#I'll be playing blasphemous for the first time

[gravedice]

If I stream myself playing my huge backlog of indie games tomorrow at 2pm MST, would you watch? 🥺

What if I had a cute new bat PNGtuber? 🥺🥺

Watch me at 2pm MST on Twitch tomorrow? 🥺🥺🥺

[disgustingtwitches]

**MDNI**

"The closest to heaven we'll ever get"

Saw a lot of stuff about Simon helping out a s*x worker. Anyways, it reminded me of a personal experience I had so... Here I am 😃

5.5k words

*This is kind of Simon needing company and being a weirdo who needs constant validation.

Not gonna lie, it gets blasphemous at the end!

~

I always played around with the idea of being an escort. I was offered to do things while working in the strip club, but I always turned it down. I was spending every dollar I made because I could always make more, right? But when I broke up with my ex and realized I didn't have the credit or rental history to get my own place, I started panicking. The only option was to put down at least three months rent cash upfront, to even be considered. Suddenly, money was drying up at the club for me, my regulars were being whisked away by girls who would do more for less. I couldn't really get mad, it's just a part of the game really. So I knew what needed to be done.

I hit up one of my girlfriends and told her that I needed the extra cash and what I was willing to do for it. She helped me set up a website, took professional photos of me, made me business cards. The whole nine yards. Now all I had to do was wait. About a week in, I finally get my first client. It was awkward and surprisingly, both of our first times in this situation. I was sent back home in a black car and a few hundred bucks richer for just 30 minutes of my time. I felt a rush I never felt before.

As the months rolled by, the money came. Luxury was the new standard for me. Designer everything, nice dinners, even nicer dates. To my surprise a majority of my clientele were, at most, 10 years older than me, and even more surprisingly, good looking. Finance bros, guys with daddy's money, or just men who had the money to spare. They always talked about how it was more fun and less work to hire me than get a girlfriend. To get a pretty girl in their arm to parade around that wouldn't bicker and give them a hard time at the end of the night. No feelings attached, just company and good sex.

So here I am Saturday night. Instead of going out to the club like a normal woman my age in Manhattan should be doing. I am in my hotel. Waiting for a call or text from someone. Anybody. My hair in rollers, makeup half done. Just waiting. My phone lights up, a text coming in:

Hi, Gia. Was interested in spending an hour with you tonight, 11pm.

I smiled to myself. Finally, someone who reads my ad properly. Follows the instructions on what to text to me. Straight to the point.

Wonderful, just need a picture of your ID or passport.

I reply. Always a rule my girlfriend drilled into my head. Safety first. If they don't do it, then what could they be planning? Anything goes bad and all you have is a name that couldn't even be real. Any client worth your time understands your safety is a priority. So this was my way of feeling safer. A moment passes before my phone dings again.

A picture of a passport, full name and age. Along with a picture. He's cute. A little older than what I usually get but I'm not complaining. I quickly look him up, nothing out of the ordinary. Good.

Great. Thank you, Simon. I'll send an address for you to send a car at 10:20. Reach out to you then❤️

Before I start to get ready he texts,

Wear something casual.

Not an odd request. Actually most clients prefer it. Want more of a girlfriend vibe rather than an escort. I finished getting ready, helping myself to a glass of wine. Playing my usual bad bitch songs, it helped me turn into the woman I needed to be- from me to Gia.

10:25 rolls around. I get a screenshot of the Uber from him. 5 minutes out. I grab my purse and strut out of my hotel, to a nearby park. Never give your real address. Always make sure you're not being followed.

A black SUV pulls up, I slide in. Exchange pleasantries with the driver and I'm off. Headed to midtown. I share my location with a friend and how long I should be gone. My phone goes off.

Walk into the building and head to the elevators on the left. 36th floor. Apt. 4A.

I nod to myself before shooting a text of confirmation.

Got it. See you soon ;)

I pull up to the building, it's huge. Nicer than most places I've been. He must have some serious cash. I walk into the building and follow the directions he gave me. A little adrenaline rushes through me as I walk up to the door, always did when meeting someone new. I knock. He almost immediately opens the door, as if he was standing in front of it. Waiting.

Simon!

I say with a wide smile. He steps aside as I walk in, looking around. Nice place. Really nice place. Ceiling to floor windows, minimalist decor, the lovely smell of something masculine and expensive. He looks me up and down as I turn to him.

You look just like your pictures.

His voice is deep, alluring, unreadable. Sends a chill up my thighs that shoots straight to my core.

You do too.

I reply playfully. A small twitch plays at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. His face inscrutable. I shimmy off my coat before he takes it, hanging it up in a closet near the entrance. I wait for him to move. He stands, hands in his pockets, studying me. An awkward minute passes before he walks to the living room. I follow.

Really nice place you got here.

I try to make the moment more comfortable.

Hm.

He responds. He wasn't like the other men I've seen before. They are sociable, or at least try to be. I take a seat on the couch next to him, our knees barely touching.

Money's there.

He gestures to an envelope on the table. I nod, grabbing it.

Do you mind if I...?

I ask, opening it up. He nods and stands to pour himself a drink. My eyes widen. This is more than my usual rate. Much more. I'm quiet, trying not to show my shock.

Was hoping to do an overnight, if that's alright.

It was less of a question and more of a statement from him. It was more than enough for a night. I nodded.

Of course, I do wish you would've told me; I would've packed a bag.

I smiled, putting the envelope down on the table. I grab my phone and update my friend on how long I'd be gone for. I put away the phone quickly and look up at him. God, was he hot. And the way he carried himself made him even hotter, so nonchalant. He shrugged, sipping his drink before sitting next to me again, some space between us.

How long you been doing this?

He stares at me, gaze so intense I squirm a little.

Just a few months.

