#Bloody Heaven Backdrop

[the-witcher-parks]

knife mania par Kyoka Jun Via Flickr : - Halloween costume - ▶Starlight Designs - Blood Drip Dress @ Trick or Treat Lane event Starlight Designs - Bloody Heels Starlight Designs - Ghostface Knife {With Drips} - Face tattoo - Hexed - Slasher Set + Mesh Clown nose BOM @ The Darkstyle Fair (MAD CIRCUS) - accessories - (MAD CIRCUS) Insomnia Angel . Knife throw failed @ The Darkstyle Fair - Backdrop - (Free Gift) Bloody Heaven Backdrop - The Bearded Guy @ Halloween Shop and Hop - Hair - TRUTH / Prissy hair + Bangs - Tattoo - THIS IS WRONG Summoning shine+tattoo 3D 📚 Credit [Instagram] lel EvoX KAYA / Legacy

[countdykulaa]

﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀SANCTIFY ME⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ hyperreligious!abby x rebel! reader ⠀ ❫

summary: Abby finds solace and comfort in the familiar embrace of the temple, a sacred space that offers her a sense of purpose and belonging. However, her peaceful reverie is interrupted by an unexpected presence, introducing tension into her sanctuary and forcing her to confront an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

contains: religious aspects and trauma described in detail, dark!abby, internalized homophobia, childhood friends to enemies to ...something

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet streets as Abby made her way towards the temple. She could hear her friends’ laughter floating beside her, the sound wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Their voices faded in and out, a melodic backdrop to her thoughts as she clutched her trusty leather Bible, its worn edges a testament to the countless hours spent pouring over its pages.

Each step brought her closer to the grand entrance, where towering columns rose like sentinels, welcoming her into a sacred space that had always felt like home. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing the cool, dimly lit interior. As she crossed the threshold, a sense of calm washed over her, enveloping her in a tranquil embrace. This was her sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world.

Inside, the air was thick with the familiar scent of polished wood and the faint trace of incense, mingling to create an atmosphere rich with history and spirituality. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings that whispered stories of faith and devotion. Abby closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the peaceful ambiance, feeling the weight of her worries lift, if only for a brief respite.

"Can you believe the pastor's message today?" one of her friends chimed in, pulling her back into the present. They began discussing the sermon, their voices echoing softly within the hallowed halls, but Abby's mind wandered elsewhere. She felt like a lost traveler desperate for shelter, the temple opening its arms to feed, clothe, and bless her with the word. There was no other place where she felt most needed, most cherished, most gracious...and why were you here?

you. the one with no name in her righteous mind for its mere utterance is a sin . you're the festering thorn in her flesh,   a curse birthed from Eden's shadow, growing   more crimson with each passing second,   like a plague sent to test her.  you , who roams around the streets of the small town you both have been imprisoned in , with your too high heels and too short skirt and studded belt wrapped around your waist with diamonds that flicker and blind the whole population into your treacherous ways . sacrificial blood is painted on your lips . The devils red as they call it . you , who can not be bothered to go to church every sunday for you're too busy dedicating your life to satans crusade. you, who reeks of cigarettes and booze and perfume much too light to belong to you. you, who abby prays for eternal damnation to come sooner .

Every night, her knees hit the ground—scraped raw, a blood-soaked cherry—praying to the heavens for deliverance from you. She whispers to God, begging for release, for you to be cast out like a demon, to spill your sin-stained filth on some other forsaken soul. She loathes you as one loathes the serpent, fears you as one fears divine wrath, despises you as the fallen despise the light. But deep beneath her trembling prayers, there’s envy—a festering, unholy desire, twisting her heart like a knife. Whenever you appear, it is as though her heart is torn from her chest, a bloody offering staining the earth at your feet.

her eyes glare daggers into your form. you, seemingly unphased by the hole burning into your skin , rest your head on the nave , eyes shieled by those retched sunglasses you always wear. this is unlike you. unlike any devil . resting comfortably in the only place that could send your incurable soul back to the fiery pits of hell. the sound of her friends is drowned out by the scent of you. even from afar she can feel the musky perfume that permeates your whiskey brown skin .

" - owen's for bible study right abby?"

her friends words rip her out her trance.

"huh?"

"I was telling mel about the bible study session we have soon. that's still on right?"

she nods her head in agreeance. eyes refocusing back to the woman before them.

"why don't you guys go ahead. i still have to meet up with bishop Michael about the bible camp thing."

They exchange glances but nod, understanding her need for space. As they walk away, their chatter fades, and the atmosphere shifts. Abby feels the weight of silence settle around her, amplifying the tension in the air.

Now alone with you, the temptress, Abby’s heart races. The comforting hum of the temple feels distant as she steals a glance at your relaxed figure, your presence a stark contrast to the sanctity of the space. She swallows hard, knowing that the sanctuary, once a refuge, has become a stage for an unsettling confrontation.

her feet move before her mind can react. she finds herself before you. a vengeance running sharply through her form. Abby stands at the nave , the worn wooden surface cool beneath her fingers as she grips the edge , grounding herself against the rising tide of emotion. The sanctity of the temple feels shattered by your presence , the air thick with tension.

"what are you doing here?" she spits out , the venom running down her words trailing onto your smug smile. you sit there … legs crossed and propped on the nave without a care in the world as you hold the match stick of carnal desire in hand ready to burn down her temple of belief. faith. constraint.

"to get saved and sanctified of course." your words take on a mocking tone as you quote the pastors words. "why else would i be here?"

to reek havoc on me. on god. on all that can be saved.

"Proverbs chapter nineteen verse nine. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish." abby mutters out through gritted teeth.

your tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth as your lips widen into a smile. "still showing everyone how much of a good little church girl you are. just like when we were kids."

"you mean before you lost your ways?"

"I mean before I realized how crazy you all are."

abby shakes her head , grip on the bible tightening with each word spoken. "the only crazy person here is you. you're the one everyone avoids. the one everyone speaks about once you leave the room. the queer. the outcast. the serpent climbing into the garden of eden to tempt eve. not adam. eve. your nourishment for the female sex is an infestation and i will not let you taint this church." her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. "you weren't possessed by the devil. you are him."

"and you're what? adam? god? the garden? or eve in this equation?" you bite back, hands grabbing the nave in front of you as you stand. When you rise from your seat , it’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the dim light . You stand mere breaths apart , the heat radiating off you wrapping around her like a siren’s call . Her heart pounds in her chest , each thud echoing the unspoken challenge in your gaze .

The closeness is electrifying , an intoxicating mix of defiance and desire, as she fights to maintain her composure in the face of the temptation you embody. "you and your little posse can judge me all you want. throw your stupid verses in my face like i haven't read it all front to back but you know more than i do that when you look in the mirror my face is all you see."

she breathes in , words stuttering in shock. how dare you accuse her of such an egregious offence. in her home. while god is forced to bear witness. "i am nothing like you. you're nothing more than a sinner."

"First John, chapter one verse eight." you drawl out, that smirk everso present on your features. "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us."

your quotes are less of a shock. being the pastors daughter of course you'd know more than most. it was what made you so powerful.

"you are nothing but an evil charlatan. delilah slinking down to reach back and cut off samsons hair in an act of seductive betrayal. i will not let you steal my strength. i will not let you rob me of my devotion."

"so walk away. forget i exist."

forget you exist. you say the words with such ease. as if it were that simple. as if your entire being was not seared into her skull like a brand. like a starving man could forget the concept of hunger. like a rabid dog could forget the foam in his mouth as he viciously attacked any unsuspecting prey. forget you. just as easily as you must've forgotten her.

her hands reach out and wrap around your throat in a move so fast you have no time to react. It’s a primal reaction, fueled by an overwhelming need to claim this moment , to anchor herself in the whirlwind of sin and desire swirling between us. her fingers wrap around her skin, firm yet hesitant, the warmth of her pulse thrumming beneath her touch.

she places pressure on them, delighting in your gasp of surprise. The contrast between her cool palm and your warm skin ignites something deep within her, awakening a hunger she had tried to pray away. abby can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of her breath mingling with the faint scent of incense that clings to the air, creating an intoxicating haze that makes her head spin

"First Timothy, chapter five verse twenty-two." you rush out, hands trying desperately to yank from her grip. your stiletto shaped nails pierce her skin as you try to claw your way to freedom. "Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure."

"You? Satan? Preach the word of God to me?" Abby's voice rings out, sharp and venomous. Her lips curl into a sneer as she stares down at you, her fingers tightening their grip around your throat. The muscle in her jaw ticks, rage battling with something darker in her eyes. Her breath comes in hot, uneven bursts, fanning against your cheek, but it's her fury that burns the most. " What do you know of the Word?" She hisses through clenched teeth. "Of purity? Of light? Air? Devotion?"

