number as the Medicine Seller's: 64.

(For those who never made it into Thirteen's era, it established that the Doctor was never capped at the twelve-regeneration limit, and may in fact have an infinite number of regenerations. They were also first found at an interdimensional gateway of sorts, which is interesti-- Anyway, I'm no fan of this newest contortion of Doctor Who's lore, but since it fits into my theory I'm mentioning it anyway. 😛)

[her-satanic-wiles]

Soul Stalker

Dewdrop/Sodo x Transmasc!Reader

In the eerie moonlit forest, you are ensnared in a nightmarish game of hide and seek with the malevolent entity Dewdrop, whose demonic force has targeted you. The chilling objective is to survive until sunrise, seeking refuge in the Ministry’s cabin deep within the sinister woods. With the dawn as your only salvation, you must navigate the haunted forest, outwit the relentless demon, and reach safety before Dewdrop claims you as his prize. The race against time intensifies, making the night unforgiving as you strive to survive until sunrise in this twisted pursuit.

Masterlist ⛧ Realm of Souls Masterlist

Commissioned by @dantesunbreaker

Words: 10.9k.

Reading Time: 40 min.

Warnings: biting, choking, comparing loss of breath to drowning, degradation, dubcon elements, face slapping, fear kink, fellatio, fingering, “forced” cum drinking, “forced” fellatio, fucked dumb, hide and seek, horror, knotting, masturbation, mean dom!Dew, mild praise, mind break, monster fucking, I’m in my element, objectification, pain kink, physical violence/fighting, PIV sex, predator/prey, rough fellatio, self choking, skull-fucking, transmasc!Reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal sex, violence

This is low key giving Shia LeBeouf Live by Rob Cantor and I’m not mad about it. Also, kind of exaggerated like hentai, sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @dantesunbreaker @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @namelesshumanperson @gorie-talks-a-lot

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

You wanted to see. You’d asked him to show you because you didn’t think it would be this bad. As literal demons walking around the Ministry, the Ghouls were tame. Good. Calm. You’d never feel afraid of one, especially Dewdrop. But there you were, squashed into a narrow broom cupboard - more akin to a coffin than a cupboard - with your hand over your mouth and trying desperately to calm your breathing. As you’d asked, Dew had let the full demon out - and this twisted game of hide and seek became more high-stakes than you’d anticipated. At any point you could stop, just by screaming one word Dew would resume control again and return to his human-adjacent personality. But there was something about the fear, the predator hunting you down with eyes darker than night, sharp claws and teeth that could rip you to shreds if Dew didn’t have the control he promised you, that kept you from tapping out too soon. The game was on, the stakes were high, and your heart rate was out of control.

Your mind raced with thoughts - Dew was right behind you a moment ago: your screams echoing as you ran through the Ministry like your life depended on it, because it quite possibly did. Where was he now? Why did he let you escape? He should have been there, chasing you to the dead end and claiming his prize… so why was it quiet? Was he waiting you out? Was he outside? You pressed your ear to the thin door and listened for something, anything, to tell you that he was waiting. His breathing, his chuckling, something.

Nothing.

You rested your hand on the door handle and pushed it down gently… slowly… silently. You opened it briefly, your body tense and prepared to run if you needed to. The door cracked open a small bit and you expected to see Dew’s unmasked face in the slither.

Nothing.

You got braver, opening the door just enough to stick your head out. You peeked left. Right.

Nothing.

Dread pooled in your stomach. You looked up.

Nothing.

“___.” He called, your name ringing on his lips like a twisted song. It was quiet. Distant. But too close for your liking. Quickly and quietly, you retreated back into the cupboard, closing the door with a hushed click. You held your breath. Listening. Waiting. “Where is he?” He asked, his voice more sinister than the tune he sang your name in. But still, it was soft, as though he were trying to draw you out in comfort. Lull you into his stomach. “Where’s my lovely… little… boy?”

You could hear his heavy boots clunk against the carpeted floors. Slow, deliberate steps amplified by the late time and all the Siblings tucked away in their beds, warm and safe from Dew’s wrath.

“I can smell you.” He told you. “I can smell your fear, ___.” You heard his claws scrape along the walls. “It smells divine.” He began trying each door along the corridor, tugging at the handles and swinging open the unlocked ones, grunting in frustration when you didn’t appear. That was when you realised, you didn’t lock the door. You put your hand on the lock and turned it, grateful that this room had the ability to lock it from the inside and you waited - listening to Dew getting closer and closer.

As Dew’s claws scraped against the walls, the scent of terror became an irresistible aroma for him, bringing him ever closer. The sound of the door handle being tried made you freeze in fear, the lock your only pitiful defence against the impending nightmare that awaited you in the Ministry’s shadowed halls.

With a gut-wrenching creak, the cupboard door shifted slightly as Dew applied force from the outside. Panic surged within you, and you held your breath, praying that the lock would hold. The eerie silence outside shattered as Dew’s low growl permeated the air. You gasped, but kept your hand over your mouth, praying that he didn’t hear you.

“I know you’re in there, my pet,” he hissed, the sinister undertone of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “There’s no hiding from me.”

The tension in the narrow space escalated as the door handle continued to rattle, Dew’s frustration evident in every metallic clang. Your mind raced, searching for an escape route or a hiding place within the cupboard that might shield you from his malevolent gaze.

Just as you felt the lock strain under the relentless assault, a sudden diversion disrupted Dew’s pursuit. A distant sound, a creak or a moan, drew his attention away momentarily. The cupboard’s door ceased its ominous rattling, and you could almost sense Dew’s predatory focus shifting elsewhere. You willed him away, silently praying and pleading for him to disappear.

In the stifling darkness, you hesitated, caught between the desperate urge to escape and the paralyzing fear of making a noise. Dew’s voice echoed in the corridor, distant but filled with malicious intent.

“I’ll find you, ___,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “No corner in this Ministry can keep you from me.”

Taking advantage of the momentary respite, you carefully cracked the cupboard door open, your eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. Dew’s footsteps echoed in the distance, drawing him away for now. With cautious steps, you emerged from the confinement of the cupboard, acutely aware of every creaking floorboard beneath your feet.

The ominous atmosphere enveloped you as you navigated the dimly lit corridor, each step a gamble between the safety of the shadows and the exposure to Dew’s relentless pursuit. The scent of fear lingered, a haunting reminder of the stakes in this demonic game of hide and seek.

You had to navigate the Ministry quickly but silently, keeping your toes light and your eyes and ears peeled for movement or sounds. You’d chosen midnight to play the game, knowing that the corridors would be quiet and you’d be able to avoid the traffic of the rest of the Ministry. And as Dew was only focussed on your scent, he’d gun for only you - hunt only you.

Turning a corner, your eyes flared as you caught a glimpse of activity in the distance. A fleeting shadow flickered along the edge of your vision, making your heart skip a beat. Fear rushed through your veins as you pressed against the cold stone wall, disappearing into the darkness like a spectre. The footsteps, rhythmic and deliberate, approached from around the corner. The shape of Dew’s thin figure appeared, his demonic aura producing an unsettling glow that twisted the air around him. His eyes, dark as the abyss, swept the passageway for any sign of your presence.

In the oppressive silence, you held your breath, praying that the darkness concealed you effectively. Every muscle tensed as Dew’s gaze lingered, seemingly aware of your proximity. The fear that had gripped you in the broom cupboard returned with a vengeance, clawing at your insides. Dew approached, mixed with the aroma of malevolence. The corridor seemed to narrow as his predatory senses zeroed in on the location where you had hidden yourself. Panic threatened to overtake you, compelling you to run, but deciding whether to reveal yourself became a tactical decision, a high-risk bet in the fatal pursuit. Despite your brain screaming at you, you held your ground, disappearing into an alcove without a door and remained still.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Suddenly, his form was right in front of you, illuminated by the glow of the candles. His long, silky blonde hair fell around his horns, and you couldn’t help but notice his otherworldly beauty despite the dire situation you were in. He could smell you - you know he could, any moment now he’d turn and he’d look at you.

He stepped closer towards the alcove, his nose sniffing like a dog as it searched, picking up your fear. You’d rested your hand on the stone, leaving your scent there, giving him a place to anchor onto. He sniffed, his nose getting closer and closer to your scentprint, and, with a growl, his long, demonic tongue emerged and licked the stone, tasting the sweat that had contaminated the brick. It was unsettling to watch, the way he allowed his tongue to feel over every nook and cranny, every bump of the brick. But he’d got a taste for you now.

Suddenly, his eyes flicked towards you, scanning the darkness before a smile appeared on his lips. “Hello, Brother.” He said, ominously, his mouth curving up into a wicked smile. He hovered over you, pinning you into the corner. Despite the petiteness of his stature, in that moment he was very oppressive, seeming to tower over you as you shrank back in fear. His sharp claws gripped at your body, and began to gather your black, monastic habit up at your hip, slowly exposing your body to the elements. He delighted in your fear - almost fed off of it. Enjoying every second you gave yourself to him, willingly or fearfully. It didn’t matter. He’d won. “I’ll claim my prize now.” He told you, those same claws running alongside the seam of your underwear and ripping them in half, allowing them to fall on the floor.

You could feel yourself growing wet at being caught by him, the pools of blackness where his eyes should have been mesmerising you into submission. Hypnotising you into letting him do what he wanted now that he had you. Your knees buckled as you felt him swipe over your bundle of nerves, uncaring where his claws landed. He chuckled when he felt your slick, using his other hand to hold up your robes while he sucked your essence off his hand. “Aren’t you a filthy little boy, hm?” He taunted, relishing the taste of you on his demonic tongue. “Getting wet from being caught. Just give yourself to me,” he moved back to your slit and began stroking, this time adding pressure and making you cry out, “lose the game, little one. I can show you pleasures my human form couldn’t possibly.”

“I w-won’t lose.” You stuttered, your hips moving of their own free will. Your mind didn’t want to lose, but now that Dew had you in his grasp, you couldn’t bring body to tear itself away from him. Giving in would mean he won. Cumming on his fingers like you so, desperately wanted to do would mean he won. But the mewls and whimpers that were escaping your lips were telling the truth, and Dew knew it. He had you, and there was nothing for it.

“Maybe, I’ll stick my cock into this tight, wet, heat, hm? Have you begging for it like the whore I know you are.”