We're quiet again. Usually I try to carry a conversation if the other party can't hold one, but he makes me nervous. I talk again, asking mundane questions. It's like pulling teeth trying to have small talk with him. Maybe he's just not much of a talker.

I scoot closer to him, our knees barely touching. He puts his drink down, and rests his arms on the back of the couch. I lean in closer to him, resting my hand on his thigh before kissing his lips. He kisses back softly. We exchange light, almost timid kisses for awhile. He finally moves. A hand reaching up to grab at my hair, gently pulling. I moan faintly and that seems to set him off. He grabs me by the throat, not hard, just enough to stand me up and guide me to his bedroom; our kisses getting more intense. We strip each other of our clothes. I unbuckle his pants and pull them down, it feels like I'm opening a gift on Christmas. He's big. I smile up at him. He just looks down vacantly. I pull down his boxers and his erection springs up, tip drooling. He opens a drawer next to the bed, pulling out a condom and rolling it on himself.

Lay back.

He commands. I obey, opening my legs. I've done this so many times before, but this time it's different. As unceremoniously as he's treating this, I can't be more excited. His body is amazing, tattoos and scars just adding to the mysterious aura. His natural scent drives me wild. I look up to him as he crawls over me, lining himself up with me. He gives a couple lazy slaps on my slick. I take a sharp breath. He watches as he slides himself in, I tense up. Most guys are well... average. And he's well... much more than that.

Relax.

He huffs. Sliding himself in more, not giving me any time to adjust. I grip the bedsheets, clenching my jaw. I stare up at him, he doesn't even look at me. His face emotionless as he watches himself slide in and out. I try to unclench, opening myself up more to him.

Mhm...

He grunts. My nipples harden at his voice. I moan as he slams into my cervix repeatedly. It makes him shoot his eyes up at me, glaring into mine. His eyes dark pools, intense. He roughly hooks his arms under my knees, pushing them up to my chest. He digs even deeper into me as I whimper. He takes quick, shallow breaths.

You're so deep.

I say panting, the breath getting knocked out of me. I reach out to touch his muscular arms. He grunts and pounds harder into me. I throw my head back, whining. Trying to not wince in pain. He slows for a moment, pulling back, keeping my legs on his shoulders as he slides in and out. My breasts bounce up and down with each thrust.

You're hot.

A hint of emotion in his voice, he reaches down to knead my chest. My face gets hot. I tighten around him.

Fuck...

He makes a sound that almost resembles a moan. I smile up at him, almost proud of making him show any emotion. He looks down at me, a flicker in his eyes, a small smirk on his face that leaves as quickly as it came. He parts my legs and rubs at my clit in rough circles. I squirm under him.

Say my name.

He orders. His strokes picking up as I get used to him.

Simon~

As soon as his name leaves my lips, a deep rumble from his chest fills my ears. He leans over me, arms on either side of my head. I reach up to run my hands up and down the back of his neck.

Say you love me.

His request takes me aback. I pull him closer, my lips just under his ear.

I love you~

He immediately tenses up and takes a heavy breath. I could feel him twitch inside me as he finishes. He pulls away quickly, going to the bathroom to throw out the condom and clean up. He brings back a wet towel, wiping me down.

What's your name?

His tone as flat as ever.

Gia.

I responded. I know what he's actually asking me. Never, ever tell a trick your real name. Hell, he shouldn't even know your real age.

You know what I mean.

He glares at me. I shift awkwardly. Don't do it. He doesn't say a word, just stares in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Why should he know your real name anyways? I tell him my name. Stupid. Fucking dumbass. I kick myself. He nods and slides into some sweats, throwing me his shirt.

Let's watch something.

I throw on his shirt. Now this is what I'm used to. Being a temporary girlfriend. Pretending to be affectionate. Giving much needed companionship. He splays out on the couch as I lay on top of him. He turns on the TV, resting a hand on my ass and squeezing it. Maybe this is why he hires girls. Because of how distant he is. The man can't even hold a conversation. He flicks on some show he was in the middle of, a business dramedy that I couldn't care less about. I rest my head on his chest and he runs his fingers through my hair. We're like this for a while, quiet.

Tell me you love me.

He says dryly, looking down at me. I look up and kiss him.

I love you, Simon.

He gets hard immediately, rubbing himself on me. He gets up, lifting me up effortlessly, and throws me on the bed. He lays on top of me, pinning me down onto the bed. Kissing me much more passionately this time, like he was trying to taste every inch of my mouth.

Keep saying it.

His voice gruff. He moves his kisses down to my neck, pawing at my bust.

I love you, Simon.

I moan. I wanted him so badly. I don't care how I got him, I just wanted to take him. Something about him made me go crazy, deep inside. He yanks up the shirt I was wearing, moving his kisses more and more south.

You fuck other people raw?

I shake my head. I might've been a whore, but I wasn't reckless.

Never.

He nods.

Can I eat you out?

I look down at him. Something about seeing him between my legs makes me wanna say yes. The way his eyes looks almost as if he's pleading, desperate. No way. Never do that.

Yes.

I allow him to keep going. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I allowing this? Before I can think more, he plunges his tongue between my lips. Lapping up desperately, burying his face into me. I roll my eyes back, running my fingers through his hair.

I love you, Simon.

I gasp. It's the only thing he wanted me to say. I saw something in him, the way he reacted when I said that, it made me want to stay in his place forever. To never leave. Make him happy. It's just the good head talking, you'll snap back to your senses afterwards. He moans so quietly I can barely hear it. Barely. My legs on his shoulders, his arms wrapped around my thighs. Digging fingers into the soft flesh. He sucks on my nub repeatedly. It's a tortuously delicious feeling. I grip his hair a little.

I love you, Simon.

I look down at him, watching him devour me. He looks up at me, his eyes showing an emotion I can't decipher. He moves one hand down to slide two fingers into me.

I love you, Simon.

I moan, throwing my head back and smiling.