Her hand clenches harder, your pulse pounding beneath her fingers, as though she could throttle the sin from your very veins. Abby’s gaze drifts over you, taking in the smooth arch of your neck, the swell of your lips as you struggle for breath. Her teeth graze her lower lip in thought, and for a moment, her eyes darken, pupils dilating like she’s glimpsing something she doesn't dare name. There's a dangerous hunger in the way she watches you, a predator teetering on the precipice of restraint.

But she doesn't pull back. Abby leans closer instead, her breath ghosting across your skin as she hovers just inches away. The scent of incense and desperation clings to her like a second skin, filling the small space between your bodies. It’s suffocating, intoxicating, and your skin prickles beneath the weight of her scrutiny.

She whispers, so close now that her lips nearly brush against your ear. "I will show you purity." Her voice is low, almost reverent, and yet there’s an edge of cruelty that sends a shiver down your spine. The hand around your throat remains firm, but her thumb strokes along the column of your neck, slow and deliberate, as if testing the boundaries of her control. "I will purify you myself."

Her words are a promise, but there is nothing holy in her touch. Abby's other hand skims your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder with an unnerving softness, the pad of her thumb pressing down with a gentleness that belies the strength of her grip. Her fingers trail lower, ghosting over your chest, as though she’s searching for something beneath your skin, something she needs to pull out, something to cleanse.

The tension coils tighter between you, thick and suffocating. Every inch of you is on fire beneath her touch, but it’s her eyes—those hard, judging eyes—that trap you most. She looks at you like you're both a challenge and a salvation as if breaking you down would mean breaking herself free. Her breathing quickens, matching the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and for a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers to your lips. Something fragile and desperate breaks loose inside her, but she doesn't let it show. She can't. Not when purity is what she craves, what she needs.

Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing down on your pulse, and the world tilts just slightly. Her lips quiver as if she’s biting back words—prayers, curses, you can't tell. Maybe both. The air between you is thick, and for all her self-righteousness, for all her preaching about light and devotion, Abby is here, in the darkness with you, teetering on the edge of something she cannot name.

It’s in the stillness, in the charged silence where your breaths mingle, that the line between salvation and damnation blurs. Abby’s eyes glint, her lips parting just barely as if she’s about to say something, but nothing comes. Instead, her grip loosens, just a fraction, a tremble running through her hand as if she can no longer trust herself to hold on. Yet she doesn’t let go—not fully. She can't. Not when you're her tether, the embodiment of everything she’s tried so hard to fight.

Her lips brush against your ear once more, softer this time, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something she can no longer contain. "I will make you pure."

PLUTOS WORLD: okay! so this has been my longest fic yet but i had fun! will most defiantly be a part two if requested

TAGLIST: @r3starttt @cyb3rdino @abyssgf @savethegoddamturtles

[ang3lsbl0g]

Sun kissed. Elwood Dalton (Jake gyllenhaal in roadhouse) x Fem!Reader

Reader is 18.

2088 words.

Can we all agree for a name for the reader bc I cannot keep writing “her” it’s actually driving me insane and it being overused is so annoying I’m so sorry guys

Suggestive writing,

Also please let me know if you like 3rd or first person better, I usually write in third but I don’t know if you guys prefer first more!

This is the first part of hopefully a long fan fic,

She slammed the car door, the familiar click of the locks echoing as her sneakers crunched against the gravel. She made her way toward the roadhouse. Stepping inside, she took in the quiet atmosphere—a lull before the evening crowd. Neon lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a faint glow across the bar. In the background, a low hum of music mingled with muffled chatter, the usual prelude to the rowdier nighttime rush.

Her eyes scanned the room. At the bar sat a man whose frame stood out—broad-shouldered and tall, even while seated. His short hair framed a face with no beard, giving him a more weathered look than she remembered. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. He must be the new bouncer Frankie had hired.

Making her way behind the bar counter she moved towards him, noticing his eyes glued onto her as she approached. “Is there anything I can get you?” She watched him, watching him smirk.

“Black coffee.” He grumbled out, his voice breaking the silence of the bar.

“We don’t serve that here.” She paused chewing on the inside of her mouth, “how about Cuban coffee? I can throw in a shot of rum too.”

After a moment of thinking he gave a curt nod, “alright, and half a shot, I don’t need to be shitfaced tonight.”

She turned around, her daisy duke like shorts riding up slightly, the bottom of her ass visible just for a moment before she adjusted the denim. Her outfit was skin tight, her shirt cupping around her perky tits, a bikini clearly underneath the white shirt.

She was young looking, early twenties at most I’d he had to guess, but his eyes were glued to her, her skinny tan body. She seemed like a slice of heaven. A temptation that made his mind wander, his eyes snapped away from her when she turned around with his coffee, setting it down infront of him and leaning against the bar. Waiting for him to try the drink.

His fingers wrapped around the cup as he took a sip. The hot coffee and rum burning his throat, the sting lingering on his tongue. His eyebrows raised slightly, his tongue experiencing the new sensations and taste.

“Damn, that’s good.” He made small talk, watching her clean a counter as she listened.

“An early morning favorite, besides bloody Mary’s.” She added on, her eyes locking with his for a moment, his deep blues were bright. She could barely get her eyes off his.

“I can see why.” He made small talk, his interest peaking. He sat up more, the still creaking beneath his body as he kept his attention on her. “So.” He trailed off for a moment, “What brought you here? Working at this bar I mean.”

She was quiet for a moment, grabbing a wet rag and cleaning a glass before she opened her mouth to speak, “just decided I like the nightlife, plus glass keys is a perfect spot for a young bartender. Lots of old men who’ll tip well.” She looked him up and down, almost gesturing to him.

“Ah, well I’ll keep that in mind.” His gravelly voice echoed in his ears as his mind wandered. Hours slipped away unnoticed, and the once quiet bar gradually transformed into a vibrant scene filled with cheerful patrons. The air buzzed with laughter and animated chatter, creating a lively backdrop that pulled at his attention. Every so often, he stole a shameful glance at the young bartender, her hands skillfully mixing drinks as she moved gracefully between the crowded tables, unaware of the longing glances cast her way.

The way her hips swayed, her smile, her skinny waist. The way her hand lingered on customers arms to get the extra tip. It stirred something in him, he leaned his arm on the bar counter. Hiding his mouth and nose behind his hand as he stared at the band playing in the counter. Trying to ignore her figure looming towards him, leaning down on the counter infront of him.

Her eyes had a wild look on them, she smiled at him, taking his empty glass from infront of him and setting it down somewhere to get washed, she rested both of her forearms on the counter, she had swapped into a bikini from her regular work shirt. Eyeing him up and down.

“Can I get you something else to drink, Dalton?” His name rolled out on her tongue. Like her mouth was made to say it.

“Bourbon.” He spoke out to her, his eyes looking down at her chest, her string bikini holding her tits perfectly. He couldn’t help but stare, feeling like an old pervert while doing it. She smiled, pouring the bourbon into the glass with a large ice cube and setting it infront of him.

With a soft click of her tongue she locked eyes with him. “So tell me about yourself, you stumble in here mysteriously, keep to yourself. I wanna know who you are.” She probed at him.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head and taking a long sip of his bourbon. “Just here for work, I don’t need to make a show about it.”

“Yeah I know that but like, who are you? I feel like I recognize you from somewhere.” She rested against the palm of her hand.

“I used to do fights, like UFC?” He spoke out bluntly, his words dull. Eyes narrowing at her, she took the hint and nodded. Moving away from him and going over to a drunken man, listening to his slurred words. He watched the interaction, his eyes slowly skimming down her body, landing on her ass. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then focused on a bar fight that had just broke out, he got up from his seat. Gradually making his way over to break it up.

Later into the night she stayed later than expected, cleaning up the bar countertop. Her eyes skimmed to dalton and Frankie, walking outside about something before she gave him a check. He nodded, seemingly to thank her and moved into the bar, daltons prying eyes landing on her for a moment.

“Can I help you?” She cockily chirped at him. Resting a hand on her hip and looking him up and down.

He muttered something under his breath, moving towards the counter and sitting down on a stool. “Your choice on drink, sweetheart.” The nickname stung for some reason, his eyes staying on her face as she grabbed a bottle of liquor.

“So what if I just spit in your glass and call it a day?” She giggled at the joke, his lips forming in a smirk.

“Don’t waste your spit on my drink when you could use it for something better.” He grunted, she stood there for a moment. Her face a slight pink as she tried to figure out if he was joking or not.

She cracked open a beer, some foam seeping out from the bore and onto her hand, she set the bottle on the counter and sucked on the part of her hand the beer had coated, she pulled her hand away from her mouth.