The way his finger ran over your folds was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands gripped onto his skin as your eyes shut tight, hips bucking wildly against his hand and moans tumbling from your lips. You wanted to cum so badly, he’d got you so close already because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You wanted his fingers to dip inside you and fuck you, tapping against that spot only he had been able to reach.

Dew in demonic form was much scarier up close; obsidian eyes from corner to corner, pointed ears and long, goat-like horns that helped his face look like an inverted pentagram. His teeth were sharp, all of them jagged at the end as though he were some kind of shark. He smelled entirely of sulfur, of the Hells themselves, and such a smell shouldn’t be appealing, and yet, on him, it was glorious.

“Dew!” You whimpered, your voice growing louder with each passing second. You didn’t care if anyone heard anymore, at this point you were too far gone.

“That’s it, my precious boy. Give yourself to me. Give everything you have to me.”

No, you couldn’t let him win. In a moment of bravery (or stupidity), your knee collided with his balls and in his distraction, you pushed him aside and ran for it, your habit falling as you escaped him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you darted away from the alcove, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. The echo of Dew’s pained groan mixed with the sinister laughter that followed you, echoing through the dim corridors of the Ministry. Panic gripped you, urging you to push through the terror and escape the clutches of the demonic entity. As you sprinted through the labyrinthine halls, you could hear Dew’s enraged footsteps behind you. His voice, now a guttural growl, reverberated through the air. “You can’t escape, Brother. I always get what I want.” His words were laced with a perverse satisfaction, and the threat hung heavy in the air.

The staircase loomed before you, a darkly illuminated plummet into the depths of the Ministry. Each stride you took carried the echo of your racing heart. The flickering lighting produced strange shadows on the walls, producing a bewildering dance of light and darkness that reflected the insanity in your head. As you descended, the air became colder, and the harsh atmosphere of the demonic hunt persisted around every turn. The walls appeared to close in, and the darkness got more ominous. Dew’s haunting, predatory laughter rang from above, tempting you to walk faster.

When you reached the lowest level, you found yourself in a dim corridor leading to the kitchen. The scent of stone walls combined with the distant aroma of past dinners, creating a bizarre sensory overload that only added to your worry. The corridor seemed to continue indefinitely, a terrifying road pushing you deeper into the unknown. Your footsteps resonated like sinister drumbeats, echoing along the stone corridors. The flickering candles created uneven shadows on the symbols, making them appear to dance illicitly.

As you approached the kitchen, the dark atmosphere intensified. The massive door stood before you, a portal to potential safety, and you pushed it open with frantic might. The kitchen, which was normally a source of warmth and sustenance, suddenly felt like a haven from the demonic creature that chased you, despite the cold and lifeless energy that exuded from it.

The room was dimly lit, with old wooden tables and abandoned cooking utensils casting eerie silhouettes. The scent of stale air mixed with the remnants of forgotten meals hung in the stillness. You ran towards the door, hoping you could escape through the back. But your stomach dropped at the realisation that the door had been locked, and this time there was no key to use to escape. You scanned the room for a hiding spot, your eyes darting between the dark corners and the silent gloom that clung to the walls.

Dew’s growls resounded along the hallway, as his footsteps became harder to ignore. Your movements were driven by panic as you looked for cover, eventually taking shelter behind a huge table that was flipped over. Your terror was suppressed by the adrenaline pumping through your system, but even still, it lay wide awake as Dew swung the doors open. Breathing heavily, you crouched behind the table, desperately trying to control the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows, playing tricks on your eyes and heightening the sense of imminent danger. The kitchen held an oppressive stillness, broken only by the distant echoes of Dew’s footsteps drawing nearer.

As you hid, you noticed a partially opened door leading to a pantry. The darkness within seemed like a tempting refuge, and you made a split-second decision to abandon your current position. Darting across the room, you slipped into the pantry and closed the door silently, enveloping yourself in pitch-black darkness. And this time, you made sure not to touch anything, and crouched behind multiple sacks of potatoes.

The air inside was thick with the musty scent of preserved goods. Boxes and cans lined the shelves, and your fingers fumbled in the dark as you sought a place to hide. Huddled among the supplies, you strained to listen for any signs of Dew’s approach. Time seemed to stretch agonizingly as you waited, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint sounds of Dew searching the kitchen. The demon’s guttural growls and muttered curses added to the suspense, amplifying the horror of the situation.

Suddenly, the pantry door creaked open, and you held your breath. Dew’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, his demonic presence sending shivers down your spine. His predatory gaze scanned the darkness, and you dared not move, praying that the pitch-blackness would conceal your presence. For a moment, it felt as if time had frozen. Dew’s eyes flickered over the pantry, his sharp senses on high alert. The air in the confined space became heavy with tension, and you could almost feel his gaze piercing through the darkness.

Then, with an unsettling chuckle, Dew withdrew, leaving the pantry door ajar. The relief was palpable, but you knew the respite would be short-lived. The demon was relentless in his pursuit, and the game of hide and seek persisted with an intensity that surpassed any nightmare.

You carefully pushed open the pantry door and glanced into the kitchen as Dew’s footsteps receded into the distance. For a while, it looked like the coast was clear, so you took advantage of the chance to continue your escape, making your way through the maze-like passageways of the Ministry while the sound of Dew’s chuckle lingered in your ears. The night was filled with more horrors than you could have ever imagined, and the demonic being was far from defeated. As you left, you picked up some napkins from the open bag and stuffed them in your pocket. If your transferred scent could make it easier for him to find you, then you’d just have to deal with using tools to help.

The journey to the Ministry’s main entrance felt like a descent into lunacy. The dimly lit corridors twisted and swirled, each step evoking the frightening recollection of Dew’s chase. The air was overly silent, punctuated only by the groaning of ancient floors beneath your weight. The flickering candlelight created bizarre eerie shapes on the walls, twisting the familiar surroundings into hideous shapes that appeared to mock your desperate escape. The diabolical patterns engraved into the stone walls seemed to writhe with terrible energy, and their unnerving glow added to the eerie atmosphere. This was the first time you’d ever felt unsafe here, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to feel it again.

The path to the front entrance took you through spooky passageways hung with images of long-forgotten characters, their gaze seemingly tracking your every step. The silence was hostile, interrupted only by the distant echoes of Dew’s walking as he continued his unrelenting pursuit somewhere off into the distance, but far too close for comfort. The foreboding atmosphere added to the sense of impending doom, and your breath stuck in your throat with each step.

As you approached the entryway, the blackness appeared to deepen, engulfing the flickering flame and throwing the passage into near darkness. The suffocating air clung to your skin, and a chilly perspiration covered your palms as you grappled for the front door handle. To your disappointment, the door resisted your attempts. It was locked, a barrier between you and the potentially safe outside world. Panic poured through you, and the realisation that you might not be able to escape from this wicked game settled like an anchor in your chest.

A horrible sound echoed across the hallway, a strange combination of Dew’s low growls and the frightening laughter that had grown synonymous with your tormentor. The demon was closing in, and the front entry, which had once been a source of hope, now appeared to be the portal to a hellish doom. Desperation drove your actions as you searched for a key, a method to unlock the door and escape the Ministry’s evil grip. The distant echoes of Dew’s approach became louder, his ravenous presence drawing ever closer. Dark figures appeared to creep over the floor, reaching for you like the tendrils of an unknown nightmare.

With shaky hands, you continued your desperate hunt for an escape route, the darkness of the corridor pushing in on you like a creature unto itself. As no key was available, you took a leaf out of Dew’s book and began trying doors, using the napkin you’d picked up from the kitchen earlier. This lead you farther and farther from the front entrance, but even so, there had to be some way out.

Finally, a door opened and you found your way inside, celebrating silently and shutting the door behind you. It wasn’t until you’d turned to lock it, you’d realised where you were. “Papa.” You said, looking at the photos of the late Papa Emeritus III’s past that sat framed on the drawers and shelves. Layers of dust hung in the air like ethereal strands, catching the meager light that filtered through the closed curtains. The atmosphere in the office was stifling, as if the very walls revealed the Ministry’s secrets. The air was dense with strange silence, interrupted only by the slight creaking of the floorboards beneath your cautious steps. A sense of intrusion washed over you, as if the room contained a memory that should be kept private. The place appeared stuck in time, unaffected by the passage of days or years. Forgotten papers were thrown around the desk, their contents concealed by collecting dust. An exquisite chair stood behind the desk, covered in a faded velvet covering reminiscent of a former period.

Your eyes were drawn to the window, a feeble source of outside illumination in the darkness of the room. The curtains, heavy with neglect, clung to the window frame like cobwebs. As you approached, the outside world came into focus, revealing a distorted view of the moonlit landscape beyond. And, much to your relief, the window was unlocked.

You lifted the sash, and climbed out, body shivering in the cold night and the snow that was falling onto your body. As you turned to close the window, you heard Papa Terzo’s clock strike the hour. You were only two hours into the onslaught, but you were outside, now fearing the horrors that awaited you between the trees.

The landscape beyond the Ministry grounds was eerily still. The moon threw an ethereal tint on the freshly fallen snow, transforming the environment into a strange dreamscape. The trees, their branches heavy with winter frost, stood like quiet guardians in the moonlight. You felt fear as you took your first steps into the unknown. The crunch of snow beneath your boots reverberated through the silence, each step a reminder of the desolation that surrounded you. The woods, once a haven of peace, now harboured the threat of unseen horrors.

Two hours into the night, and the ordeal had only just begun. The moon hung like a spectral lantern in the sky, casting long shadows that played tricks on your senses. The snowfall intensified, creating a hushed symphony that accompanied your every step.

Fear gnawed at the edges of your consciousness as you ventured deeper into the forest, the path ahead obscured by the interplay of moonlight and shadow. Every rustle of the leaves, every distant howl of the wind, sent shivers down your spine. The horrors that awaited between the trees became an unknown; a nightmare that unfolded with each passing moment.

With the Ministry now a distant silhouette against the night sky, you pressed on, driven by the urgency of survival and the haunting awareness that Dew was still looking for you within the walls of the Ministry, and he hadn’t realised you’d escaped.

As you descended deeper into the haunted woods, the covering of snow beneath your boots muffled your footsteps, producing an eerie silence that heightened your sensation of loneliness. The starry path ahead twisted and curved, and the skeletal limbs of the trees appeared to stretch out like spectral fingers, throwing lengthy reflections on the snow-covered ground. The chilly air bit at your skin, and your breath created crystalline clouds in the icy night. The haunting beauty of the surroundings contrasted dramatically with the dread that clung to your every move. You couldn’t shake the impression that unseen eyes were watching, and the forest’s silence served as a canvas for the echoes of your pounding heartbeat.