Hmm...

He mumbled into my heat. Pumping in and out before bending his fingers in a way that presses against my sweet spot. I hiss, pleasure flashing through me like a strobe light. I'm dripping wet. He pulls his fingers out and plunges his tongue into my entrance, trying to suck out every drop of my juices.

You taste good.

Voice as flat as ever, as if he isn't lost in between my folds. He drags his tongue up between my lips, from my entrance to my nub again. He slips his fingers in again, pressing up against my sweet spot repeatedly. I get lost in the feeling. God I could stay like this forever. He looks up at me, like he's looking for validation.

I love you, Simon~

I slip out between heavy breaths. He picks up the pace of his fingers and tongue. My face gets hot as I get closer, grip his hair a little harder. He goes even faster, harder, almost feverant. I roll my eyes back, panting. I whimper before crying out, tightening around his fingers in a vice grip.

I love you, Simon~

I force the words from my throat as I spasm under him. He continues, seemingly determined to draw another climax out of me. I mewled, trying to push his head away. He was unmoving for an unbearable moment. The only sounds were my pants and his slurping.

I love you, Simon.

I wailed, almost hoping it'll make him stop. He does thankfully. He pulls away, tearing off his sweats, beating off himself. Staring at me, his gaze is intense as ever. He grabs me by the thighs and drags me into his lap. He continues to stroke himself, staring into my wet core as if he was hypnotized by it.

Can I...

He starts, almost knowing he shouldn't ask the question.

Can I fuck you raw?

His voice is uncharacteristically soft and unsure. I blink at him, mind racing. ABORT! ABORT! THIS IS LIKE RULE #1 IN HOE-ING!!! He looked so delicious from this angle, his eyes still glued on my wetness. ARE YOU INSANE?? NO!! His throbbing, beautiful dick is twitching.

...yes.

I nod. You're the dumbest person on the planet. I insult myself a million different ways in my head. A brief moment of regret is replaced with pleasure as he slides his tip teasingly in and out of me. His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling faster. His voice cracks as a moan escapes him, his eyebrows furrow.

I love you, Simon.

I stare at him, eyes half lidded. The smallest smile spreads across his face, still looking at himself entering me. He inches his way in. Pulling in and out, going deeper each time. I squeeze him, make him bite his lip.

That's good.

He stated, voice quavering. He clears his throat before grabbing one leg and lifting it to my chest, digging deep into me. I take a sharp breath in. He hovers over me, arms on either side of my head again. He slides in and out, slowly at first then picking up to a punishing pace. I whimper and wiggle under him. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes that bore into mine.

I love you, Simon.

I stare right back at him, passion shooting right out of my eyes. His eyes flutter for a moment before blinking back into his cold, unnerving self. He continues to dig himself into me, slamming and grinding himself into the deepest parts of me. It's a painfully addicting feeling. I take his hand and press it up against my lower stomach so he can feel how much he fills me. He clenches his jaw so hard, it looks like his head could pop.

I love you, Simon.

I whisper. He drops down on top of me, snaking his arms around and behind my back to grab my ass. His mouth right next to my ear, I can hear his fast and shallow breaths. Little groans that slip out every now and then. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tighter.

I love you, Simon.

I hear him groan under me as I said it again. He goes faster than before, pretty much jackhammering me into the mattress. My mouth is agape and head thrown back. Only grunts escape my throat as I get fucked senseless.

Mhm...like that?

His words bounce around in my empty head. I replay it in my head over and over until I clench around him, he doesn't stop though. It only seems to spur him on even more. His warm breath tickling my ear as it gets more ragged.

Keep saying it.

He demands through gritted teeth.

Fuck... I love you, Simon.

I squeak out the words. He huffs and continues to rampage my body.

Can I come inside you?

He asks- No, begs. No use in turning back now. Just the thought made me close again.

Yes.

I nod and he breathes harder and harder until he pleads in a strained voice,

Say it.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside me.

I love you, Simon~

He spills inside me. His stammered breaths and moans driving me crazy. The feeling of him pumping into me driving me over the edge. I pull him closer, practically squeezing him.

I love you, Simon.

I tenderly kiss the top of his head as he nuzzles into my neck.

How often do you do this?

My head clears, a wave of regret coming over me.

Never. I never even hired anyone before you.

He says in a way so sincere I honestly believe him. How do you know when a trick is lying? Their mouth is open. Rules. Rules to live by, to be able to survive doing what I do. Rules. They all meant nothing as soon as I laid eyes on him. Somehow saw this coming a mile away in the back of my head. He pulled away from my grasp, disappointment flooded me. He leaned back, opening my legs: watching both of our cum dripping out of me.

Say it.

His eyes so focused, as if he were trying to take a picture with his mind; so he would never forget this moment.

I love you, Simon.

I say with a tender smile. His dick jumps. Good lord is this man insatiable. He stands up and does the same routine as before, cleaning himself up and then me. He hands me his shirt:

Here.

I throw it on and he leads me to the bathroom, grabbing me by the shoulders and making me face the mirror. He gently pushes my back, I lean my elbows on the countertop. I stand on the balls of my feet, trying to get my hips to meet his. As I look in the mirror, his face looks almost tender watching me sway my hips.

I love you, Simon~

I sing softly. He bites his lip, entering me again. God, I never get used to the feeling. He grabs my hips and pulls me onto him, he bottoms me out. Groaning louder this time, he pulls my hair back so I'm looking directly at the mirror, locking eyes with him.

S'it, pretty girl...

A corner of his mouth upturned just enough to know he's enjoying himself. His words make me flutter around him. He groans and starts to pound into me. The bathroom is filled with the duet of our breaths and groans. He pulls my hair so my back is pressed against his chest. He rests a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough. Moves his lips to my neck, still sliding in and out of me.

You love me? Huh?

He grunts, warm breath on the pulse of my neck.