His mouth became dry as he watched you suck on your hand; the way you held the bottle, let the foam drip down your hand. His cock stirred slightly as he took a swig from it, his eyes avoiding you.

He wasn’t shy, he just knew better than to act upon his thoughts in the moment. You were too young for him. Your hand creeped onto his arm, eyes interlocking with his. He pulled away from her touch, getting up from his seat and paying his bill. Leaving a 10 dollar tip and walking out of the road house.

You were a temptress, in every way imaginable. You made him want a habit, made him want you in ways he never knew a girl could be wanted in. He grabbed his stuff, moving towards the boat house Frankie said he could live in the meanwhile. He sat down against the boats back railing, his mind wandering to you, to your pretty smile and your gentle touch.

You awoke something in him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. He moved inside, kicking off his jeans and undoing his shirt. Crawling into bed, his body relaxed as he tried to ignore his throbbing cock begging for attention.

He covered his face, after battling himself he ended up asleep.

The next morning he woke up to his name being called, quickly shooting up from his spot in bed, groaning groggily as he stared at her. A grumble leaving his mouth as he watched her. “I should put something on.” He mumbled out quietly, standing up from his spot in bed and watching her walk into his ‘home’ her eyes landing on his body, raking over his figure before setting down a takeout box.

“Breakfast, just thought you’d want some, and you wouldn’t have time to get some.” She leaned against the wall.

He tried to ignore you, and ignore his prodding morning wood as he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants, putting them over his legs and pulling them up.

“Thanks.” He grabbed one of the boxes, leaving the inside of the boat and going to sit down outside it, his eyes scanning the marsh like scenery around him.

“So since your knew in town I just thought you’d maybe wanna get out, get to know the place.” She moved closer to him, smiling innocently at him.

“Look I don’t do that type of stuff.” He grumbled out, his words still slurry from being woken out of his slumber.

“It’s not a date, you’re definitely too old for me.” She giggled softly. Covering her mouth with her hand for a moment.

A scene played in his mind, both of you drink, his thick cock slamming in and out of your pussy, his fingers interlocked in your hair as the other hand slaps your ass. “Definitely too old for you.” He spoke out after a moment, trying to ignore those dirty thoughts.

“So, we agree. Cmon go out with me, tonight? I can show you the local scene. It couldn’t hurt right?” She smiled, her eyes had a softened look. Like a puppy, begging even.

“Fine.” He shook his head, watching a succubus grin fill her face as she nodded,

“alright, I’ll come get you later.” She left quickly, later into the day he regretted what he had said, how he had agreed to this, his head popped up when he heard a truck growling towards the dock, the growling stopped as she turned the truck off, staring at him from the end of the dock.

“Are you coming?” She called out to him, watching him get up from his spot and making his way over to you, she handed him the keys, climbing into the passengers seat. His hands clamped around the keys, wondering why she trusted him with her vehicle. He got into the drivers seat, turning on the truck and glancing over at her.

“Give me directions.”

Their night continued on, ending up with them drunk, sitting on the side of his boat and laughing about something, she turned to him, her hands lingering on his arm as she watched him. “So, why are you so alone, I’m surprised you’re not married.” She held onto his arm, watching his heavy eyes lock with hers as he leaned in, his voice just above a whisper.

“No woman wants a monster.” He quietly spoke, leaning back in his spot as he felt her weight shift, moving closer to him.

“That’s bull shit.” She shook her head.

“And how do you know that?” He questioned.

“Because look at you, your a fucking gentleman and god, you in general.” She licked her lips teasingly, standing up and staring down at him, his hand gently brushed along her leg as he got up, his drunken state altered his mind, his large hands wrapping around her waist as he stared down at her.

He let out a grunt, his mind wandering to dirty places as he pushed his body against hers. “Your too young for me.” Dalton mumbled into her hair, his hands flipping her around to face him as his hands felt up her body. Resting his forehead against hers, he gently felt her, their soft lips connecting before he pulled away.

“You should go.” He spoke abruptly. Walking away from her.

Pt 2. Soon

[cricketnationrise]

For the ficlet fest: 6:42 pm, a private stage, and Arthur Fox please. My ao3 is katsudonforthesoul. Congratulations on the followers!! It's so kind of you to give back to us as a way to celebrate, especially on top of all the other things you do!

thank you so much for your kind words! the not so secret part of the ficlet fests is that all y'all's prompts are so fucking cool that i have an absolute BLAST writing them <3 for once the Arthur feels are non-angsty, which is exciting for all of us, frankly. enjoy!

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

6:42pm, a private stage

“O, for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!”

No one becomes an actor hoping for small audiences. 

Famous actors can wax poetic all they want about how “reaching even one person is meaningful,” but at their core, in their secret egos, all actors want to be able to interact with the largest possible audiences. That dream is why Arthur tolerates filming; the reach is so much greater than live theatre. Even so, he’d much rather be on a stage, in front of a live audience. That feedback, that energy of a crowded room, solely focused on him and the story he’s telling is intoxicating.

“A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene!” Arthur winks at Catherine as he finishes the line, making her giggle. As much as he loves a packed house, there’s something special about performing for her alone, hidden away in his flat for once. She’d worn down her PPO’s enough that they’d grudgingly allowed her to stay the night, and that they’d monitor from down the hall instead of right outside his door after sweeping his place. Arthur can’t stop looking at her, casual in a way she rarely is, even in her own rooms in Kensington, completely at home here with him. The next line, something about Mars and hounds, pours out of him automatically, years of muscle memory serving him well, but Arthur couldn’t have told anyone what it actually is right now. He’s too distracted trying to memorize the precise configuration of laugh lines around her eyes.

He comes back to the text in time to appreciate the irony. “But pardon, gentles all, the flat unraisèd spirits that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.” It’s one thing to try to imagine vast battles and courts of ages past when you’re watching from The Globe, the building itself drenched in echoes of people imagining the same things for centuries—it’s another thing altogether to try and imagine fantastical settings and the grand scale of the story with a backdrop of worn out floors and his amazingly shit telly. Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France, indeed?

“Or may we cram within this wooden square the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt?” Arthur recites, swapping “O” for “square” to reflect the shape of the room, grinning when Cat catches the change. She’s a princess, and she’s bloody brilliant, and she’s dating him. And if she wants him to perform Shakespeare for her, he’ll do it with bells on.

He bows a little at the next line. “O pardon, since a crookèd figure may attest in little place a million, and let me, ciphers to this great account, on your imaginary forces work.” Arthur meets her bright gaze steadily, as the lines ask her to imagine mighty monarchies and proud-hoofed horses.

Arthur paces forward and kneels before her where she’s perched on the couch. “For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, turning th’ accomplishment of many years into an hourglass.”

“Did you mean, my entire life?” Cat snorts. 

Arthur just chuckles in response and takes her hand for the last line. “Admit me chorus to this history, who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.”

Cat twines her fingers with him and leans her face close to his. “I can’t believe you memorized a scene that wasn’t your own from Henry V, you gigantic nerd.”

“It’s a good monologue,” he protests. “And you like that I’m a gigantic nerd.”

“God help me, I really do,” she admits, standing up and pulling him up after her. “Now, let’s put a different gigantic part of you to work, shall we?”

“Well, if you absolutely insist…” Arthur fakes a heavy sigh, but lets her tow him toward the bedroom, more than happy to do her bidding.

[papenathys]

for the books of 2024 ask:

DNF With Regrets, Faves, Top of the List for 2025 !! 🩶

DNF with regrets

I've never felt any regret in shelving a book. That said, it's probably Unholy with Eyes Like Wolves by Morgan Dante: a historical gothic sapphic vampire erotica, set in 17th century Hungaria. The story is a reworking of Carmilla, as well as the historical legends about Elizabeth Bathory. At that time, I was fresh off S.T. Gibson's An Education in Malice, and wanted to have a breather between two consecutive Carmilla retellings with ornamental, heavy prose. Of course, I intend to read it later this year.

I also DNFed Chain-Gang All-Stars which was very high up on my anticipated 2024 tbr, but I'm not sure I regret it. Maybe I'll return to it sometime, maybe not. I didn't feel the first two chapters and someone told me that if I disliked R.F Kuang's Babel as political anti-fascist/anti-imperialist fiction I'd probably dislike this too, so. Um. Okay.

Faves already answered here

Top of the List for 2025

Just 3 of them, in no certain order:

Metal from Heaven by August Clarke: From the blurb, this is "a bloody lesbian revenge tale and political fantasy set in an industrial society, tackling labor issues and radical empowerment" against a backdrop of simmering class warfare. Which is all good, but more importantly, there is toxic strap sucking marxist butch lesbian yuri.