You trekked through the snow, the smothering stillness broken by the distant howl of the wind, which carried an unsettling melody that appeared to mirror the malevolence hiding in the night. Every crunch of snow beneath your boots felt like a drumbeat, a reminder that you were an invader in a land where invisible evils thrived. The moon, now your only source of light in the ink-black sky, projected a pale glow on the snowflakes, resulting in a bizarre landscape that blurred the line between reality and horror. The woods seemed to shut in on you, their twisted shapes taking on a bizarre look that stoked your growing unease. However, with each step, a weird determination replaced the fear. The fact that Dew was still unaware of your escape provided a ray of optimism. The dense forest, however menacing, provided an opportunity for evasion; a brief respite from the evil entity’s persistent pursuit.

You paused, uncertain which way to go when the route ahead split into two. You felt as though the starry branches above were whispering secrets, telling you to make your decision wisely. You were surrounded by silence, only broken by the gentle patter of falling snow and the distant rustle of unseen creatures. Your desire for survival drove you to make a choice despite the uncertainty surrounding it. However, in the unlikely event that this went wrong, all you knew was that Dew would most likely track you down. The trek continued under the moonlight, each step filled with suspense as the mysteries of the winter night’s embrace revealed the horrors that lay beyond the trees.

You were heading to the cabin on the grounds of the Ministry - a much smaller place where you felt like you could defend yourself easier, despite it being so far out. It didn’t matter, really - you were a human going up against a demon. There wasn’t much you could do until the sunlight when the game had finished.

Suddenly, the crack of a tree branch sent shivers down your spine - this crack was closer than the others, much closer and it came from behind you. You fought the instinctive urge to look round, the need to know for sure what that was becoming almost too great to handle. But you also couldn’t bear the idea that Dew had found you so soon. You froze in your tracks, keeping as still as possible despite the fact that you were so, clearly visible at that moment.

The snow crunched behind you, as if a foot had stepped on it. A solitary step in the quiet of the forest. You held your ground and fought against any movement that would reveal where you were, the frigid air seeping into your lungs. The snow around you appeared to sparkle with a sinister radiance under the moon, creating long shadows that deceived your senses.

Another step, and the tension in the air became palpable.

You could now hear the sound of breathing as the crunches got louder and louder, until, eventually, the breaths began to fall on the back of your neck. In your blind panic, you covered your neck with your hand and spun around, eyes frantically searching the treeline for anything that might have made that noise.

Nothing.

Look up, something told you from inside.

The shadow was of a man crouching on one of the branches, impossibly balanced on such a thin branch. You could see his silhouette perfectly as he maniacally gazed down at you. You couldn’t see his eyes, given that they, too, were black. But you could feel them on you. The realisation only lasted a moment before he jumped down at you from his high branch. You barely had the time to turn before he had you buried in the snow, face down into the cold and his body pinning you down. You were writhing beneath him, your nose barely above the snow and your face damn near frozen solid. You did everything you could to fight against him, but he was too strong - mostly because he was in his demonic form. But, from above you, all you could hear was his cackling and chuckling at your struggling.

“Keep fighting me,” he told you, his voice deeper than usual and darker; much, much darker, “I like it when you fight me.”

“L-let go of me!” You shouted, your teeth chattering from the cold.

“And lose my prey? Where would the fun be in that?”

He got off you momentarily so he could flip your body onto your back. Even if you could breathe now, the shock of the cold made you weaker. Weaker, but not unable to fight back. In that moment, you took the opportunity to kick him again, this time your foot collided with his face hard enough to shock him, but not hard enough to do some damage. You flipped, and tried to stand up, even giving yourself enough lower body strength to run a little. But, you felt Dew’s sharp claws dig into your leg and pull you back across the snow.

“You know, you make me so much harder when you’re scared.”

“‘m not scared!” You lied.

He leaned down on top of you, pinning you into the snow. His long tongue came out and licked your cheek all the way to your ear. In a low voice, he told you, “I can taste it on your skin. The smell of your fear helped me find you.” He moved one of his hands down to your core and squeezed. “You wanted me to find you, didn’t you?”

You did. Fuck, you did. As scared as this whole chase made you, it didn’t matter. Even with fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins you wanted him completely. You wanted to spread your legs for him right there in the snow and let him have his way with you - let him win the game, if only to feel him balls deep inside you, rearranging your guts in a way his human form always held back.

Dew always let the darkness take over when he was in his demonic form, always suppressed any of that stereotypical humanity that made him so sweet and lovable - the reason you fell for him. Unlike the other Ghouls, he rarely shifted, which would hurt his mental state in the long run. For the other Ghouls, regularly shifting allowed them to retain their “humanity” in demonic form - in essence, they could control themselves and wouldn’t become bloodthirsty beasts, sacrificing others for Satan’s pleasure. But Dew was different. He could never control himself in the same way the others could, and the longer he stayed out of his demonic form, the worse it got.

You’d told him that you could handle it, that it was important for him to shift and learn to control himself. You’d told him you could trust him. Was a lot of this spurred on by the fact that you wanted him to fuck you in his demonic form? Absolutely. But once you learned how important it was, you began to worry that you were holding him back, and damaging him in the process. This whole conversation sparked an argument, that was only settled when the game was suggested… by you. And he’d agreed.

And now, here you were, pinned beneath him with his fingers stroking over your soaked core, feeling your own sanity slipping away at the callouses that rubbed you so deliciously.

Do whatever it took to get away from him.

You fought him some more when you’d come to your senses, pulling his arm and removing his hand from you. Another slap, another kick, and you’d gone before he had the chance to recover, running through the snow to get to that cabin.

Your breath came in sharp gasps, the cold air making your terror obvious. The thicket seemed to be attempting to entangle you in its nightmare as you pushed through, its branches seemingly reaching out to grab hold of your habit and snaking around you. The landscape was warped into a confusing maze as the shadows moved in frightening patterns. A chilly wind blew across the woods, bringing the eerie sounds of Dew laughing with it. His presence appeared to warp the entire fabric of reality, like an ominous shadow that was always there. Panic gripped you, urging you to run faster, to escape the clutches of the demonic entity that hungered for you.

You felt as though the forest was closing in on you, the trees acting like dead spectators to your desperate escape. The horrors that hid within were hidden by the abyss-like darkness that spread between the trunks. The fear that pursued you was heightened by each snap of a twig and each rustle of leaves, intensifying the adrenaline-driven pulse in your chest. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder and saw Dew’s shape in the moonlight, his eyes shining with an otherworldly evil. With an uncanny speed, the monster closed the distance, unaffected by the barriers that stood in your way.

A scream, half-strangled by fear, clawed at the back of your throat. The thought that there might not be a way out of Dew’s unrelenting pursuit was like a crushing weight on your chest. With every step you made, the forest felt more like a trap closing in on you, drawing you more into the diabolical nightmare.

Through the dense foliage, the dim glimmer from the cabin’s windows flickered like a far-off light of hope. Your legs began to pump more forcefully as a result of the sight, propelling you through the snow-covered forest and towards the prospect of a makeshift haven. The cold air burned in your lungs, but you were driven forward by terror of Dew’s unrelenting pursuit. The cabin appeared to emerge gradually from the darkness, with each stride defining its outline more clearly. The snow-covered walkway leading to its entrance had a ghostly glimmer from the moon. The unsteady ground could have easily caused you to stumble, but the need to get away drove you along, breathing heavily and irregularly now.

The haunting echoes of Dew’s pursuit grew louder behind you. His evil laughter cut through the chilly night, resonating between the trees in a chorus of evil. The fear that seized every step was heightened by the feeling that you were being chased by a demon who’d been summoned from the pits of Hell - to play guitar of all things. The snow seemed to be working against you as you got closer to the cottage. Through the thick forest came the distant thud of Dew’s footfall, getting closer and closer. Severe panic struck, and you threw a quick check over your shoulder, only to see his shadow moving closer.

The cabin’s door stood before you, a portal to potential safety. You sprinted towards the entry, your power amplified by adrenaline, and fumbled with the lock, flinging the door open. The inside warmth provided a momentary relief from the stinging cold, but the anxiety persisted because Dew was quite literally a few feet away.

You heard him thud against the door as you stumbled inside and slammed it shut behind you, locking it just in time. The wooden wall seemed weak in the face of the otherworldly energy chasing you. The cabin seemed to be a flimsy fortification, protecting you from the dangers that waited in the wintry darkness. A strange wind shook the windows, and the air within seemed to move in time with Dew’s evil chuckles, making the place feel stifling and heavy on your breath.

It dawned on you, as you gasped for air in the dark inside, that you were not alone. With his laughter a terrifying preface to the unrelenting pursuit that had turned into an unavoidable nightmare deep within the snow-covered woodland, Dew’s presence loomed just outside.

From the other side of the cabin door, Dew’s voice slithered through the wood like a serpent, a sinister melody that sent shivers down your spine. “Come out, little one,” he hissed, the words dripping with a malevolent blend of amusement and hunger. “So, you thought this feeble cabin could save you from me?” Dew’s voice dripped with amusement, the words weaving through the air like a dark incantation. “Did you really believe you could outsmart me, little one?”

The mocking tone cut through the silence within the cabin, reminding you that this all seemed useless. The demonic entity reveled in the revelation that you had unwittingly confined yourself within the very trap you thought would offer protection. “You’ve locked yourself in, and now there’s nowhere left to run,” he continued, the malevolence in his voice intensifying. “Just wait until I get my hands on you.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do to you?” You heard a slam on the roof, and jumped at the noise. “Do you know all the ways I’m going to make you scream?”

You glanced at the clock, its hands ticking away the agonizing moments. Dawn was fast approaching and the realization hit you—three more hours of enduring the demonic onslaught. The cabin, once a potential sanctuary, now felt like a prison where time stretched into an eternity, each passing second carrying the weight of impending horror.

Dew’s voice, laced with a perverse excitement, slithered through the confined space of the cabin, each word a grotesque brushstroke painting a vivid picture of the torment he envisioned.