I love you. So much.

I moaned. I repeated the phrase so many times, it started coming out of my mouth naturally. He moved his hand from my hair to my lower stomach, pressing against it so he could feel himself hitting my walls.

You love this dick, yeah? Say it.

His voice getting more demanding and urgent. I nod and look at him through the mirror, smiling.

I love it, I love this dick so much, Simon~

He nips at my neck as he continues to fuck me. His nips turn into bites. Bites that definitely leave marks. I didn't care, that didn't matter right now.

You're never fucking leaving, you know that?

A threat that sounded like heaven to me. He could keep me chained to the bed and I wouldn't care, just as long as he kept fucking me like this. I giggled with excitement.

You like that, hm?

He smiles against my skin before continuing to lick and bite my neck.

I love it~

I truly did. It felt heavenly. Better than anyone I've ever had. Ever. Something felt so familiar about his touch. As if I belonged there.

I love you, Simon~

At this point I feel like I'm reciting a prayer, the words flowing out of me like a stream. I was melting in his arms.

Turn around, wanna see that pretty face.

I did so eagerly as he lifted me up on the counter and slid inside me. I smirked up at him. He, as always, was watching himself impale me.

Looks so pretty...

He seemingly mumbled to himself. He leaned down and pressed our foreheads together, a firm hand on the back of my head. Hitting a spot so deep inside me I never knew I had. We were like this for a long minute, sloppy sounds of our sex bouncing off the walls.

I love you, Simon.

I stared into his eyes. They seem to soften for a moment before he tightened the grip on the back of my neck. A huff, and then he came undone. He stayed inside me until he was soft. He pulls out and pushes his fingers into my cunt, stuffing his seed back into me.

Hm.

He grunts in a way that sounds like approval before helping me off the counter. He leads me to bed and slips under the covers.

In my arms.

Commanding as he usually does. I press my head against his chest, his heart beating hard and fast. He wraps an arm around me, his touch much gentler than before. I fall asleep. Not too sure if he does too.

Morning comes and I'm woken up by the sun shining in my face. Sitting up, I'm in his bed, still wearing his shirt. Alone. I walk out to the living room and see him setting up breakfast on the coffee table.

You made this?

I question, surprised.

Ordered it. Good morning.

He turns to me, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks at me expectantly. I blink at him.

Good morning.

I say. He looks at me as if he was anticipating something else. I think for a moment before suddenly remembering.

I love you, Simon.

He steps to the side, inviting me to sit on the couch. I help myself to a seat and look at the plate in front of me. It's simple, French toast and eggs. I help myself.

Are you gonna eat anything?

I look at him quizzically. He shakes his head, staring like always. We're silent as I finish my plate. I grab my phone and check the time. Almost time for me to leave.

Can I book you for longer?

His voice is gruff. An underlying tone, pleading?

It'll be expensive.

I didn't want to say that. Wanted to say I'll stay as long as he likes. But I already made too many mistakes. Gotta get back on track.

I don't care.

Of course he didn't. He could probably buy me out for the rest of my life if he wanted to. He pulled out his phone, asking for my personal number so he could send the money straight to my bank account. Hesitantly I gave it to him. He probably could find out that stuff if he wanted to anyways. My phone dings, I check my bank app. My eyes pop out of my head. I look up at him bewildered.

How long would that get me?

He asks, as if he didn't send me an ungodly amount of money.

It's enough for a whole week...

Shock still overwhelming me.

You wanna stay that long?

He doesn't really ask. He knows I'll say yes. Doesn't even wait for my answer.

I'll let you get your things.

He throws some of his clothes my way and sends me back in a car to the hotel. I grab my bags and checkout. Is this really happening? A call from my girlfriend. I tell her about his extension. She says something about making sure he's not a serial killer. We laugh, tells me to have fun, don't fall in love. I scoff as if that was the stupidest idea I've heard. As soon as I know it I'm back at his place, he's grabbing bags from me, setting them to the side. Turning to me and running a hand up the side of my waist.

I love you, Simon.

We spend the whole week tangled up in each other. Taking a break before I say those four words and he has me pinned against a wall or over a dresser or kitchen counter. Any flat surface, really.

It's Saturday night and we're showering, cleaning off sweat and other bodily fluids from each other. His touch is so gentle, handling me like I was a piece of china. He liked me. It was obvious. Seemed like the only way he knew how to show it was by fucking me, though. I liked him too. Maybe not to the extent he did.

Seemed like he found something he needed for a long time. He was hungry. Famished. He couldn't just let go of me. He's not satiated yet. Don't know if he'll ever be. It was a looming feeling. Dark and heavy. A little scary. But it made me feel more desired than I've ever been before. And not just a carnal desire. It made me feel coveted.

We're laid up on his couch. Watching the show I didn't care for before, a little more invested. My phone lights up, buzzing. The name of a regular of mine across the screen in big bold letters. This is usually the time of the month he calls to set up a date. A reminder that this is all temporary. I let it go to voicemail. He tenses up. Jealousy and disappointment radiating off him.

How much for the whole month?

He doesn't even let me think of an answer before speaking again.

How much to make you quit for good?

I'm a little shook, sure I've heard it a dozen times before. Always said in jest. But he's serious. The few words he said, he always seemed to mean. No need to waste his breath beating around the bush. My heart races. I can feel his pound against mine. A number doesn't come to my head.

Let's just see how this goes.

He doesn't like that answer. He wants something solid. A promise that I'll never leave. More than a promise. But that's as good as he can get right now. There's a tense silence between us.

I love you, Simon.

The only thing I can think of saying right now. He takes hold of me, climbing into the bed and sits me in his lap. His back against the headboard.

C'mon love.

He says frigid. An underlying tone of disappointment and hurt. I slide myself down on him, a little more adjusted to his size now. He wraps strong arms around my waist, pulling me so close it seems like he wants to coalesce into my very being.