Savage Blooms by S. T. Gibson: This is a bisexual polycule (m/m/f/f) erotic dark fantasy romance set in the Scottish highlands. It was pitched as a fever dream mix of Wuthering Heights, Scottish folklore and faerie fantasy, and Anne Rice's erotica. I quite like this author's books as pure gothic freaky kinky escapism.

A Treachery of Swans by A.B. Poranek: A gothic, sapphic dark fantasy Swan Lake retelling, mixed in with Phantom of the Opera. I really like the cover, and I want to see how this author tackles the gothic mirroring motifs of the original ballet, especially with reference to lesbian identity or homoeroticism. Also, I like sapphic fairytale fantasy.

[edenslice]

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and i

[ID: Art of Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens. They are flying together, backdrop consisting of contrasting hues and various shades of purple, pink, and yellow clouds. The sun, bright and painted like a planet, shines behind Aziraphale's head, resembling a halo.

Aziraphale, a middle-aged male presenting angel with white hair and wearing a three-piece suit, has three pairs of wings; the first pair closes around him protectively, its inner feathers resembling glowing eyes. The second pair, bigger than the first, is caught mid-flap. The third and biggest pair spreads itself to its full lengths. He is smiling lovingly at Crowley, glowing tears spilling from iridescent eyes.

Crowley, a middle-aged male presenting demon with yellow eyes, red hair, pointed ears, and a snake tattoo near his jaw, is wearing a black two-piece suit. He is holding Aziraphale's hands in both his own. His back is bloody and torn open by his wings, and his wings likewise are tattered and burning. He looks up at Aziraphale with a pained expression, but his gaze says: "I trust you to keep me safe". end ID]

[cyborg-squid]

I started reading a (translated and abridged) copy of the Mahabharata last night and. having gotten only through the 70 page introduction. I think aspects of it count as cosmic horror? not in the 'Lovecraft' sort of way, and I don't want to sound like a racist willfully misinterpreting another culture's foundational text, but...

but I think it's something that the Mahabharata directly addresses, that the central Kurukshetra war is a reflection of the divine conflict between the gods and the demons. the fact that so much of the war is orchestrated by Krishna/Vishnu, who plays both sides against each other, lending his soldiers to the Kauravas while giving his own aid to the Pandavas. repeatedly encouraging the Pandavas to commit adharma while literally embodying dharma itself. dancing and laughing when Bhima's son dies because that means Karna wasted his superweapon and now can be killed (via sneak attack and curses) by Arjuna.

the fact the literal field of battle was tilled and 'blessed' so that only those who fall to starvation or bloody death there get to go to heaven.

the conflicting personalities of Yudhistra and Bhima representing ideas of 'destiny' vs 'human effort', and how they intertwine with neither always being the 'proper' or 'dominant' one.

literal, and I mean literal, no metaphor or exaggeration this all direct from the text, rivers of human blood and gore, whose banks are described as being made up of elephant and horse corpses, which has waterweed/kelp in the form of the drifting hair off human scalps and it's foam is bubbling human fat.

and most of all, when Arjuna gets a glimpse into Krishna's "supreme godly form", he sees a vision of Vishnu as this fiery maw into which heroes throw themselves like moths to a flame, worlds burnt to ashes in his maw, lapping up entire universes and devouring them whole, "your terrible splendors fill the entire universe with fiery energy till it is scorched, O Vishnu".

It just. conveys this sense of humans, and the gods themselves at times, struggling to make sense of a largely cruel and uncaring universe, struggling to find their own destinies and capabilities, what can they really do to change or escape anything (which is little) within their roles. all set on this backdrop of human political scheming followed by horrific and brutal warfare with atrocities on both sides, being masterminded by the origin of the "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds" quote, who is literally that.

it's fucking fascinating, is what it is.

[venalos]

@aetherceuse, cont.

An age-old legend from lands far away spoke of a harrowing calamity, of a time when the lords of Time and Space and Destruction descended from the heavens to unleash their fury upon the lands and each other. It was a time of death and great suffering, so needlessly violent as to incur the wrath of Nature and Dragonfire. When the gods wage war all life suffers, be it man or beast, as the very fabrics of the universe are torn at the seams.

Although scans did reveal the creature to be a Pokémon, it was plenty obvious that it did not come from this world, perhaps not even from this very reality. Its genetic makeup was all wrong; its energy readings were more akin to that of Ultra Beasts, as faded as it may be from a long life lived on this planet. Truly, this was an ancient beast, worn and covered in a myriad of scars. It would be no surprise, then, that the bizarre Pokémon would enrapture a certain blonde woman.

"M- Ms. President," stammered one of the foundation's scientists, putting away a pad and holding out a hand as if to stop her as she passed by. "Please, don't get too close to it... We've found that the Pokémon harbours some kind of pathogen that we haven't had the opportunity to fully exa-"

The scientist was immediately cut off by a blood-curdling growl emanating from the sleeping giant.

Slowly, surely, Goldie awoke from her slumber, another withering snarl rising from deep within her throat as she was oh so rudely disturbed. The talons crowning her wing-arms dug deep into the ground as she pushed herself onto her four feet, these claws much smaller than her talons yet still wickedly sharp and powered by robust limbs. The membranes of her wings billowed like a burnt cape as she moved, framing her massive body. A tail was revealed, thick as a tree trunk at the base and tapering to a whip-like point, bladed spikes lining it along its lateral length. Then Goldie parted her jaws, thick and robust, and filled with many blood-curdling teeth befitting of a vicious hunter.

Her eyes, deep red and glowing afire, locked on the woman standing before her, speaking to her. Goldie stood at her full height, somehow even bigger than before, looming threateningly. It took no genius to realise that this was a monster built for slaughter, whose glorious shine had been worn away through constant bloodshed and conflict. She was no feeble, ailing victim seeking help. Far from it.

However, this was also an intelligent and thinking beast. Any other monster would have bared down on the woman in an attempt to tear her to bloody pieces, but not Goldie. Though the dragon did growl, so menacingly as to make any lesser person soil their pants, she made no moves that could be interpreted as aggressive. The scientist from before still made the wise decision of scurrying away, hastening their steps as they felt Goldie's chilling gaze following them, before she turned her attention back to the woman.

Goldie had been around people for long enough to conclude that said woman must be the one in charge. She raised her wings off the ground -- hanging limply to her sides like a person's arms -- then the dragon approached. Her massive size meant great weight as her every step made the surrounding earth shudder, and she stopped barely a hair's breadth away from the woman's face. Goldie inhaled deeply; she could tell that this was most likely the leader of the surrounding people, but there was something else that slowly earned her the dragon's interest. An air of belonging and kinship, one of sheer elegance and skin-crawling wrongness.

Like Goldie herself.

Then she exhaled, her breath reeking of death and decay; and likely messed up the woman's hair.

In the backdrop a different scientist called out, "Please, Ms. President, get away from it!" They visibly flinched when the dragon's terrifying gaze fell upon them and their fellow employees. "We- We can't have you get infected by it! We don't know what the pathogen's effects are!"

[dublimedarkwood-blog]

▪️ Satomi-27 Tattoo - Nebur Cyborg ▪️ Xtreme Pants - Nebur Cyborg @ Alpha ▪️ Xtreme Boots - Nebur Cyborg @ Alpha ▪️ DRAGON KANABO - [REKT x TREVOR] @ Gothcore ▪️ Bloody Hands - Amadeus @ Gothcore ▪️ Burning Heaven Backdrop PBR - The Bearded Guy 🫀 Sponsored by: NEBUR CYBORG | GOTHCORE | THE BEARDED GUY

[sakuravulpes]

✎ ( sponsor ღ DollHolic ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ VUDU TATTOO - Bloody Face Hearts - EVO-X

ღ Vudu Tattoo presents their new Bloody Face Hearts tattoo, the design is so cute, full of little hearts and shades, it will give you a lovely mysterious look. It's for EvoX only and comes in BOM layers in 4 opacities, it's tintable. You can find a closer look in the comments and blog.

✤ ʟᴀɴᴅᴍᴀʀᴋ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Cherry Bunny ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ Cherry Bunny~Stigmatta Dress - Megapack @ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ

ღ This sexy romantic outfit is rigged for Legacy, Perky, Reborn, Waifu and Lara. It comes with panties and dress and the fatpack includes a hud with extra colors, including exclusive bloody white and black textures.