“I want to hear you scream,” he rasped, the words carrying a disturbing hunger. You saw him run past one of the windows from the corner of your eye. “To feel your fear, your desperation. I want to revel in the music of your screaming.”

A sinister chuckle punctuated his words, echoing the sadistic pleasure he derived from the impending cruelty. “Do you know the exquisite pain of anticipation? The way your heart pounds, the cold sweat that coats your skin? I relish every moment leading up to the finale of your suffering.”

Dew hovered outside the cabin like an evil spirit from hell, his raptor’s eye fixed on the building that was now both your haven and your prison. The demonic figure turned around the cottage, a silent hunter enjoying the macabre game, and the snow-covered landscape witnessed his threatening silhouette.

With his claws, he scraped the walls of the cabin, creating a frightening rhythm that echoed through the silent night. Through the darkness, you could see the predatory delight in his eyes, which told volumes about the sadistic pleasure he took in torturing you. And you realised under that gaze, that your thighs were clenching together so tightly, they were beginning to ache.

“I can almost taste your fear,” he hissed, the words carrying on the frigid breeze. “Do you feel the inevitability of your demise, little one? There’s no escape. Nowhere to hide from the darkness that I bring.”

Dew kept stalking around the cabin, frightening and teasing. With an inhuman power, he pounded on the glass, the reverberation echoing through the wood like a sinister drumming. His ominous laughter seemed to be carried by the howling wind, adding a haunting element to the terrifying scene.

A deep silence fell, in stark contrast to the prior chorus of torment. The eerie quiet seemed to last indefinitely, producing an unpleasant tension that lingered in the air like a physical weight. Dew’s predatory dance around the cabin came to an abrupt end. The night held its breath, as if even the elements were hesitant to disturb the strange silence that had descended upon the snow-covered landscape.

The absence of his taunting and the eerie echoes of his presence created an unsettling stillness. It seemed as if the night’s spirit had been suppressed, replaced with an apprehensive stillness.

The sudden end of Dew’s movements left you in suspense, wondering why he’d stopped. The cabin felt like a refuge enveloped in stifling silence; the only sound left was the distant howl of the wind, whispering whispers through the skeletal trees.

You took tentative steps towards the window, compelled by an instinctive urge to check Dew’s presence or absence in the eerie silence that covered the cabin. The floor creaked under your weight, each sound reverberating in the silence like a muffled drumbeat.

As you looked through the frost-kissed glass, all you could see was the bleak endlessness of the snow-covered forest. However, there was no trace of Dew.

Uncertainty gnawed at you, and the silent unease inside the cabin reflected the peaceful stillness of the frigid night. Was this a respite, a brief pause, or the calm before another storm of horror? The questions continued, and your heart couldn’t calm down.

An unexpected, explosive crash broke the fragile peace within the cabin. The door, ripped from its hinges, flew through the air, leaving Dew standing in the gaping doorway. His intimidating presence radiated malevolence, a dark silhouette framed by the smashed entrance.

The evil entity’s eyes sparkled with an unfathomable intensity as he studied the limited area. The morbid game of hide and seek had reached an unsettling end. Dew’s lips curved into a nasty smile, a grotesque victory imprinted on his face.

“Will you run from me now, Brother? Or will you get on your knees for me like the good whore I know you to be?”

You tried to make a break for the door, knowing that you wouldn’t make it, but even so, the intention was there. Dew, of course, gripped hold of your body and wrestled you to the ground. He admired your helpless body lounging there on the hard, wood floor, reveling in the fear he could smell and how wide-eyed you were. He stood above you, mighty and powerful.

His hand reached his trousers and undid the zipper and button, pulling them halfway down his thighs. His underwear too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Demonic Dew was huge. So big you weren’t entirely sure you could take him. His cock looked vaguely similar to a human’s except for the size and the blunt ribbage down both sides of the shaft. The colour too, a dark grey at his pubic mound, tapering off into a light grey that spread in a gradient of a blush pink at the tip. A thick, grey knot sat at the base just above the pubic mound that had a pit forming in your stomach. He was going to make you take that - you just knew it.

“Knees.” He commanded. Both your fear and arousal worked in tandem to propel you to your knees, sitting patiently for him like a dog waiting for his master. “Suck it all down that throat of yours.”

You placed your hands on your thighs and leaned forward. Your tongue appeared from behind your cracked lips and made contact with the head of his cock, purely to help guide it into your mouth. Once it had lined up, you moved your head forward and sucked the head in. Dew hissed at the feeling of your warm mouth encapsulating him, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

His hand tangled in your hair and he pushed you down as far as you could go, making your lips touch the base of his cock. He was forceful enough that you couldn’t fight back easily, but slow enough not to hurt you. Dew could feel everything you gave him, the wetness of your mouth, the way you swallowed around his head.

His grip in your hair got tighter and he started maneuvering your head for you, watching you as you bobbed up and down his length. His hips couldn’t keep still and so eventually he just held your head in place and used your throat like his own personal toy. All the while, your eyes were watering and your face was getting redder and redder with exertion. He let you pull off for a second, and watched as you gasped desperately for air. Tears were running down your cheeks now, and your lips were beginning to swell so tantalisingly, he could feel himself losing what little control he had over himself. He couldn’t take it anymore; he wanted to see you struggle again and so he forced his cock back into your mouth.

He fucked your throat as roughly as he wanted because he knew you could take it - but he honestly didn’t care if you couldn’t. You were his prize, his to treat however he wanted to. And you’d accept everything with grace, and poise, and thank him for obliterating your throat afterwards.

He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of your throat, watching you take it all and struggle with it. The way your lips stretched around his tip was obscene enough, but with each rib that was fed to you and removed with a pop, he could barely contain himself. His toes curled in his boots, and a smile formed on his face. He chuckled as he fucked your throat, loving how you gave yourself so willingly to him in the end.

He looked down at the mess of you, at the sweat forming on your brow and your robes shaking from how hard he was ramming into you. It was then he saw your hand moving, dipping beneath the hem of your monastic habit and stroking yourself through it. Slow circles at first but once you saw he caught you, your fingers began to move over your wetness faster.

“Shit, look at yourself.” He began, his voice hoarse from his pleasure. “Working yourself while I fuck your tight little fucking throat.” He was speaking through gritted teeth at that point. “Do you like this? Do you like being treated like a common fucking whore? Hm?” He slapped your cheek and let go of you, pulling you off of him with a pop. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” Your voice was husky and weak from the amount of times he’d hit the back of your throat.

Dew began to grumble and growl, frustration evident in his noises. “Not tight enough.” He looked down at your other hand and realised it wasn’t doing anything. He wanted it elsewhere. “Take that fucking hand and choke yourself. Squeeze that fucking throat.” He instructed you as he fed his cock back into your mouth.

And you did. Using your thumb and three of your fingers, you placed your hand on your throat and squeezed from the sides adding more pressure and a tighter hole for him. He groaned and laughed in response, loving the extra tightness and shoving himself so far down your throat, you could feel his pubic mound bashing against your nose with each thrust. You knew Dew’s human form well enough to know when he was about to cum, and apparently his demonic form was just as similar. His thrusts were becoming more erratic and more violent, a clear sign that this side of him was about to cum down your throat without giving you a second thought. So, you began to touch yourself harder, rubbing at your bud faster and faster until you burst.

Your body stiffened as your orgasm washed over you, the world stilling around you with the exception of your fingers and Dew’s hips. You continued to touch yourself through the orgasm, trying your hardest not to bite down with Dew being so far down your throat, and the restraint of that action alone was enough to make your jaw ache even more. When you’d finished, you concentrated back on Dew’s cock, but it wasn’t long before he came too, pushing your head further into his body and giving a few, final, short, sharp thrusts before his cum was spilling down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Swallow it… down for me… Such a slutty boy, t-taking every fucking drop. Shit!”

He pulled out of you with a groan and you gasped desperately for the air he’d restricted from you, swallowing the leftovers and wiping your chin clean of any droplets of cum that had spilled out.

Once you’d regained control of your lungs, and you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore, you chanced a look up at Dew. He still stood, towering above you with you on your knees, black eyes focused on your exhausted body and white fangs appearing over his dark red lips in a menacing smile. Your eyes roamed down his body to his cock, which was still as hard as ever - as if you’d never gone through all that. He was ready to take you again.

With little fight left in you, you let his hand push you back onto the floor, making you lie flat against the wood. He got on his knees and lifted your habit, exposing your dripping heat to him. He got on his knees in between your legs, and continued to smirk at you - he’d won and you both knew it.

He started to position himself above you, aligning with your sopping heat and using his cock to stroke your folds. Your fingers bit into the floor as oversensitivity set in, and your heart raced with expectation. He drew your hips closer to him, partially resting on his thighs, and laughed a little at the sound your body made as it was dragged against the floor. You didn’t feel particularly ready for his length inside you after feeling it down your throat, but you also didn’t want to stop him, anticipating the delicious pain that would come from his monstrous cock penetrating your walls and fucking you so deeply you could pass out. Dew could feel your core clenching around nothing, practically screaming for him to fill it. “You believed, little one, that you could outrun me?” He taunted as he rutted against you. “As naive and stupid as ever, it’s your own fault for running. If you had only submitted to me, I would have been nice to you. This will just hurt for a little while, so don’t worry.”

He loved the way your eyes lit up with a host of feelings before allowing your face to contort with the pleasure of him sliding his massive cock within you, inch by monstrous inch. You shook every time one of the ribs drove into you, pushing you even further and anchoring you completely to him. There was lust in your eyes, of course, savouring how each pop had you gasping for breath and tried to commit it to memory. But the pain was just as delicious as you expected, causing you to cry out so loudly, if anyone outside heard you, they’d think something awful was happening to you. Instead, you were being stuffed so full of an impossibly large demon cock, your body was almost shutting itself down to cope. You could already feel your mind clearing out of anything other than the current sensations.

Dew continued to make fun of you with each inch your horny centre swallowed. “Did that hurt? Good. I told you it would. Keep screaming for me like that, and I’ll pop my knot into you.”