Give me a number.

A demand that seems more like a plea. We hold each other. Unmoving as he is still buried deep inside me.

Maybe it is a little toxic to spiral into the addiction to fast money. Maybe I'm a little sick of pretending to be the perfect woman. Maybe it is a little exhausting to be a fantasy and nothing more. Maybe it is a little lonely when it's just me lying in bed, when I have to comfort others. Where's my comfort in all of this? Where's my happiness in all of this? No more fake smiles. No more fake orgasms. No more fake feelings. I don't care if he's lying. I want to indulge in delusion. Even for a moment.

Ok.

I give in. He leans over, placing me on my back before adjusting himself on top of me. Touches my face, his showing an emotion that is genuine and staggering. Devotion? It feels like it.

I could almost cry, the way he takes me like I'm his. The way he talks to me like I'm not someone he hired. That didn't matter anymore. I wasn't an escort to him. I was his girl. The sex was different. Transcendant. Divine. Did I know I wanted to be saved? Of course I didn't know; for the life of sin and suffering is simply a thing to toil in until you are shown salvation. Every time he came, he baptized me. I was born again in his eyes, I was perfect and clean. Absolved of my sins.

He looked at me with so much adoration. I looked up at him, much in the same way Magdalene did to her Redeemer. He had turned a prostitute into a Saint. The unshakeable feeling of deliverance washed over as he touched me, no longer a leper. I was saved by him. His body. His sweat. His seed. Akin to taking Communion. The closest to heaven we'll ever get.

[see-arcane]

Jonathan: Gonna do bribes to find Dracula :)

Jonathan: Ready to break into this building to ambush Dracula :)

Jonathan: Lizard fashioning my ass out a window in order to chase Dracula down and kukri him in half in a crowded Piccadilly street in broad daylight :)

Van Helsing: Well, that's all very admirable-to-concerning. But surely you wouldn't go any further? Blasphemously or otherwise?

Jonathan: Can, will, and must go full vampire while flipping God the bird if He dares to damn Mina :)

Van Helsing, sweating: Friend Harker, my child,--

Jonathan, thinking so loud it makes the novel an audiobook: I Am Not Your Child. I Am Only Barely Your Friend Until the Millisecond You and Your Fanboys Think of Scratching Mina with a Stake. I Have Plenty of Time to Plan Out Your Funerals Now That I'm Not Hauling Ass Around London and Gathering the Only Useful Information We've Compiled Since We Followed Your Orders and Banned Mina to Benign Sexism Limbo! I Spent the Two (Formerly) Worst Months of My Life Playing Nice for My Life and I Can Act Circles Around You and Your Fellow Head Doctor like You're Fucking Blind. Want Me to Kiss Your Knuckles Again While You Make Another Joke about How Well Dracula Ate Last Night? I'll Bite Your Hand Off One Finger at a Time. I Will Kill You First and God Second If You Look at Mina Wrong. Try Me. :)

Jonathan, out loud: Yes, Professor? :)

Van Helsing:

Jonathan: :) ?

Van Helsing: nothing

[infernally-fond]

Orb of Infernal Envisioning - Unused Lines

I hadn't seen this mentioned prior - but there are some (to my knowledge) unused lines for the Orb of Infernal Envisioning in Helsik's shop for any interested.

Disclaimers, disclaimers -- if something doesn't make it into the final text of the published work, it's perfectly reasonable to ignore it for the sake of implications/theories that result from what is explicitly in the text/game itself.

This is just for fun. As is, you know, *all* of this. So.

If Raph's alive:

Narrator: *Your reflection looks back at you, smiling. As the skin burns and peels from its skull, the smile grows wider and wider and wider...*

Narrator: *The ball shows you a vision of yourself so lewd and blasphemous that your soul feels stained.*

Narrator: *Within the crystal, you see the devil Raphael sipping from a goblet of blood-red wine. He smiles as he catches your eye - can he see you?* [[the line we normally encounter]]

Narrator: *The image within the ball drifts through the corridors of an elegant house. Corpses hang from the walls.*

Narrator: *With the clarity of truth, you see an image of yourself laid out on a table like a suckling pig, ready for the carving.*

If you've been a Bad Client (TM):

Narrator: *You see the corridors of the House of Hope. Bloated flies buzz lazily around the corpses of imps and debtors.*

Narrator: *The ball replays the final moments of Raphael's life over and over and over and over...*

Narrator: *Within the ball you see Raphael, broken and bloody, dangling above the maw of the archdevil Mephistopheles who is preparing to devour him.* [[the line we normally encounter]]

Screenshot of the above:

I'm by no means a lore repository - no amount of hyperfixation can make digesting it en masse particularly easy for me. But! I'll tie my thoughts to this nonetheless.

First, we have our canon line: "...He smiles as he catches your eye - can he see you? *denotes: final phrase as incredulous and a little scared"

So we have the writers prompting us to at least entertain the idea that Raphael is placidly aware that you (or someone) is looking in on him - and he smiles! No big deal, favored client! Cheers to you, etc, etc. You're meant to be ill at ease here. I doubt any of us do - but, you're meant to. The average person would.

We'll block these out temporally because it was my first instinct to do so. :)

Past Events -

We have the play-by-play of Raphael's last moments. (GLaDOS voice: "You know, after you murdered me?")

To any player who would have seen this, this is real. Verifiable. The orb is showing you a true thing that happened, and you know because you were there. Doesn't get better than that.

Even if he doesn't ultimately die and there's some grand plot hitherto unseen, the beatdown replayed on the big screen is correct. You'd know if it wasn't.

Premise 1: The orb can show you accurately represented events.

Current 'Events' -

Example: Your reflection has a lab accident moment.

The use of reflection is critical to establish the point in time. You move to the left, it moves to the left. It's right now. And, right now, your skin seems to be melting off your face.