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

Ahri ღ

✎ ( outfit & hair ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ {Fantasy world} Anisia's Tears @ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ★⸝⸝ + Seraphim Alis Fatpack + {egosumaii} ★⸝⸝ bonbon - seraphic headpiece (ceramic) ★⸝⸝ Insomnia Angel . Alberti scissors garter [FAT] ★⸝⸝ bonbon - maiko hair (ombres)

✎ ( extras ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ moonwaii . forest nymph ★⸝⸝ [REVERIE] Opal Eyeshadow [BOM\EvoX] @ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ★⸝⸝ [KRR] Angelic skin (FATPACK) ★⸝⸝ LeLUTKA Prim Head 3.1 ★⸝⸝ eBODY - REBORN

✎ ( backdrop & pose ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ Knockin on Heavens Door. Backdrop at @Sunny Photo Studio ★⸝⸝ Stardust - Frostine - slow 05 Bento Pose

✎ ( my blog ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

✤ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛsᴜɴᴇ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

[casspurrjoybell-23]

Berserkr - Chapter 7 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Lost and Found

Above the trees and encircling a backdrop of fog-tipped mountains, hundreds of crows howled, taunting the scene below with irreverent squawks of freedom.

Feathers glistened, heavy with the rain that fell from the heavens with a renewed vengeance... as if Odin himself were crying... while they swirled and dipped, overlooking the scene below with beady, blackened gazes of pity.

One would think that the ravenous flock of fowl would only convene in such excess when staking out the rotting carcasses of their latest prey.

But be it that true, perhaps the thick, murky scent of misery that wafted endlessly from the grounds below was just enough to trick even those with the most attuned of senses.

For torment was not nearly strong enough a word to encapsulate the violent state of turmoil that Einar found himself drowning within as he heaved out a rich, chest-deep grunt, palms chafed raw and bloody as he heaved the horse cart yet another foot closer to the refinery.

Tendrils of dirty blonde hair, darkened to a light brown by the unforgiving downpour that accompanied the passing storm, stuck to Einar's face and neck as he pressed onward, numb to the solid sheets of precipitation that fell against his back like tiny shards of ice.

Although the thin soles of the Alpha's cloth boots slipped and sank into the sludge of the earth with each step and the rickety wheels of the cart struggled to turn properly as they cut through the dense mud, Einar barely felt the added strain.

Instead, dim blue eyes only squinted through the impenetrable deluge, pupils focused on nothing and ears deaf to the blunt clash and bang of the picked-over cart of gold as he yielded himself to a much harsher hurricane of introspection.

Only a single day had passed since Einar was bestowed the highest honor of joining bodies with his fated.

But even still, every time the mere thought of sweat-slicked limbs, breathy cries and desperate embraces flickered across his mind, the Alpha found himself doubly overcome with an onslaught of flames that crackled to life within the depths of his gut, filling him with so many emotions that it was quite remarkable that he had yet to pop.

But through it all, there wasn't a single moment in the day that Einar wasn't thinking of him, of what his precious Omega... his Valie... was doing to keep himself company whilst Einar tended to his everlasting duties.

Maybe he was shuffling through Einar's drawings again.

If so, did he glance upon them with regards of awe or disdain?

So badly, Einar longed to know.

Or maybe, he was busying himself by brushing Frode's mane with those soft, delicate hands that Einar always longed to touch, showering the powerful stallion with all of the adoration of which he'd been deprived for so long.

Was he happy? Thirsty? Hungry? Was he thinking of Einar, too?

In a matter of days, Valie had become the sunlight peeking over the horizon at the dawn of an endless winter, the very life that thrummed through Einar's every vein, replenishing him with a warm, fuzzy and distinctly alien sense of hope that he'd never been brave enough to pursue alone.

But Valie... His sweet, perfect Omega, made him want. Valie made him yearn.

But of course, as inevitably as a whip met flesh, all of those wondrous, vibrant feelings that Valie made bubble up from some long abandoned place deep inside of him were only destined to be tarnished by the sharp talons of reality's truths.

And every day, Einar could feel them slice their way down to his very core as he tried his best to come up with any way to resist them.

You see, the previous morning, Master Guiscard had jovially called for an assembly in the village square.

Then, only once he'd concluded a thorough whipping of one of his house slaves for an offense that likely only existed in his own mind, did the stout Beta announce the details of their next raid, all the while the bloody, battered woman lay slumped over in the dirt behind him, like an omen of what further bloodshed was undoubtedly to come.

Einar only had three, short days before they were to embark on their next voyage to whatever village was unlucky enough to be marked and targeted as the latest interest of Guiscard's unrestrained greed.

Under normal circumstances, Einar would hardly react to such a piece of information, simply marking the event as yet another notch in his miles-long, forced reign of terror.

But this time, as he was faced with a week's long journey to places unknown, he was only reminded of what he would be forced to leave behind.

He could already spy the dreadful sight in his mind's eye... Valie curled up, cold and starving in the hay loft.

He would lay there, helpless, ribs defined and lips chapped as he awaited the return of an Alpha who didn't even possess the wherewithal to provide him with the most basic of human needs.

It was a brutally humiliating, bone-crushingly agonizing thought that made Einar burn with the desire to sink six feet deep into the mud beneath his feet but it was a necessary one nonetheless.

Because with it, Einar came to understand that he could not, under any circumstances, leave Valie alone to fend for himself as he embarked on this next raid.

Yet, how he was to achieve such a feat was a mystery which, no matter how much the Alpha attempted to construct a solution, unfailingly managed to evade him.

There wasn't enough time to stockpile rations and even if there was, the meats would undoubtedly spoil well before his return.

And if he indulged anyone with the secret of Vali's existence in an effort to have them supply his fated with sustenance in his absence, there was always a chance that they could run to Guiscard, which was a prospect that carried with it the promise of such harrowing repercussions that even a thoroughly war-torn stomach such as Einar's rolled and curdled at the mere thought.

Not to mention, hiding Vali away in Einar's attic abode for the rest of eternity was hardly a life worth living.

The situation just felt so unsalvageable, so helpless and futile and suffocating that Einar found himself overcome with unsurmountable waves of anxiety and doubt, like a man thrown overboard into a raging sea without so much as a flare to light his path.

Because how could Einar possibly keep his fated safe, when he couldn't even achieve same fate for himself?

"Einar, ya' oversized varmint. Pull 'er right on up to the back for us, won't 'ya?" Unnr's ever-so-lively voice cut through the dark haze that had settled across every ridge and plane of Einar's rapidly spiraling mind and it was only then that the Alpha's eyes focused enough to recognize that he was now only a few heaves away from the refinery.

The refinery was a long, low-sitting structure, the place where most of Guiscard's fortune was forged through the melting and recasting of pillaged gold and silver jewelry into bars to be sold.

But regardless of the fact that it was his main cash cow, the Beta ordered the building built on the outskirts of the compound, as if in an effort to keep the sooty shadow of smoldering fumes that poured endlessly from multiple, giant smokestacks as far away from his fastidious view as possible.

At any hour of dawn or dusk, one could hear the continuous clang of cross-peen hammers as they pounded away at the molten metals, as if trying to forcefully batter out the history of the places they were stolen from and the people who still mourned them.

Einar grunted in response to Unnr's request, powerful thighs bulging against the sweat-and-rain-slicked britches that clung to them and the Alpha gritted his teeth as he hauled the cart the last few feet to the spot that the man requested, which was directly beside the receiving door.

Huffing out a quiet sigh of relief and exhaustion, Einar finally released the reigns that were attached through loops of leather to his chest harness as a myriad of other slaves swarmed the cart at once, commencing the lengthy process of transferring the towering mound of gold into the gluttonous mouths of the gurgling kilns that glowed with heat inside of the building.

"Last one?" Unnr asked as he made his way out of the receiving door and over to Einar.

The Alpha's face was striped with soot, cheeks burning a bright red from the inescapable heat of the brick-built building and his right hand still held tight to a well-used cross-peen hammer, as if molded to the wooden handle itself.

"Yes," Einar responded, untying his dripping chest harness and hooking it onto the corner of the horse cart for later use.

"For now."

"Good lad. Now ya' can join the rest of us lot," Unnr grinned, although the expression didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Got a hammer waiting' in there with 'yer name on it."

Squaring his shoulders, Einar simply nodded at his fellow Berserkr, following him into the building without another word.

The Alpha had to duck, hunching his neck and shoulders to the point of discomfort in order to make it through the low clearance that the receiving doorway provided.

But the very moment that he crossed the threshold and entered the refinery, he was immediately struck by the familiar, sweltering heat that made the air sizzle like hot stones against his skin.

The atmosphere was so ripe with muscle, metal, coal,and soot that it practically singed the hairs at the back of Einar's nose when he finally emerged on the other side of the door and straightened back up to this full height.

"Help 'em out over at kiln number three, won't 'ye? Them boys been strugglin' for hours now to keep up," Unnr instructed, bending over at the waist to grab one of the multiple extra hammers that rested against the far wall before tossing it in Einar's general direction.

The larger Alpha smoothly plucked the heavy tool out of the air as he once again grunted a reply of acknowledgment.

It took only a single second and a few, sweeping steps for Einar to sidle himself up next to the two other Berserkrs who stood on either side of the anvil assigned to kiln number three.