Dew’s pace was just as rough as it was the first time, with him practically riding your body for his own pleasure. Every time he pulled out, you could feel the ribs of his cock popping out of you then forcing their way back in with each thrust, making you tighten around him so much, your body was trying to keep him where he was. Your back arched off the floor, so only your shoulders and arms were holding you upright, aside from Dew’s hands on your hips as he pounded into you, over and over again; but this allowed for your habit to ride up slightly and let him catch sight of your stomach, and how his cock was visible even underneath all the muscle, fat and flesh. How he was so big, he left an indent where he fucked you. No wonder you couldn’t focus on anything except for him. You allowed loud moans to fall from your lips, as the angle Dew fucked you at had his cock and it’s ridges hitting that spot each time, carving out a space for himself within your hole.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he told you, no longer using his hips to fuck you but moving your body quickly with his strong arms. “Wasted so much time. C-could’ve fucked you back there.”

Drool was pooling in the corner of your mouth, spilling outwards and down your cheek with each impeccable thrust. The further down his cock he worked you, the more you could feel his knot catching at your entrance. Silently, you wondered how that was going to fit inside you too. But your body was begging for it, pleading for that knot to force its way inside you.

Besides your screaming, your core was the loudest thing in the room. So wet, his cock splashed when it fucked into you as roughly as it did. You could feel it running down your ass cheeks and landing on the thighs of his jeans. And you didn’t need to look to know that you’d left a ring of white around the top of his knot, your pussy creaming as it took his cock over and over and over, loving each second.

You bit your lip and clutched onto his strong arms, those arms and hands holding onto your hips for support as he brutally ploughed into you, getting deeper and deeper till his tip reached your cervix and his shaft rubbed against that sweet place.

“You want it? You want this fucking knot inside you?” When you didn’t answer, he slapped your face again. “Fucking answer me!”

“Yes!”

“Beg for it, slut.”

You whimpered, you whined and you screamed for him, but a coherent sentence wasn’t something that you could put together verbally. In your mind, you had begged for it already, begged for his cum to fill you up. But your mouth wasn’t responding. Your body wasn’t responding. Nothing you did worked, except for your fingers running over yourself in sheer desperation for a second orgasm.

Dew just laughed at you, mocking you for your neediness, but he said nothing as he continued to bounce you on his cock, fingertips digging into your body as he maneuvered you exactly how he wanted, and eventually, his knot slipped inside.

You didn’t warn him when you came - you couldn’t. Your brain was too clouded to register anything and announce any more than a squeak before your body convulsed and spasmed around his cock, your eyes blacking out and your mouth open in a silent scream. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, all you could do was feel everything, everywhere, all at the same time.

This, being his final straw, tipped him over the edge a second time, his fangs digging into your stomach as he bent over, expelling the remainder of his energy through the chomp. It didn’t hurt - but it wasn’t as if you could feel it anyway.

*

You slowly opened your eyes to the soft glow of dawn seeping through the windows of the cabin. The air inside was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine. As you lay on your back, you felt the worn wooden floor beneath you, and your body ached. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains, you felt the warmth of the sun’s first rays gently caressing your tired limbs. The golden hues painted the room, casting a tranquil glow that danced across the wooden walls.

Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of Dew, curled up beside you in his human form, still lost in the world of dreams. But his senses were on high alert still and even the smallest movement of your body caused him to jolt awake. You winced as you tried to sit up, the soreness in your muscles protesting the movement. Dew stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open as he sensed your shift.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep and the recent body change. His eyes, now back to the normal, beautiful green colour they usually were, locked onto yours with concern. “How are you feeling?”

A faint smile played on your lips as you reached out to gently stroke his tousled hair. “I’ve had worse days,” you replied, though the pain in your body betrayed your attempt at nonchalance.

Dew sighed, his expression reflecting the guilt he felt. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess,” he whispered, his eyes casting down. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

You reassured him with a soft smile, “Dew, it’s not your fault. I told you I could handle it.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed.”

“Dew…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I pushed you when you were uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. Not that I minded…” you cleared your throat awkwardly, “earlier.”

Dewdrop raised his eyebrows. “Well,” he exhaled, “I hope you remember it well because it won’t happen again.”

You sighed, disappointed, but nodded in understanding. His eyes met yours again, and you could see the conflict within him. “I just… I can’t stand seeing you in pain because of me.”

You shifted closer to him, embracing him gently. “We’re in this together, Dew. I chose to be by your side, no matter what comes our way. Pain is just a small part of the journey.”

He nodded, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow in his gaze. “I appreciate that, but I still wish I could protect you better.”

You chuckled softly, “You’re doing your best, and that’s all I can ask for. We’ll face whatever comes next, together. D-do you remember what happened?”

He sat up and slapped you playfully. “I remember you didn’t do as I fucking asked! What happened to, ‘get away from me at all costs and don’t let me fuck you?’”

“I saw your dick and couldn’t help myself.”

He hit you again.

“Alright, okay! I’m sorry.” You sighed. “I will miss it, though. Are you sure you can’t just do some exercises and shift like the other Ghouls?”

Dew couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s not that simple,” he explained. “They’ve not spent as long in Hell as I have. It’s not just about exercises; it’s a mental and physical process that takes time to master. A lot of therapy will be needed that I’d have to return to Hell to get.”

You nodded, understanding the complexities involved. “I guess we’ll have to figure out a new plan then. Maybe find some other way to deal with those situations.”

Dew sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I can’t always control it, and I don’t want to risk it.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll find a way, Dew. Together. We always do.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m lucky to have you by my side. Even if I can’t protect you the way I want to, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you both sat there in the warm glow of the morning sun, you knew that challenges lay ahead, but the bond between you and Dew was strong. Together, you were determined to face whatever came your way, finding solutions and supporting each other through the ups and downs of your journey.

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[overandunderland]

"Look at the color of his skin Clawfang, dark and rich! You know what they say about the taste of those from above?"

Owen's mind reeled, not just at the danger he faced but also at the Rat's casual bigotry. It was absurd and terrifying all at once, a nightmare conversation he never could have imagined.

"True, Snarltooth. A rare delicacy this one." Clawfang agreed–his yellow teeth bared in a grotesque grin.

"–We should eat quickly though, can't risk more of his kind coming after us."

Greetings Overlanders!

What's up y'all, W.P.P here, (He/Him) and I'm currently looking for Beta Readers/Editors/Fans of The Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins. To read/engage with and possibly even shoot some feedback on My Fan Novel/Fic.

It's a canon compliant Sequel-Boot of sorts and follows after Code Of Claw.

Ok, pretty cover but what is it about?

Three years (gotta get our boys in that Classic High school setting huh?) After The War of Bane. Fragile peace exists in the Underland. But as is The Underland, one knows peace never lasts. Especially built on deception. When a conspiracy is exposed and the ghosts of beliefs thought lost to Time pervert the ideas of coexistince. Prophecy calls yet again for its Salvation. When you ignore and attempt to reject fate, it tends to mess back. Now, calling for The Seeker. A being who's destiny is forever tied to Bartholomew's hand of war and tribulation, to return The Warrior to The Underland, to save the realm together. However, there maybe key players, manipulating destiny from the shadows. One that will change Gregor's entire view of Prophecy, Regalia and Owen's life forever.

Woah, OC Alert 🚨 Who's Owen?

Here comes the ✨Boy✨ 🎹

Meet you: Owen. "The Seeker"

15 year old Bronx native. A boxer, thanks to his dad. And quite the cook, thanks to his mother. It was their deaths, and the way the police handled them, that killed any respect for authority the boy had left. Owen is a resilient and resourceful teenager thrust into the extraordinary world of the Underland, where he faces trials that challenge his courage and determination. Despite his initial reluctance, Owen demonstrates a strong sense of compassion for others and a willingness to confront his fears head-on, although it takes him A MINUTE to get there. He possesses a sharp wit and a penchant for sarcasm, which often serves as a coping mechanism in the face of adversity. He's also 🏳️‍🌈 Queer 🏳️‍🌈.

let's talk Virtues and Vices?

Determination: Owen demonstrates a strong sense of determination, as evidenced by his resolve to survive and navigate the challenges presented to him in the Underland.

Courage: Despite facing daunting and unfamiliar situations, Owen exhibits courage by confronting his fears and taking action to protect himself and others. Albeit not without some coercing.

Compassion: Owen shows compassion towards others, such as when he expresses concern for the citizens of Regalia and reflects on the consequences of his actions on innocent lives.

Adaptability: Owen demonstrates adaptability by adjusting to his surroundings and learning to navigate the unfamiliar environment of the Underland.

And his vices?

Impulsiveness: Owen's impulsiveness is hinted at through his sarcastic remarks and tendency to act without fully considering the consequences of his actions. This impulsiveness could potentially lead him into trouble or exacerbate conflicts. It is this that sets off the entire Prophecy to begin with.

Self-Doubt: At times, Owen exhibits self-doubt, particularly when he questions his ability to fulfill the expectations placed upon him or doubts his capacity to make a difference in the face of overwhelming challenges.

Guilt: Owen struggles with feelings of guilt, especially regarding the unintended consequences of his actions, such as the destruction of the Prophecy of Time in the Underland. The source of his guilt extends from not being in the car when his parents died. Survivors guilt.

Owen definitely suffers from bouts of Imposter Syndrome and feelings of inadequacy, especially when comparing his experiences to Gregor's.

Oh God, it's not OC X Canon, is it?

Hey now! I'm not throwing any shade at OC X Canon shippers, I have a few ships in other fandoms that are essentially that. But no, Gregor & Luxa's Relationship while will be rocky in it's rekindling, are endgame. Also Gregor isn't remotely Owens type. No, Owen will have his own Underlander romantic interest. In fact, Meet you:

Aiden: Luxa's personal guard, Archer, confidant, and best friend.

16, (what the hell are they feeding them nowadays down there, he's a brick house.) Aiden is Queen Luxa's personal body guard and closest friend. During the years after The War of Bane. When he discovers his family had planned a coup d'etat against the royal family, including catching his father about to kill Luxa, he draws his bow, taking his life and testifying against his family's quest for power. He's jailed for a time before Lord Vikus takes him in admiring his loyalty to the current crown and grooms him to protect Luxa, and to be there for her for when he eventually passes. He's arrogant, showboaty at times, and abrasive, especially when it comes to The Overland Boys. More specifically "The Mouthy Imp" known to him as Owen. He and Luxa are fairly close, to where rumors amongst Regalian council, and teen girls, are suggesting they are to be wed. Yeah, good luck with that ladies. 💅🏽

Oh so he's like Henry?

Some pretty decent comparisons and contrasting elements can be made between the two of them.

Both of them are/Were close to Luxa

Both of them can be described as Arrogant.