Unless there was an intended accompanied face-melted ending that would have accompanied this dropped line, this was written to be scary and provably false. Tav, touch your face. Exactly.

So:

Premise 2: The orb can show you grotesque illusions not bounded by fact.

Future Events

Ex 1: "*With the clarity of truth, you see an image of yourself laid out on a table like a suckling pig, ready for the carving."

'With the clarity of truth' is an obvious bid to double check any accusations of falsehood, and we're diligent enough to play along.

The only condition to checked to trigger this text is for Raphael to be alive -- regardless if you take his deal, go to his home, etc.

For all roads to lead to Player-Character-buffet seems unreasonable. Impossible, even. Unlawful. I'm calling a lawyer, hang on-

And so we hit a debate on how to interpret the sense of 'truth' you feel from the orb. I think this line reads best from the equivalence of failing some Wisdom check -- you are very sure it's true, but it's an Orb of Infernal Envisioning. Click again. You just saw your reflection melt.

So I think this is a lie.

So we expand Premise 2 a little.

Premise 2, v2: The orb can show you grotesque illusions not bounded by fact. This includes false visions of the future.

Ex. 2: The Blasphemy.

*The ball shows you a vision of yourself so lewd and blasphemous that your soul feels stained.*

Right.

So this has to be the future, because unless you are electing to do some very wild shit while looking into the orb, this is not the current situation.

There is a lot of vagueness here - but, I think that because it is so vague and any variety of Tav/Durge/Origin character can see it and have this response. This is a run-of-the-mill, customized vision of torment meant to get the desired reaction.

It's not about truth, it's not about warning. It's just the infernal variation of a jump scare.

If the content of the vision can be customizable in this fashion, it reveals something else - it's not a specific lie, a specific truth, or any quality of the content itself that 'matters' to the orb. No, what matters is the reaction. Your soul feels stained, doesn't matter how.

Varying Perspectives

Across these, we see the vision in the orb take the perspective of someone following/viewing Raphael (Wine-Snob-Hour, Looped-Death, Saturn-Moment), following/viewing you (Lab-Accident, Dead-Dove-Do-Not-Ohhh Yikes), some unanchored POV that isn't dead-phael ("You see the corridors of the House of Hope. Bloated flies buzz lazily around the corpses of imps and debtors.")

The visions mostly occur in the House of Hope; Cambion dinner is in Mephistar, your reflection is presumably in the Devil's Fee on the Material Plane.

We're not fixed to see any specific time, in any specific realm, to see any specific person. And we're not even guaranteed to see any specific degree of lie.

So what's the point of this fucking thing?

Provable fact is used one time across this set - the first thing we covered. You killed Raphael.

The only time the orb tells you the verifiable truth, it does so "over and over and over and over..."

Because it hurts you. Or, well, it's intended to.

That's it, that's the whole thing. The only time it evokes the (known) truth is when said truth torments you. Otherwise, it's scary what-ifs, cheap jump scares, and the corpses of imps and debtors you had a hand in creating.

All of this can be context to slightly reframe the vision of the moment before filicide with Mephistopheles. All of these visions are brief and so what one selects to provide details of is very revealing.

In this vision you're granted two adjectives:

You see Raphael, broken and bloody, about to die again.

If we stick to the expanded interpretation that the orb shows only what will get the desired reaction, this isn't narrative to resolve a loose thread. It's not closure. It's shown because the orb manifests what is expected to make you suffer - or at least take pause and sort of steep in the disquiet of the consequences for a moment.

Reaching waaaay across the narrative and very out of my lane for this post, so much of the tone in the HoH arc is campy humor, but I don't think this was meant to be.

The specific call out to watching him die 'over and over and over and over', to his 'broken and bloody' form is not flippant language. It's certainly not campy.

I think the tonal shift for this conclusion (while pretty jarring, I gotta admit) is meant to be pretty somber for Raph.

But many players have just bounced down the sequence of "lol he's a bottom" to "Haarlep said that's twice as long as-" to "omg he sings his own song" to victory and, then -- "wtf someone's eating him?"

It's an odd pivot. People have to be primed for sympathy, and I certainly didn't read the writing for the orb as intending to pull at something uncomfortable in the player post-HoH when put in context with the high-score-streak of chamberpot-humor. I can only back into that interpretation when looking at the full set of narration the orb was set to provide at some point.

Kinda wild.

[n30nwrites]

Rewind (Bridgerton)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Kate Sharma x Reader, Penelope Featherington x Reader, Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Soulmate AU, Polygamy, Reader is autistic

Warnings; Mentions of homophobia? Mentions of absent parents, Christianity but the Reader doesn't believe in God, Talks of Unwanted touching, Talks about canonical child death and sickness

This is just a small excerpt because no one else will fulfill what I need because I am very much in love with the people surrounding Bridgerton. IDK if I'll continue it.

You weren't the eldest son, nor were you the youngest. A Classic middle child, having your older brothers torture you and your younger ones followed in their footsteps soon enough. But all of your siblings wanted one thing.

Your parent's attention.

Your father, The King George, was a mad men, at least he was considered one. Your mother was too busy ruling England and keeping everything picture perfect to really care about you guys.

Well you didn't really count yourself as one of your siblings.

Simply because you weren't meant to be here.

When you were first taken to this universe, you had been a babe, just freshly born. It was strange, to have full consciousness when being a young'en. The minute you could, you were walking and talking, far earlier than any other babe, but you had too.

By the time you were five, you had been considered a spectacle. The prodigal son, they claimed. You had your wits, you were respectable, truly the perfect gentleman.

You played your cards right, up until you couldn't.

Growing older meant more siblings, and you took care of them the best you could. But you hated these new rules. You couldn't be alone with a woman who wasn't a relative, your brothers were rude and loved it, and your sisters were innocent. Naive really, which you felt was a strange thing. To know about Sex but they couldn't. You tried to teach your sisters as well, education was the future.