Overworked arms bulged and hammers swung at a masterfully synchronized, yet somewhat anesthetized rate, taking turns slamming away at the brutalized mound of molten gold that sat atop the cast iron platform.

Sweat dripped from every inch of visible skin as they worked, soaking each man's britches and tunic with what looked to be just as much moisture as Einar had sustained from his stroll through the storm outside.

Flipping the weighty hammer around effortlessly between the tips of his fingers, Einar took his place at the head of the anvil.

Then, he waited for a momentary outlet that would integrate him seamlessly into the pattern of hammering before finally raising the tool above his head and taking his swing.

The hammer collided with the metal with an ear-splitting clang... an otherworldly sort of sound that echoed with the raw strength that not a single other Alpha in the entire refinery or compound, could ever hope to possess.

A few of the other Alphas lifted their heads from their work to examine the cause of the sudden upsurge in noise and Einar didn't miss the looks on their faces when they caught wind of his presence.

But quicker than most would catch, they were meticulously painted over and pulled tight to conceal the scattered sentiments of disgust, impartiality and envy that lay cowering just beneath.

But none of it was new. And fortunately, Einar was more than acquainted with being perceived as other.

Not enough to be kept by his parents,and too much to be kept with the other slaves, the Alpha learned very early that keeping everyone and everything at arm's length was the only possible way to endure life without suffering irreparable damage.

But of course, as if to taunt him, the one time he strayed from such a rule, Einar was so soon faced with the consequences of placing not only himself but so much more importantly, the only other man he'd ever wanted to risk everything for, directly between the serrated jaws of unspeakable peril.

Biceps thick, shoulders wide, and heart heavy enough to ignite with a ferocious ache, Einar slammed down onto the anvil much harder this time, releasing a mighty grunt of thinly-veiled misery.

And for a moment, no matter how fleeting, he wondered how it might feel to pitch his own forehead beneath the weight of his co-worker's mallets.

"Heat and switch," called a faceless voice from the masses, to which all of the Alphas immediately stepped back from the anvils in front of them, making way for the assigned kiln boys who would gather up the lump of gold and ferry it to the heated furnaces for another round of heating.

Meanwhile, all of the Alphas switched positions, shifting around the anvil in a clockwise motion in order to ensure equal distribution of power and force once the molten metal was returned.

Einar took the fleeting opportunity to inconspicuously scan the room.

Most of the anvil workers were war-dog Berserkrs just like him... giant, powerful men belonging to the upper echelon of Guiscard's extensive crop of serfs.

And, sprinkled among them, were a few other Alphas who assisted with various tasks around the compound.

But as he continued to glimpse further, pushing past the blurry haze that had so long shrouded the undeniably human faces of those around him for so long, reality unfurled like moldy petals from the stem of a decaying rose.

And Einar... the Alpha saw.

Profound, soul-deep lines that could only form out of a lifetime of hardship marred the furrowed countenances of even the youngest of men who worked in the refinery alongside him.

Sunken eyes suspended themselves above dark bags that bore stories of long days worked and hard wars fought and Einar couldn't help but to reach up and touch his own face, feeling out the matching ones carved out across his own weary facade.

After all, he'd lived, worked and suffered alongside these men since a time far before he could even remember constructing conscious thoughts.

Could it be that maybe... he wasn't quite as 'other' as he'd thought?

"Man 'yer anvils," that same voice from before bellowed, and like an automaton, Einar fell right back into step, heaving his hammer high above his head only to slam it back down into the ingot of gold that now burned just as hot as the fury within his heart.

His Valie was a treasure, a priceless gem so much more valuable than anything that Guiscard could ever hope to own.

And if his master couldn't see that... then Einar would be left with no other option than to force his hand.

But with such extensive a fleet as Guiscard's, even with his own impressive strength, size and prowess, Einar knew that he would hardly stand a chance against him alone.

To protect his Omega, he would need help.

[xheavenlysinsx]

I'm overly excited to share with you all my latest photography project in Second Life. Snow And Ellenor get Halloween ready this holiday season. this years theme is called Haunted Hallows Eve. Please leave your feedback as I would like to hear from ya.

Fang Raven <3

A Complete List Of Everything Used!

Snow Raven's Outfit: Luas Araminta Outfit (Fatpack) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Impulse/181/159/26

Snow's Shoes, **UTOPIA@Design** - "ZAFIRA" - (Maitreya) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Triglav/208/124/501

Snows Finger Nails, Limited Addiction - Dancing Skullies Nails - (Maitreya) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sim%20Style/103/82/26

Snow's Hair, Stealthic - Riot http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Rapture/155/128/25

Snow's Makeup, (No Longer In Second Life! Lenore - Jett / Shadow+Liner / EVOX (purple) Knife Party // Mirianne Eye Makeup // Evo X // http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lovely/39/29/2006 [HEXUMBRA] Bex Eye Makeup - Sunset http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Serena%20Ambrosia/92/56/1040

Snow's Necklace, !TLB - Dark Soul Necklace-Female (animated) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Celebration/214/166/23

Snow's Earrings, ROZOREGALIA_RUDYLU*EARRINGS(Bear) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/ROZOREGALIA/130/15/3001 --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ellenor Raven's Outfit: Luas Byun Succubus Outfit Purple & Grey http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Impulse/181/159/26

Ellenor's Shoes, **UTOPIA@Design** - "MELISSA" - (Reborn) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Triglav/208/124/501

Ellenor's Finger Nails, . Hanzel . Cursed Nails [Reborn] http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cezanne/30/82/747

Ellenor's Leggings, Choco Kookie Leggings Reborn https://marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/226090

Ellenor's Hair, Stealthic - Docile http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Rapture/155/128/25

Ellenor's Lipstick And Eyeliner, (Stock) LeLUTKA.EvoX.Lipstick And Eyeliner. Knife Party // Mirianne Eye Makeup // Evo X // http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lovely/39/29/2006 --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snow And Ellenor's Poses All From The Amazing Secret Poses SL http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sea%20Breezes/160/135/3503

All Backdrops Used: (The Bearded Guy) Damon Devote Backdrop, Oscuro Hall Backdrop, Future Ritual Backdrop, Neon Crypt Backdrop, Glow Terror Backdrop, Bloody Heaven Backdrop And (IrrISIStible) Magic Forest Backdrop

The Bearded Guy And IrrISIStible http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Moonwall/122/122/32 http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Devils%20Point/124/210/853

Animesh, JIAN Ghost Wolf Companion http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Jian/244/238/24

(Locations In Order)

Second Life Welcome Hub http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/WelcomeHub/122/133/30

The Dreaming Hollow http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Or/176/83/77

Dark Passions Market Square http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Ruby%20Dust/96/96/22

Tortuga Nude Beach http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Tortuga/181/89/21

Everwinter http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Elven%20Mist/241/122/26

[sirserpentine]

Nobody trusted him in Heaven. No one in Hell knew he was alive.

He was bound and hidden and kept from knowing anything of real value, and he would remain that way until the end of the world, which his gut told him could come at any moment.

He needed to get out, he needed to help Charlie and the others.

It just so happened that someone else prayed for his presence in Hell as much as he did.

It just so happened that being a serpent came in handy for once.

There was only a millisecond of confusion, when a feeling pulled Pentious' entire existence through a veil of two different worlds. And then there was brilliant clarity. He knew who had called him. He knew he had been summoned. He knew this may have been his only chance to offer assistance. He knew where he now was.

Floating above the circle of candles, Sir Pentious' radiant body gleamed against the bloody backdrop of the Pentagram. More eyes had sprouted upon his body, each alight in heavenly light. They looked at Lilith, grateful, confused, emotional, but he couldn't voice any of these feelings.

"Your Majesty-" the angelic serpent gasped. There was no time for dilly-dallying, no time for lengthy explanations, nor questions. It didn't matter which mauled street this was. This was Hell, that much was obvious and it was enough.

Sir Pentious bowed deeply, before letting his now glowing eyes meet the queen's again.

"My presence is feeble, I will be pulled back sssoon," he begun, impressed with his own awareness of the situation, of his confident words.

"...But I am here to help, My Queen. What do you require?"

Side Bar - A Plea From Hell to Heaven

[ @sirserpentine ] (Honorable mention - @hellsdisneyprincess ) [ Lilith's Song to Charlie ]

Seraph told her to run and she ran hard. Lilith ran -

Moving as quickly as she could until her legs would allow her to go, bending at the knee before the shrine of her lost children. Her body ached, covered in her own blood as she heaved and coughed.

She needed a moment to catch her breath. Looking up at the graves she made for all eight lost children..if her message was right, she would have to add a ninth, at least in memory of Charlie. There would be a grand funeral for her once all of this was over - assuming enough people survived.