Both of them technically betrayed their families and believed they did so for a good reason.

Where as Henry was desperate for power, Aidens only motivation is to maintain peace for the Royal family and the Kingdom Of Regalia.

Personally, I don't believe Henry came up with his idea of Allying with King Gorger on his own. Nor do I think he's the only one after him who thinks that way. Listening to the Return to Regalia Podcast has helped provide some really dope questions about the landscape, geopolitical or otherwise, that are like alluded to, but never really expanded upon. That I wanna use this book to answer. Oona and the Gang have been a godsend for fic writers who are fans of the series.

If *insert character* isn't in it, I'm not reading it. 🤬

Guys, Of course Ripred is gonna be in the bo- Look, it's Canon Compliant alright 😅. Ive been listening to the series on Audiobook on loop for the last few weeks as I've been writing. I want to make sure I'm not misunderstanding each characters voices, and how they think and speak. Remembering who was where when this or that happened. But Let's discuss some returning characters!

Boots: Now 6 years old, Boots has become quite the little person! Her affinity for taking animals hasnt gone anywhere, her most recent hyper fixation being a show about Australian talking dogs. A show Gregor has to admit, has it's moments.

Temp: The gangs back together! Thanks to his association with The Princess, Temp has become highly regarded amongst Crawlers. You and Boots will love the Set piece the Crawlers built in her honor.

Hazard: Now as old as Gregor was when he first arrived, The Halflander has been elevated to a role of diplomacy and interpretor liaison for dialogue between Underland Inhabitants. He carries a sword, for defensive combat. A sign of unavoidable circumstances, even with his fathers dying wish. A rebellious streak may in fact land him in potentially fatal trouble.

Howard:Luxa's Cousin and medical prodigy, makes him one of the most skilled Healers of all in Regalia. He's made it a personal mission to learn to Heal every species known to them in the Underland. As of late, he finds himself frequenting visits and courting with one of Regalias nanny's in the Nursery.

Dulcet: Dulcet is one of the nannies that works in Regalia's palace. She was the one that took care of Gregor's sister, Boots whenever they came to the Underland. She was one of Gregor's favorite Regalians. Sweet but embarrasses easily. Nowadays, especially around a certain Regalian healer. She isn't too sure, but he's been quite sweet to her as of late.

Mareth: Mareth has a good heart. He never stopped caring for those under his protection, and even for those that weren't. After his leg was removed, he still maintains his humor and kindness. He'll stick knock you out if you wild out too much. He and Perdita saw Aiden's training through in it's entirety. He's moved emotionally to see Gregor Return, however bittersweet it may be. Designated to be a bit more hands off, he still finds time to train the young soldiers of Regalia. His improved prosthetic affords much more mobility since his last interaction with Gregor.

Luxa: Hardened by her assassination attempt, the loss of her family and Gregor. Luxa is finally approaching the full cusps of uncontested power in Regalia. Her actions such as memorializing a controversial figure, as well as her Bond with Ripred has caused much dissenting opinions amongst factions of power in Regalia. There is a particular fear from her grandfather that she may be doomed to repeat history. Will Gregors return, spawn a change in Luxa? And is it safe to even find out?

The rest of Gregor's Family also make an appearance! Lizzie, Grace and Gregor's Dad. (Going with Dr.Elliot/Eli for short) all come back and influence the story in some Capacity.

Why is Gregor White/White Passing?

Gonna level with y'all, I didn't really know about Tumblr like that. I'm a mixed race poc myself, and definitely lack Eurocentric features. I just was honestly basing his look off of what I've seen in the covers and alt editions of the series. Hell, Homie is even BLONDE in the Russian edition. Me and my partner also are a little too far into the story to match him up with the Headcanon of Tumblr. That being said, I do love POC Gregor, and will be maintaining that his dad is a person of color as well. Just have Gregor as yt passing presenting. It could also provide a bit of conflict between He and Owen. As Gregor's first descent is a lot more welcoming, Than what Owen goes through his first time down, starting from his initial fall.

So do The Warrior & The Seeker immediately hit it off?

Yeaaaaahhhhhhh-no. Wouldn't be much of a story if the two became immediate besties. I couldn't imagine being too thrilled with the guy who's fault it is that you're even in this mess at all. Now who exactly I mean by that is what makes it fun. They need each other to make it through the quest. Over time however, they learn about each other, and how they can truly help one another. Eventually becoming close as their journey reaches its end and inklings of a new ones raises it's head. That being said, when he learns of Gregor and Luxa's relationship, or their past together. Is full team Gregor and Luxa. With Owens dating pool being non existent above and below (so he thinks) ground. He becomes invested in the possibility of Love blossoming at all, mostly to see Luxa pull the stick from out- know what, it's better to read it.

But the video though, what's that about?

For Nostalgia sake, as well as Accessibility reasons, I've been screening several actors and VA actors who would be down to do an audiobook! So it will be releasing as audiobook as well!

Hobbies aren't cheap but I love the series so much that I don't see why not 🤷🏽. I fell in love with the audiobooks so it'd be pretty cool to see it again.

In the same manner as Star Wars novels, where not every book is written by the same author-

I want readers to feel as if the baton was passed from Suzanne to yours truly 😅.

So Overlanders! Fans! If you're looking to beta read, I'm looking for Beta Readers ✨

Hope to hear from you all!

Fly you high! 🦇

Breezy Edit: Hey y'all, it's Breezy again, Just want to let y'all know, according to some of y'all what we're looking for are "alpha" readers. But beta readers still apply 🫰🏽💙

[silyabeeodess]

Twisted Wonderland Analysis: Rollo Flamme and Quasimodo Parallels

These thoughts hit me like a truck in the middle of the night yesterday and I've already talked about parallels with other TWST characters and Disney movie protagonists, so I'm going to spill them out in the cut below:

First, we need address a key difference between Rollo and Frollo: Rollo isn't actually a hypocrite like some people think. If there's one point that came up for the characters both in the game and in HoND, it's the idea of purity and how it can be distorted. Frollo saw himself as a pure being, a true follower of God that "saw corruption everywhere except within." He extended this warped view toward Quasimodo, constantly talking him down as a "deformed, ugly monster" that needed to be put in a place of subservience and repentance simply for existing--something that Quasimodo himself believed until he was able to interact with other people in order to mentally escape this abuse. Rollo's fits somewhere in-between: His sense of warped purity, in regards to magic, is his own doing. However, again, he isn't a hypocrite about it. A hypocrite is someone who commits acts against their supposed morality. In Frollo's case, he murders, ridicules, and lusts after others, going against the Word of God despite his so-called faith and always shifting the blame for his own sins onto other people. Rollo didn't commit any actual sin to begin with, and he didn't even have magic when his brother died--nor does he want it. He hates magic with a passion and sees powerful mages like Malleus as symbols for this hatred, yes, but those feelings also extend to himself even if he refuses to admit it. Frollo didn't hate himself: He thought he was always above others even when confronted by his own sin. As such, Rollo's backstory doesn't match Frollo's descent, but Quasi's beginning as a supposed "sinner by blood": Both are "monsters" in their own eyes.

To quote Idia during the battle on the belltower, "He doesn't even care that he's surrounded by fire lotuses. He just keeps blasting magic... (to Rollo) Aren't you just projecting? I think there's only one guy here you actually hate--yourself." Azul also backs this by saying, "It must have torn you up when your magic first manifested. You gained the very power that took your brother away, making you no different..." This is why Idia was able to connect with Rollo so strongly--not just as two people who lost loved ones, but people who also blame themselves for their deaths. Through their parallel, as well as the fact that Rollo was waiting in the belltower when the flowers took over the city--at the heart of all the destruction, right in what's metaphorically a burning fire waiting to consume everything... It's a clear sign of self-abuse/self-destruction. Rollo doesn't want magic to exist at all, including his own. While Rollo did use magic, he did so to ensure his plans succeeded likely with the intention of being the last man to fall. Quoting Rollo himself now as he was musing from the tower, "We will all be freed from that cold, dark despair (caused by magic)."

We don't really get enough interactions between Rollo and Yuu for a strong dissection on this, but I think this is also why he stresses Yuu's "purity" so much enough to talk to us about it directly. It's not like there's a shortage of non-magic users in TWST's world, but we're special to him because we come from a place completely devoid of magic: For him, it's like meeting an angelic messenger sent from Heaven. (Hint: Him telling us to "rest our tired wings."). As a result, Rollo comes to us for affirmation of his beliefs and when we don't give him that, he recoils. This follows Quasi's idealization of Esmeralda as an "angelic being." He saw her as a kind of salvation, a ray of "heaven's light," in a similar way to how Rollo sees Yuu. In the same pattern though, Esmeralda didn't give Quasi exactly what he wanted either, which partially led to him backsliding. In their case, Quasi expected romantic love as a kind of salvation when Esmeralda, not feeling the same, could only give him her friendship. This rejection made Quasi retreat back into his own head, stating "no face as hideous as his face was ever meant for heaven's light" once again. Even Rollo's rivalry with Malleus acts as an extension of this parallel, since Quasi had his own rivalry with Phoebus: Just like how Esmeralda ultimately chose Phoebus, Yuu is closest to, and of course sides with, Malleus.

On a smaller note, even Rollo's position during the battle is more fitting to Quasi than Frollo. In HoND, Quasi protected the belltower while Frollo stormed into it at the end of the film. In TWST, Rollo was protecting the belltower while the NRC students stormed in. It's just that the protagonist and antagonist positions have been flipped.

Speaking of the belltower, Rollo shares Quasi's connection to both it and Fleur City. The gargoyles adore him, explaining that "no matter the weather, he climbs this tall tower and polishes the Bell of Solice to a shine," and that "when [they] got wet and started growing moss, he scrubbed it off for [them.]" Rollo and Quasi were both caretakers for their belltowers and regarded them as sanctuaries. Rollo doesn't show any surprise either in that the gargoyles talk, which, yes, since he's a local he'd have a higher chance of knowing about their sentience more than our NRC boys; however, the way he talks to them in-turn is very natural--just like how Quasi talked to the gargoyles. Rollo didn't even seem to know that they were/consider that they would be in-danger, quote, "I cannot fathom why [Malleus] came to check on you." He might call them "rocks" too, but from his actions, it's clear that he does in-fact care. As for the city, while Quasi didn't initially get the chance to see it all himself personally, he did everything he could to understand it and the people who lived there in painstaking detail, even creating models of the individual villagers. Rollo shows that same love for his hometown, jumping from group to group and dropping tons of information as a guide to everything in it. He didn't have to do that for his plan to work: He easily could've distanced himself as the "busy president overseeing everything." It's just that, because he adores Fleur City, of course he's going to brag about it.