But it was all useless.

Eventually you became a recluse. You stuck to yourself, in your room with instruments. Your English guitar, harp-lute, piano, and even the improper ones like a violin, cello and flute. You had to make the best of a situation, and that was what you did.

Even well into your adulthood, your brothers were still your biggest bullies. They thought you were a prude for never having Sex, which frankly if women couldn't without being criticized and shamed, then you shouldn't either. They said you were secretly a woman, or queer.

Well you could attest you weren't a woman, and well you kind of were queer. Bisexual, but they wouldn't know that word.

But you were brought into this universe for some odd reason. You weren't sure why, you didn't really get into Bridgerton like everyone else. Not that you were different from others, you just couldn't commit to watching a tv series, but you had seen the edits.

It just made no sense for you to be the one. It wasn't until the marks appeared that you understood.

Soulmates. That was a new adaption. Apparently they were rare, rare enough that out of all your siblings, you were the only one to have one. Your mother said it was a gift from God, though you thank she only said that because the bishop was there when you got them.

Them as in multiple, that put the bishop out of his head. He said it was blasphemous, you were too entranced with them to care. A matching soulmark would tie you to these people. 5 people.

That was a lot of people to keep happy. Especially when this century wasn't very happy with queer couples and polyamory. After that, your mother had insisted you hide them, and you weren't willing to risk a Romanov situation because people were too religious.

Your mother didn't like that you weren't religious, but she didn't bring it up again after one intense arguement that caused you to leave for a few weeks.

But you agreed with her, you wouldn't tell others. You were here to find a way out, you already had some ideas, one being a specific spot in the woods where you found something from the future.

A portable Radio/Cassette player. Wasn't that far in the future where you were, but it would work. You had headphones with it, and you finally felt some sort of sanity. Music in this era wasn't nearly as relaxing as yours was.

Keeping to yourself was easy after that. Every servant was ordered to knock on your door loudly by you, and to stop any sibling that would come your way just in case they caught you. Your servants were almost your friends, you knew they were reqired to be there, to be kind to you, but it was the closest you had to an actual relationship.

You stayed away from your mother on days like this. She's irritated, you don't know why, you don't care to ask. Your siblings are stomping around the palace but you don't move from your room, you instead walk around your room, shirtless, listening to your music. Your favorite servant, Zelena, is behind you, just watching you. She's always been touchy with you, your hair, your chest, you assumed it was just the way she communicated. And while you were uncomfortable with it, your mother had told you that you couldn't afford to be rude to people.

Zelena stayed next to you while you played the English Guitar. You knew enough about it in your old life, having made adjustments to the strings to be able to play older songs. The ones you could remember (Which you wrote down because eventually, you wouldn't.)

You ignore the knock at the door, simply nodding your head to Helena, who opens the door gently.

A gentleman is at the door, he's staring at you the minute he walks in. Like he's almost amazed at you, you didn't understand.

You never did.

He seems to look at you yet avoids eye contact. You set the instrument down to the side, gently. "Can I help you sir?"

He says your name, and you nod your head. "Can we be alone?" He asks. Your mother said it was improper to be with women alone, not men. So you nod your head and your maids walk out of the room. You figured this man was a duke or something, he had to be important considering he was in the castle. Perhaps a suitor for one of your sisters.

"My name is Benedict Bridgerton."

"Bridgerton? I've heard stories about your family before from my mother. She enjoys the drama that surrounds your family." You tell him, "Last I heard the Viscount found a wife."

"My brother, Anthony." He confirms.

"What brings you to my room?" You question. "Surely it's not to tell me about your family?"

"I just had to meet you."

"You really didn't." You frown slightly, to be fair, you knew a bit about Benedict. You weren't the biggest fan of his story, kidnapping a bride from her wedding day and tying her to a pole. It was strange, but you couldn't change the writers opinion. At least you think that was his story, TikTok could only tell you so much and it's not like you read the books.

You could only hope that it was different in the tv series, considering that's where you were right now. The actor himself you knew very little about as well, but you didn't really care for actors. You stood from the couch in your room, "Why is the artist here?"

"You know of my work?"

"I know a lot of things Sir." You take a few steps away from the couch. "Can you get to the point?"

He seems unsure now, fiddling with his fingers. "You're my soulmate" He tells you, and you look down at one of your marks.

"Which mark are you?" You question, and he looks hopeful. He pulls up his sleeve, the little feather on your wrist, in matching spots. You looked at your own and slightly traced it.

"Benedict!" The voice is angry and your door opens. You glare at the person who opened it. He didn't knock. It's Anthoyn Bridgerton, looking angry. "Benedict what are-"

"Next time Viscount I would ask that you knock instead of rudely interrupting." You cut him off, glaring at him. He seems to have brought a group of people behind him. Benedict stands up and walks right next to you. You put your hands behind your back, picking at your wrist. "It seems you've brought company." You tell Benedict.

"I was about to explain." He tells you, but you look at Anthony, more specifically behind him. You can see your mother through the crowd.

"If we must speak, we will not do it in my room." You grab Benedict's wrist, still refusing skin-to-skin, and pull him with you. Your glare causes the eldest Bridgerton to move to the side, he walks next to his wife.

Outside your room is a lot of people, it's almost overwhelming. There's the Featheringtons, really you only recognized Penelope but you knew by the yellow dress that they had to be her relatives. You could guess they were her sisters and the eldest-looking was her mother. You then saw your own mother, with what seemed like all of your siblings behind her. You rolled your eyes, your eldest brother seemed to glare at you. He hated you though, and you didn't particulary care. You just hated the drama that came with them. Then the Bridgertons. All of them, it seems. The eldest Bridgerton son is there with his wife, Kate. As is their mother, then Benedict who was next to you, Colin who seemed to glance between you and Penelope, Daphne with her husband, Simon. Eloise, Francesca (you truly hoped she got a better story in this show than the books), Gregory and Hyacinth.