She shifted herself so she was sitting on her knees. This was as far as she was going to run. Her body wouldn't allow her to stand, let alone move more than an inch from where she was. A shaky blood soaked hand rests over her chest, bowing her head down.

"I'm..so sorry Charlie..for everything. You must think me a terrible mother for not being there at your side. I've been in your shoes before, fighting for equality, rebelling against the norm that was shoved down our throats from the beginning. Only..you saw a better way, a way that meant something.

I'm sorry we never had a chance to talk more, a chance to take that much needed vacation..a chance to be..a family. For all the secrets you had a right to know about..I'm so sorry..but I know that won't bring you back to us." Tears fell down the sides of her lavender cheeks as she looked up, "Know that I am proud of you, no matter what anyone says. I will do what I can to keep your dream alive. I hope you know that you will be missed by both your father and I. We love you so dearly, my darling daughter." Taking a breath, she sang softly, a song in memory of her daughter as the shadows of her former children linger near by, silent as they mourned their mother's loss once more. "Dear daughter Hold your head up high There's a world outside That's passing by Dear daughter Never lose yourself Remember that You're like nobody else

Life throws you in To the unknown And you feel like you're Out there all alone

These are words That every girl should have a chance to hear There will be love There will be pain There will be hope There will be fear And through it all year after year Stand or fall I will be right here For you

Dear daughter Don't worry about those stupid girls If they try to bring you down It's cause they're scared and insecure Dear daughter Don't change for any man Even if he promises the stars And takes you by the hand

Life throws you in To the unknown And you feel like you're Out there all alone

These are words That every girl should have a chance to hear There will be love There will be pain There will be hope There will be fear And through it all year after year Stand or fall I will be right here For you

Dear daughter I was just like you And just like me You're gonna make it through

These are words That every girl should have a chance to hear There will be love There will be pain There will be hope There will be fear And through it all year after year Stand or fall I will be right here And after all, I will be right here For you.." Lilith takes a shaky deep breath, holding her hands out to her sides, she summons a circle of white candles and lights them, mentally hoping that Seraph is okay. She would hate to lose another loved one. "I swear if I end up talking to myself.." she mutters softly as she holds her hands together in prayer. It worked to summon God, hopefully someone upstairs was willing to lend her a hand, even if it was for a minute.

"Heavenly souls above, I, Lilith - Queen of Demons and Serpents, I pray that one shall answer my call. I pray for aide in my darkest hour. Please..hear my call..as I summon thee unto Hell from Heaven.."

[esotericcasuist]

Glimpses of a Black-Eyed Angel

Past and futures together in a little row boat to Heaven. A moonful of stars and black eyes. Forever waiting on the shore.

The first frost brought with it the stale taste of late autumn giving way to winter's pull. A season of death and decay becoming more palpable the darker the nights got. A picturesque backdrop for two funerals in one.

A mirage of senses leaving all logic behind. A haze held behind icy eyes. I remember feet, but not much more. The pungent stench flowers attempting to hide the scent of death distracted me from whispers and sobs. An echo chamber. I was underwater, just beneath the surface. Pressure in my lungs, water stuck between my throat. My arms kept missing bodies as countless pulled me in for hugs I didn’t consent to. Like passing ships in the night. As for seeing . . . black eyes from a fallen angel. Stuck herself on the shore of death. So, feet it was. I could sketch them all, down to the most nuanced detail. Anything to not see those bloody black eyes.

Caskets were closed for obvious reasons. The extent of the injuries leaked by some rookie spilling details about the case to his girlfriend who then shared it with her friends and so on and so forth only sensationalized the case even more. Not only did reporters want to know if he had returned but if anyone had caught a glimpse of the bodies. Vultures. At the ready to pick at the already gaping wound. Raw and rotting flesh.

Two things I knew immediately:

1) It was him

2) I wish I hadn’t caught a glimpse.

[senseandaccountability]

Hey, did you get a chance to watch season 6 of Lucifer? What did you think of the finale?

This is going to be salty (sorry) so I put it under a cut for people who prefer joyous things in the feed.

I didn’t like the final season.

To be brief: It felt like a story where the writers knew how they wanted it to end, and therefore the plot ruled over the characters. It wasn't a main plot I enjoyed at all, and it was told in a way that made it difficult for me to appreciate even the small bits I liked. (Ella reveal. Ghost Dan.) I thought it suffered from a jarring tonal shift and when it comes to several overarching themes, I felt it negated/trivialized previous seasons. In many ways it also managed to be both cheesy and cruel, often at the same time. I had the impression it was a compilation of (unfortunately rather boring) fandom wishes and tropes more than authentic storytelling.

To be anything but brief:

I dislike the season in part because it undid a lot of great things about Lucifer as a character.

By the end of 5B Lucifer had come full circle. I think that season finale is great. The Lucifer vs Michael fight was so well done thematically - he fought himself, and unlike the first fight in 5A when he wants to hurt his twin he had now reached a state of personal growth, of compassion. Not even when Michael kills Chloe does he deserve death because everyone deserves a second chance. And then the funny and pitch perfect “Oh, my me”. Ambiguous enough about the details to fuel the fandom, clear enough about the themes and the lore to offer closure. (No, Deckerstar didn’t have a date or much of a snog but I can fill in the blanks there though I am aware that many fans were disappointed by the lack of on-screen love.)

Excellent way to end the show.

Except they didn’t. S6, I feel, tried to tell the same story all over again, only not as well or even coherent.

Over the seasons it’s been pretty clear that while Lucifer can be caring, he mostly cares about the handful of people in his life. S6 even touches upon this, has him trying to care for random people in their hell loops. But S5 already did this, but better, with Michael. The family dinner with God was excellent, it showed broken people all around and had Lucifer, the self-centered drama queen of the family realizing that he’s not the only one that’s been hurt. It showed the best and worst of them all. Sparing Michael, considering Michael worthy of redemption, was peak growth for Lucifer as a character because in that moment he also considers himself worthy of the same thing. That’s when he truly forgives himself. I thought. And then season 6 shows Michael as a prisoner in Hell, just once, never to be mentioned again. Is that a second chance? Is that redemption? Is that really the symbolism they were going for or just a spiteful and stupid little addition because LOL SOME PEOPLE DESERVE HELL. (Do they? Says who? The show doesn’t answer that because the show that focuses on the neutral character the Devil and the totally untarnished place Hell doesn’t much care about such divisive matters, but more about that soon.) I dislike the season, in parts because I wasn't satisfied with the moral/quasi-theological backdrop. The system is wrong, Lucifer concluded by the end of 5B. Season 6 has him return to the system, as an Afterlife Coach of the Damned. Is that really the best they could do?

I mourn all the cool possibilities of what Lucifer, the advocate for free will and defender of desire, could have done with hell as a concept. Blown it apart, closed it, tossed the keys to someone else and rode off in the sunset. At the very least he could have altered it so that it’s no longer solitary confinement but a collective of doomed souls trying together to achieve redemption but hey, never mind me, I’m a bleeding-heart socialist and I don’t believe in revenge and I don’t believe in God but if I did, God would forgive. Otherwise, what the hell is the point?

I parsed through the season with my husband, a real-life minister who doesn't think anyone deserves hell and who gets to suffer my long-ass questions about the theological themes of popular culture a little bit too often. Because we both felt slightly insulted after watching. "Is this bullshit what they offer me?" my husband asked me as the timey wimey time travel plot unfolded. But timey wimey bullshit aside, we concluded that the real reason we were both so annoyed and frustrated with the season is because it highlighted how flat the background lore really is. I mean, I guess they wanted to be yay, neutral and non-divisive themes galore! It’s good to be good, folks! If you’re not, well, I guess you might have your spine broken by the Devil or sent to a never-ending hell loop but let’s not talk about religion! The main issue, for me, with the whole system of heaven and hell and earth on the show is that for every equation, there’s a part missing. The show has borrowed the character from the comics verse but left the entire lore and its internal logic behind. It borrows a bit of moral philosophy, but cuts away the troublesome bits otherwise Lucifer can’t both be on a redemptive path and happily slaughter people in fits of vengeance; it uses Heaven and Hell and vaguely also the concept of sin but never answers any questions about it, apart from the central message of course: it’s up to you. In fact, the show discourages questions about the lore because it has no answers. It doesn’t care. The ending of the show brushes off the much needed systematic changes of heaven and hell like it’s just another joke. (Want to know a show that has compassionate writing about morality while managing to be very funny? The Good Place. And you know what, morality should be serious. I’m a softie and again, a bleeding-heart, but it’s important to be a good person and it’s important to get a chance for redemption. It matters. It’s not just a minor detail.)

Which brings me to the damn therapy theme. I know a lot of people like it and I have also liked it a lot in previous seasons. I have. It’s been quirky. (Also highly unprofessional, but hey.) But as the key to your afterlife/redemption/second chance it’s just not good enough.