To recap, Rollo isn't a Frollo copy in the same way the others weren't copies of their respective villains. If anything, he's a version of Quasimodo had Quasi fully absorbed Frollo's brainwashing and abuse--someone who would've come to hate themselves and the world so much that they just wanted to see it end. Hopefully though, he'll take that invite by the gargoyles to talk through his issues and start truly seeing "heaven's light" now that he's finally gotten out of his own head a bit.

[peacocks-pantomime]

In an empty theatre, teardrops echo like the sound of applause.

All I do is lay down a bet~ It’s out of my control if my opponent decides to lay down their life, isn’t it?

After the chaos, not much was left of Sigonia-IV, yet there were two malnourished children-- Kakavasha and his Big Sis, nearly perishing from the elements on the ruined planet.

One day, there was finally salvation in the form of a light-- a light, and a beautiful woman dressed in elegant clothing peering down at them under a wide-brimmed hat.

She told them that they would be safe, that they could trust her-- and what other option did they have? She looked so different, and seemed so kind compared to the others that have mistreated them... Big Sis had been willing to give her a chance.

And so, Kakavasha was whisked away to another world, offered clean clothes and a room of his own. He fell asleep immediately, curling up on the soft carpet of the floor.

When he awoke, his Big Sis wasn't there. But they said she would be. They told him she would be. So he wanders through the strange building against his better judgement.

It wasn't long before he heard muffled words coming from the ajar door of a bright room. He snuck over to peek into the room and he saw people dressed in simplistic black clothing, taking notes on some sort of devices and huddled around a bed.

And on the bed lay the body of his dead sister. But those people would never acknowledge her as such; to them she was only an experiment. One of the last Sigonians of the Avgin race, a miraculous discovery. And they weren't going to tell him. They were going to hide it from him.

Blinded by the emotions swirling around inside of him, Kakavasha threw himself through the doorway, grabbing the first sharp tool in sight, and ended the lives of all the professionals in that wretched room one by one.

He'd cried the whole time. He couldn't identify the emotion the tears stemmed from-- whether from sadness at the loss of his sister, or from the rage burning bright-- but as the boy stood there, he dropped his weapon, wrapping his arms around himself in horror...

He didn't feel guilty for what he'd done.

That sort of control-- the ability to watch the life of another mortal slip away between his fingers and know that he was the cause...

It was empowering.

Notes from the moderator:

~ Mod also runs the @aventurine-official rp account, so the format is her own and is not plagiarized :)

~ Art (2nd top picture and pfp) and concept credit goes to @day-night-darlix! Their original post is here

~ This Aventurine exists in the same universe as @the-truth-of-nothingness

A famous musical artist and actor, known for masking his true self.

Roams around Penacony but travels the cosmos to perform

Is quite sadistic and will bet others on their life-- resulting in their death, because he never loses.

Longs to destroy the IPC as vengeance for the lies and betrayal from which his sister suffered

The glistening teardrop hanging around his neck allows him to mesmerize others with a glance, if he so wishes-- the glow of his eyes is interconnected

(I might add more details later, or link a headcanon post!)

Guidelines:

~ Keep the asks sfw if you please, suggestive is okay!

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~ All ships (age-appropriate) are welcome. (I personally believe Aventurine is gay as hell, so he will have a noticeable interest in men versus women).

~ Try to avoid sending DMs to the mod unless you are another mod

~ Anons are more than welcome here! You may have a personalized tag and everything :)

List of current anon signoffs here

Key (if applicable):

" " : for dialogue

* * : for movements

( ) : ooc

Tags:

#ace of spades ♠️ : Art reblogs

#the flip of a coin 🪙 : Random thoughts and calm moments

#trump card 🃏 : Asks from anons and others

#life on the line 🎲 : Interactions with Honkai Star Rail blogs

#melancholy theatre 🎭 : Interactions with other members of the Masked Fools

#dear doctor 🍷 : Interactions with / mentions of the Veritas Ratio in his universe

Masterlist post of Honkai Star Rail-official blogs linked here

[dailyanarchistposts]

J.2.1 Why do anarchists favour using direct action to change things?

Simply because it is effective and it has a radicalising impact on those who practice it. As it is based on people acting for themselves, it shatters the dependency and marginalisation created by hierarchy. This is key:

“What is even more important about direct action is that it forms a decisive step toward recovering the personal power over social life that the centralised, over-bearing bureaucracies have usurped from the people … we not only gain a sense that we can control the course of social events again; we recover a new sense of selfhood and personality without which a truly free society, based in self-activity and self-management, is utterly impossible.” [Murray Bookchin, Toward an Ecological Society, p. 47]

By acting for themselves, people gain a sense of their own power and abilities. This is essential if people are to run their own lives. As such, direct action is the means by which individuals empower themselves, to assert their individuality, to make themselves count as individuals by organising and acting collectively. It is the opposite of hierarchy, within which individuals are told again and again that they are nothing, are insignificant and must dissolve themselves into a higher power (the state, the company, the party, the people, etc.) and feel proud in participating in the strength and glory of this higher power. Direct action, in contrast, is the means of asserting your individual opinion, interests and happiness, of fighting against self-negation:

“man has as much liberty as he is willing to take. Anarchism therefore stands for direct action, the open defiance of, and resistance to, all laws and restrictions, economic, social and moral. But defiance and resistance are illegal. Therein lies the salvation of man. Everything illegal necessitates integrity, self-reliance, and courage. In short, it calls for free independent spirits, for men who are men, and who have a bone in their back which you cannot pass your hand through.” [Emma Goldman, Red Emma Speaks, pp. 75–6]

In addition, because direct action is based around individuals solving their own problems, by their own action, it awakens those aspects of individuals crushed by hierarchy and oppression — such as initiative, solidarity, imagination, self-confidence and a sense of individual and collective power, that what you do matters and that you with others like you can change the world. Direct action is the means by which people can liberate themselves and educate themselves in the ways of and skills required for self-management and liberty:

“Direct action meant that the goal of … these activities was to provide ways for people to get in touch with their own powers and capacities, to take back the power of naming themselves and their lives … we learn to think and act for ourselves by joining together in organisations in which our experience, our perception, and our activity can guide and make the change. Knowledge does not precede experience, it flows from it … People learn to be free only by exercising freedom. [As one Spanish Anarchist put it] ‘We are not going to find ourselves . .. with people ready-made for the future … Without continued exercise of their faculties, there will be no free people … The external revolution and the internal revolution presuppose one another, and they must be simultaneous in order to be successful.’” [Martha Ackelsberg, Free Women of Spain, pp. 54–5]

So direct action, to use Bookchin’s words, is “the means whereby each individual awakens to the hidden powers within herself and himself, to a new sense of self-confidence and self-competence; it is the means whereby individuals take control of society directly.” [Op. Cit., p. 48]

In addition, direct action creates the need for new forms of social organisation. These new forms of organisation will be informed and shaped by the process of self-liberation, so be more anarchistic and based upon self-management. Direct action, as well as liberating individuals, can also create the free, self-managed organisations which can replace the current hierarchical ones (see section I.2.3). For example, for Kropotkin, unions were “natural organs for the direct struggle with capitalism and for the composition of the future order.” [quoted by Paul Avrich, The Russian Anarchists, p. 81] In other words, direct action helps create the new world in the shell of the old:

“direct action not only empowered those who participated in it, it also had effects on others … [it includes] exemplary action that attracted adherents by the power of the positive example it set. Contemporary examples … include food or day-care co-ops, collectively run businesses, sweat equity housing programmes, women’s self-help health collectives, urban squats or women’s peace camps [as well as traditional examples as industrial unions, social centres, etc.]. While such activities empower those who engage in them, they also demonstrate to others that non-hierarchical forms of organisation can and do exist — and that they can function effectively.” [Ackelsberg, Op. Cit., p. 55]

Also, direct action such as strikes encourage and promote class consciousness and class solidarity. According to Kropotkin, “the strike develops the sentiment of solidarity” while, for Bakunin, it “is the beginnings of the social war of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie … Strikes are a valuable instrument from two points of view. Firstly, they electrify the masses, invigorate their moral energy and awaken in them the feeling of the deep antagonism which exists between their interests and those of the bourgeoisie … secondly they help immensely to provoke and establish between the workers of all trades, localities and countries the consciousness and very fact of solidarity: a twofold action, both negative and positive, which tends to constitute directly the new world of the proletariat, opposing it almost in an absolute way to the bourgeois world.” [quoted by Caroline Cahm, Kropotkin and the Rise of Revolutionary Anarchism 1872–1886, p. 256 and pp. 216–217]

Direct action, therefore, helps to create anarchists and anarchist alternatives within capitalism and statism. As such, it plays an essential role in anarchist theory and activity. For anarchists, direct action “is not a ‘tactic’ … it is a moral principle, an ideal, a sensibility. It should imbue every aspect of our lives and behaviour and outlook.” [Bookchin, Op. Cit., p. 48]

[gyutarling]

CHASING THAT FUZZY FEELING

txt as my favourite shoegaze songs

♯ — txt x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ angst ⋆ blurbs

warnings! — cringe, cheesy, not proofread, lowercase intended, extremely corny

note — i'm not completely satisfied w soob's n tyun's T-T notes, reblogs, feedback always appreciated!

YEONJUN — lovely crawl by fleeting joys

"i’m looking for something that’s lost in the light"

yeonjun can be considered what some would call a hedonist. always looking for cheap thrills, things that numb and burn, that die out just as quickly as he does come morning time. everyone knows it, they pity him, and they pity you. you, who despite being aware of yeonjun’s ways, fell victim to his never-ending pursuit of pleasure. he’s here for a good time, you’re here for a long time. you thought you’d be content with the superficial affection he provides, but alas, you long for substance. constantly teetering on the edge of nothing and something, yeonjun only wants you at your best, and your best is when you’re igniting his flame of hedonism. it drowns you— the noise, the strobelights, the waiting. you’re always waiting for more, for something. but on fleeting occasions, when yeonjun’s not even conscious, passed out on the floor from the highs of self-indulgence from the night before, when it’s quiet. that’s when you can crawl up next to him, the physical closeness aids in the illusion of there being something more.