It is so very, very individualistic that it makes my skin crawl. It’s the ultimate American solution to systemic injustices and suffering - hey, it’s up to you, man. You decide if you deserve hell. You decide if you deserve Heaven. You make the difference! You can do it! Live the afterlife dream, achieve all your goals, get a hell loop that no longer loops but… stays in one static place where at least you’re moderately happy. Navel-gazing into your soul is certainly one way to get some insights into your mistakes. But it’s not redemption. Redemption is an active choice to be a better person. You don’t have to earn redemption or deserve it. And redemption isn’t the same as forgiveness either. Redemption is the opposite to pointless, everlasting punishment. It’s hopeful and it’s ugly and it’s full of purpose and the chance to be better and add something good to the world. Even Lucifer doesn’t get to do that on the show. He deals only with the already doomed. The here and now on Earth fades into the distance as Deckerstar, too, gets their happily ever after in Hell. You’ll get pie in the sky when you die. Or you get to shag on a throne in Hell. Either way, life on Earth doesn’t matter. (Here the show lean into some really dodgy Christian themes, I’d argue, but hey, it’s not about religion! It’s just a fun romp about a reformed bad boy!)

“Hell is just revenge porn for fundamentalists and other people who believe in eye for an eye. I just want there to be a level of collective forgiveness and hope, you know?” I told my husband whilst chugging down beer. As you do when you watch crap that makes no sense. “A level of hey, I’ve got this, I forgive you, you can do better. Go and do better. And then the actual opportunity to do so, even if it's just reliving your life as a ghost again and again until you figure out what went wrong.” “Honey,” my husband said. “I hate to tell you this since you’re an atheist but that level you’re talking about? That’s Jesus.” Well, screw that.

I really don’t want to need Jesus to make sense of a story. I just want decent bloody storytelling.

[whisper-in-the-wall]

[Omen 8/12] She Is Waiting.

How long had it been now? Since this feeling of dread last visited. Two times now, warnings had been bestowed. Of the Blood Moon, and its Boiling Sea. Ah, yes… Blood. So much of that warm, coppery liquid, falling from the sky. Painting the lands in crimson, against the backdrop of a pitch-black sky. Pattering against dirt, sea, and flesh. Promises of War — and consequently, of Freedom.

Ah.. there it is again. The ̬͓͙͍͇̞͉Éy̝è̯̳̼̲̹̲.̖ Staring down upon Hydaelyn, clearer now than the last.

Every little vein that littered the corners, trembling lightly against Her widely peeled lid. Wait…Her? Once again, in this bloody void, knowledge appeared from nowhere. Unwanted, yet known regardless. Yes–it was Her. Staring down upon the world, watching the chaos and panic return to the lands. She was laughing. There was no audible inclination to this fact, the only sounds filling the air being the panicked screams of citizens and the light roar of blood pelting the earth. No visual queues. Nothing to give reason to assume so. And yet, it was known. She found it–all of it–hilarious. And that’s when one final detail would present itself. She wasn’t watching Hydaelyn. She was watching y̕o̶̗̝̠̟̜u̫̱̪̩͍̪.͏̥̱̥̦͓̬̳

They stood now, in a circle. Surrounding a pillar of glorious marble and silver. No — a tower. Salted air filled the lungs — the scent of the sea, as the crash of waves fizzled against the unseen cliffs. You don’t remember what happened — how you got here. Why you were here. What day it was, what time — nothing. All that mattered now, was the Tower, and the circle of robed figures surrounding it. Deeply crimson robes. So purely crimson, in fact, that they even seemed soaked. As if the only way they were crimson at all was to be absolutely saturated in blood. Their hands remained interlocked, their hooded gazes lifted to the grey, cloud-shrouded skies, as they chanted. Chanted in a language that made no sense. Words that shouldn’t exist. Sounds that seemed impossible. Phrases that, while incomprehensible, seemed blasphemous to existence itself — enough to bring a sour taste to the tongue by the thought alone.

Crimson light flooded through, what seemed to be, the windows of the tower — the tainted light bleeding through the clouds as it descended from the hidden top, and working down. The large, marble doors burst open once the light reached the ground floor’s windows, as a sudden gust of heated air pulsed outward in a massive shock wave, easily sending most of the chanters flying back. The clouds and wind began to swirl about the tower — though instead of a funnel descending from the heavens, it was Her. Bloody tendrils dropping from the sky. Skeletal appendages, still wet with carrion, meat, tendons, and viscera desperately clinging and dangling, spilling from the windows and doors — a mismatched pile of random bones and limbs, moving in unison. A hum in the sky that was deep enough to vibrate the ocean itself. Abysmal screams of people. Millions of people, all overlapping one another, coming from the steadily growing pile of bone and meat. Pulsating and coagulating into asymmetrical bundles of abominable putrescence.

All the while, the robed individuals who had been scattered about fell to their knees — their arms reaching up to the swirling skies in offering. Even as they were ripped to pieces and added to the Pile. As the tendrils in the sky crushed them into crumpled, misshapen lumps. As the force of the winds blew them off the cliff, or into rocks. They did nothing but wait. Wait, and chant. Chant Her name, over and over, to the unseen E̛̪͚ý̬̩͖e̷.͏͈̝͙̙̱                                     .                  .

C̬̫̩͔͌̒͞y̤̯̩̠b̵̩͉̱̺̟͎̫.̣͒ͤ̚ ̣̖̭̉̃ ̤̙ͭ̄ ͇͕͚ͫ̆ ̷̝̘͕̰̗̬ ̦͍̯̯̏͒ͫ̓͛̚̚͢ ̗̻͈̣̞̎̒̔ ̤ͨ̄̌͆̍̚̚C̯̙̖͍̿̉ͬͫy͎̳͉̪̮̜̺͞b̳̳͙̀̓̈.̻̮̜̥̭ͥͫͩͬͬ̅̓ ͉͕͙̝͇̩̞ͨ̋́ ̡ ͉̆̈́̈ ̱͓̮̦͖̩͐ͮ͜ ̶ͩ͒̿̔ͦ̒̔ ̢̟̯̮̯̲ͪ̏̿ ̲̞̟͉͙̙͔̔̈́̌͟C̙͖̻͊̓ͣͪ̓y̰̲ͪ̑ͦ͜b̘̜̠͔͍ͣͪͥͩͪ̉̚.̝͇̫͔̣ͥ͑̃̉̽ ̿̾̊ ̥̣̯̻͔̞̟͑͑̇͡ ̬̯̗̺̮̫͈̋ͬ͠ ̄ ͚̪̮ͩ ̦̺͈̱̬̲̌ ̣͔̙̫̲̝̦͐ͨͫ̎ͫC̙̬͍̬̭̭ͯͫ̈́̈́ͣͫ͝y̤͕͔̪̱̼ͥ̒ͫ̐̓̉ͥb͇̹̣̠̓ͣ͛̆͂͠ ̍͆̊̅҉̭͓ ͭͫ̿ͤ̕ ͇͈̗̜̈́͛̈́̈ ̧̻̣̱̲͈̥̂̐ ̠̦͚̗̖̦͒ͪ̋̏͒̾͗ ̗̲̣̦̟͋̔̆͛ ̸̩̞̜C̷͕̻̰̞̫̈́ͧͨ̃͆ͅy̔ͪ̓b̧̬̫̦̖͓̲ ͑ͥ̃̎̀ ̈́͋̍ͨ͊͞ ̜̠̼͕͙͙̒͑ͥ ̡̠͇͎͓͈̰͕̆́̈̐̿͒ ̭̰̘͇̹͕̩̎ͨ̊̾̌͜ ͥ̎͌ ̷͂̈C͎̪͕͈͈̫͊̆ͫ̎ͩͪ̒y̘̰̑ͣ͡ḅ͉͎͇ͥ͋͠ ͫ̍̏̎ͨ̾̚͜ ͬ ̩̹̰͇̳͈̙̅̇̌ ̛̫̺̠̮͙̻̼̅̽̆͋ ͓ͧ̊ͪ ̀͊ͫ҉̙ͅ ͔̮̥̩͊͐ͣͯ͐̂̚C̲̈͗y̶͚̱͋ͯ̌̌b̌̆̿͆̉ͦ͊́ ̛̼̘ ̫͈̺̫̩͌̅ ̪̜͚͔͕̩͐͒͊̒ͭ ̒ͦ̿̽ͦ͑͏͖̰ ̢̙̙ͦ̿̅ ͉̘̅̈́͌̉͊͌́ ̂ͣ͒͂͋͛̏C̲̺̙̔ͫ͠ͅŷ̮̻̑̊͟b̓͗̑́͛

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