SOOBIN — bloom by glare

"your smile blooms one on me"

to say that soobin is the embodiment of a first love is like saying the sky is blue. but it’s not the exciting, puppy love type that people always say it is. falling for him is a slow descend, that budding feeling that grows, a kind of affection that’s been there all along, it just needed to sprout. soobin is a flower. a flower that opens up when the time is right, and when it is, he brings a soft hue of salvation to your bleak world. you may be fooled, because a beautiful flower can be admired by many, but you know that the blossoming emotions that soobin feels are true to only you. delicate but strong, he can withstand all the harsh conditions that the world rains down on him because you’re here, it’s a mutual assurance. it’s a love that’s gentle and nurturing, in the way that he makes you want to grow and become beautiful just like him. he supports you in every step of the way, with a smile, and it’s all you need, really.

BEOMGYU - mellow by whirr

"always between me and you"

beomgyu is aware of the ephemerality of life. he thinks there’s a certain beauty to it, honestly, how nothing lasts forever. that’s why he would consider himself a simple person, taking pleasure in the little things that make up the transience called happiness. but deep down, beomgyu is afraid. he has been loved before, and he has loved, too. he has loved too much, too intensely— but unfortunately, love is not an exception, regardless of how much beomgyu wished otherwise. so when you came into his life, beomgyu desperately hoped that nothing would take you away, that you’re not just a fleeting moment. no one gets him like you do, the way you just know. beomgyu thinks that you might just actually be his soulmate, because your connection transcends anything words can describe. he’s convinced that he must've been surrounded by cardboard cutouts his whole life, as no one but you has ever conveyed so much depth with their existence alone. monotony is beautiful with you— in fact, he would be content with just laying on the floor in your presence for eternity. so just this once, he wishes for you to be the exception.

TAEHYUN — angel by drop nineteens

"and i believe that dreams come true, cause you came when i wished for you"

“larger than life” is a phrase that would encompass taehyun’s existence perfectly. his genuine love for this cruel world impresses many, as if he knows of a transformative secret that is the key to living his life to the fullest. maybe it’s his vast curiosity, to want to know not only of the wonders of life, but also how he can get back up even after it knocks him down. taehyun believes that negativity is too draining, because of that, being with him is like a transformative experience in and of itself. he must be a higher being, an angel, 'cause even at your lowest, just one hint of a smile from him is enough for you to ascend to the clouds. that floating feeling never leaves you when you’re with him, it swallows you whole, and it makes you wonder how you could feel sad ever again. even when the clouds clear, when you two are at your most vulnerable, under the gaze of the stars, you’ll watch the skies in taehyun’s eyes instead, they shine brighter in there anyway.

HUENINGKAI — how fast can you love by pia fraus

"tomorrow, please love me"

kai has been patient his whole life. his passion drives him, he’s been walking a lonely road to achieve his dreams. he had always thought that he grew up too fast, no time for insignificant matters, kai’s world is a world in which he has to fight to survive. of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s completely immune to youthful desires, and kai wishes for nothing more than to turn back time so he could feel like a real person again, even just for a little while. and when you came into his life— a force to be reckoned with, you are, he thinks that letting himself indulge for once wouldn’t hurt. so he lets his passion consume him this time, and only then does he realise how lonely he has been all along. kai is tired of being patient, and it shows through his complete vulnerability when he’s with you. even though it’s hard, he’s so used to locking his emotions away in his heart-shaped box, you can tell he’s really trying. kai puts every ounce of himself in the potential of your love, because then he would finally have something to hope for, no matter how unsure he may be.

[calledtobethelight]

Run to Win

“Don’t you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize.”

 – 1 Corinthians 9.24-25 (NLT)

As Christians, we all have a race to run. There’s an appointed course set before each one of us.  We must be determined to win our race and keep the faith to lay hold of our heavenly prize – the inheritance of eternal salvation and the victor’s crown of righteousness (2 Timothy 4.7-8).

This does not contradict the fact that we are saved by grace through faith, for the Bible says in Romans 6.23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God [that is, His remarkable, overwhelming gift of grace to believers] is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” However, it is the responsibility of the believer to “work out (cultivate, carry out to the goal, and fully complete) one’s salvation with reverence and awe and trembling (self-distrust, with serious caution, tenderness of conscience, watchfulness against temptation, timidly shrinking from whatever might offend God and discredit the name of Christ) (Philippians 2.12).” Although it is not in our own strength that we must work out our salvation for God empowers us, we still must be diligent in keeping the faith to ensure we will not be disqualified as Paul warns (Philippians 2.13, 1 Corinthians 9.27, 2 Corinthians 13.5, Galatians 5.7).

But how can we run our race effectively? How can we run to win? Here are 7 essential keys to run your race.

1.      Keep your eyes on Jesus

When we fix our eyes on Jesus, we maintain focus. Everything in this world is a distraction that can take us off course, but when we keep our eyes on Jesus, we stay spiritually minded. Colossians 3.1-2 states, “Keep seeking the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind and keep focused habitually on the things above [the heavenly things], not on things that are on the earth [which have only temporal value].” We gravitate towards the things we focus on. If we keep our eyes on the things of this world, we will only value temporary things. However, if we keep our eyes on Jesus – the Author and the Finisher of our faith, He will perfect our faith in Him and by this faith, we have the victory over the world (Hebrews 12.2, 1 John 5.4-5).

Jesus is also our example. When we look to Christ and see how He endured the cross “for the joy [of obtaining the prize] that was set before Him” and triumphed, we can take courage to persevere in our trials and not become faint in our minds because Jesus has overcome the world and He lives on the inside of us (Hebrews 12.2-3, 1 John 5.4-5). John 16.33 states, “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have [perfect] peace and confidence. In the world you have tribulation and trials and distress and frustration; but be of good cheer [take courage; be confident, certain, undaunted]! For I have overcome the world. [I have deprived it of power to harm you and have conquered it for you.]”

We are victorious when we keep our eyes on Jesus!

 

2.      Strip off sin and every unnecessary weight

In a race where “endurance and active persistence” are vital, any burden or weight in the race would slow the runner down or make them stop progressing altogether (Hebrews 12.1). It is easier to run free. Galatians 5.1 says, “It was for this freedom that Christ set us free [completely liberating us]; therefore, keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery [which you once removed].” Sin is bondage. It is a weight that will keep us from going forward by easily entangling and tripping us up.

But in Christ Jesus, we are free. In Christ, we have the power to overcome sin and temptation. In Christ, we have the victory. We must strip off sin and anything hindering our effectiveness in the race so we can endure and succeed (Hebrews 12.1).

 

3.      Let go of the past

You can’t move forward while looking backward or you’ll remain stuck. Stuck in a mindset. Stuck in guilt. Stuck in regret for your past mistakes. When you look back, it won’t change your past. It will only keep you from moving forward. Philippians 3.13-14 states, “Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the [heavenly] prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Forget your past. Forgive yourself. Fix your eyes forward so you can move forward.

2 Corinthians 5.17 states, “Therefore if anyone is in Christ [that is, grafted in, joined to Him by faith in Him as Savior], he is a new creature [reborn and renewed by the Holy Spirit]; the old things [the previous moral and spiritual condition] have passed away. Behold, new things have come [because spiritual awakening brings a new life].” In Christ, who you used to be is gone and passed away. Take courage. You are not defined by your past anymore. You are a new creature. You have a new life. All things concerning you are made new because of Christ Jesus. Run your race in the freedom of this truth!

 

4.      Follow the rules

We must be doers of the Word of God to excel in our race.  2 Timothy 2.5 states, “And if anyone competes as an athlete [in competitive games], he is not crowned [with the wreath of victory] unless he competes according to the rules.” The only way to win a game is to know how to play. Likewise, we cannot be ignorant of the instructions and commandments in the Bible if we want to win our race or we will never succeed. We must obey God and His commandments.

Psalm 119.32 states, “I will [not merely walk, but] run the way of Your commandments, when You give me a heart that is willing.” We must know, understand, and rightly apply God's Word to our lives. Once we do, we won’t take tentative steps but run purposefully in our race.

 

5.      Be zealous

When a person walks for the duration of their race, it doesn’t express urgency, passion, or a desire to win. When you run, it communicates love and a zeal for the things of God. Your running is the exclamation point on what you believe! Romans 12.1 states, “Don’t be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.” Keep your zeal for God and love Him with all of your heart. We must not be cold or even lukewarm, we must hotly pursue the Lord with all our hearts to attain our eternal prize (Revelations 3.15-16).

 

6.      Have a vision

There must be a vision to stay on the appointed course set before you. Vision sets your eyes above your current circumstances to the destiny God has planned for you. Proverbs 29.17 states, “Where there is no vision [no redemptive revelation of God], the people perish.” When people have no vision, they die because there is no direction and no revelation from God for their lives.

Psalm 32.8 says, “The Lord says, 'I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.'” When you trust God and surrender to His plans and purposes for your life, He will guide you and direct you to the best pathway. Once you allow God to lead and guide you, you can run into your destiny without fear of a misstep. Habakkuk 2.2 states, “Then the Lord answered me and said, ‘Write the vision and engrave it plainly on [clay] tablets so that the one who reads it will run.” You are not aimless or uncertain when you have vision. You are confident in your success because God directs your steps.

7.      Be consistent

Consistency is necessary to endure your race. 1 Corinthians 9.25, “Now every athlete who [goes into training and] competes in the games is disciplined and exercises self-control in all things.” A runner benefits from the consistency of training, exercising self-control, and buffeting their body to win the race (1 Corinthians 9.27). Likewise, we must exercise spiritual disciplines to endure the race, such as reading the bible daily and praying in the Spirit. We must buffet our body by crucifying our flesh and we must “walk and live [habitually] in the [Holy] Spirit [responsive to and controlled by and guided by the Spirit]” (Galatians 5.16, 24-25). When we are consistent in our spiritual discipline and training, we can endure the length of the race set before us because we have equipped ourselves to persevere. When we are consistent in our spiritual discipline and training, we are setting ourselves up to win!

Each of these keys is necessary to win the race. Therefore, we must not be neglectful to do what is required of us. Finish strong! Keep the faith! Run to win and you will receive the eternal prize!