"Brimsley, a pleasure to see you again." You avoid everyone to speak to your mother's right-hand man.

"Perhaps if you came out of your room more sir."

"Ah but if I did I might just die." You smile slightly, "Especially if I see William's face." Your brother takes a step towards you but quickly faltors at your mother's expression. "What have I done to warrant a family meeting without me."

"Being born really." George remarked and you smiled at him, cruelly.

"Brother you make me wish I wasn't and that instead I was with Charlotte, Amelia, Alfred and Octavius." What you said was cruel. Amelia died of tuberculosis, Alfred and Octavius died of smallpox, and the young Princess Charlotte who you weren't really sure how you died, you were barely there during the funeral. George (The fourth?) seemed to quiet down, looking sad. You were being rude, you didn't care. They back you into a corner and you attack, like always. "Edward! If you want to strike me you might as well try, but we both know you lack in that department, and many others."

"Quiet." Your mother tells you, and you wish you could care but you didn't. "This doesn't pertain you." She says your name gently, as if convincing you to calm down.

"Obviously it does if it has my soulmate running towards me." You jest towards Benedict. "What? Now that my attraction to men is out we must kill them all? It's not like it's been a secret."

"It is not godly." One of your brothers say.

"God is not Godly." You dennounce him, "You follow a book that has been rewritten multiple times, through many different languages. I do not believe in your God, you know that."

"Hush." Your mother calls your name and you just stare at her. "This was for the better of the Kingdom."

"Why does the Kingdom matter more than I?" You question, "Frankly, none of this does. But why are the Bridgertons and the Featherington's here?"

"You know who we are?" One of the other Featherington sisters say, she seems hot, considering the red to her face.

"I know of Penelope." You looked to her and nodded. "Who wouldn't? She's absolutely beautiful." You notice the looks that you recieve after you say your words. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I just think its best-"

"She wants to discourage us from going after you." Benedict says as he grabs your wrist causing you to look at him.

"Us?"

[majeoeje]

You smell like the sun

Geto Suguru X Reader

I cant say i miss you out loud. But i'll make it up to you and say it in every breath

It was a tiring afternoon. It was a rare occasion for you to be paired up with Suguru for a mission knowing Suguru was more suited paired up with Satoru considering how unstoppable the strongest sorcerers were when together. But you'd be lying if you said it didn't drilled a hole in your heart out of jealousy. He was your best friend first after all?!?

"Suguru, you wanna check out that new ice cream shop next saturday?" You asked playing picking out dirt and leaves out of his hair from the previous fight, seating comfortably on your bed as he on the floor faced the other way between your legs. Casually reading the news like some old man, waiting for you to finish, knowing well it could easily fall off in the shower even if you didn't cleaned it for him

"Ugh,i'd love to. But maybe later. Satoru and i have that mission for a couple of days remember?" You were honestly spent hearing his name come out of his mouth every single time. You failed to listen to Suguru's rambling about his star something something vessel something something mission.

"First name basis now i see." you say so passive aggresive it could compete ones of a religious white woman, pointing out 'satoru' in his sentence. The only thing he said that sticked to your mind really.

Well in fact they have been in a first name basis for a while now, but you just choose to be petty and mention it everytime you hear his wretched name came out of your best friend's mouth.

That's right. You were friends with Suguru, for as long as you could remember. You do have other friends but you like to think it's unlike each other.

Even if you go around and hung out with any other people, you know you'd always come find each other at the end of the day. It's a special connection really..... So you just can't imagine anyone could just come in and break it all apart.

But even so...

The mere mention of Gojo Satoru could just make you barf. Who does he think he is stealing YOUR best friend every damn time??

"Tch." you unconciously scoffed. Your attitude has became a force of habit by now, pushing Suguru off of you by the back of his head, scowling like a child.

You heard an endeared laugh, deepening the frown that permanently framed your face. He now turns around to face you, with a smile you knew all too well, you can't go days without seeing really... But his efforts in clearing Gojo's name only fell to deaf ears.

Saying how 'he's not that bad' or how 'he's actually fun to be around with' does not help his case.

"Oh don't be mad my honey bunches, i'll treat you a double layered cookies n cream ice cream when i'm back" he says, his shitty nickname could give millions of people an ick. But that's not what offended you the most.

Because here he was acting as if he could swoon you again...... with ice cream??? as if he wasn't out and about with his concubine yet again?!?

Well yes..

Yes he could.

"Well... that petname is downright blasphemous but i'll ignore it for the offer" you say, smiling as you turned him around again and pulled him closer

He could only muse at how easily swayed you always were, winning you over with simple things, decorating your face with such a priceless smile. A smile that he may or may not had haunt his dreams

You continued to pick up the dirt and leaves out of his hair, him giving in into your touch once again, as he rested his head on your thigh

It has been a while since you two hunged out, so he was rightfully acting extra annoying today, you know... to make up for the loss times.

He just wanted to hold you actually.

"Oi. i'm done. Don't sleep on me again or i'll let you sleep on the floor" your threats only seems to go to one ear to another as he cuddled your thigh

You rolled your eyes, it's not like you minded but you don't really have the energy to pick him up from the floor right now, coming with a mischevious idea when his rock hard head won't budge out of the way.

"Oh shit Sug..." You picked something from his scalp "Is this....lice?"

Suguru's eyes shot open tensing up facing you once again with a priceless look

"WHERE?!" He said, panic rising to his face as he visibly jolted

You wheezed at his reaction, knowing how much he put so much care and attention into his hair.

"Oh you little-" your laughters could be heard echoing the room as he jumped on the bed,putting you into a headlock before unrelentlessly ruffling your hair as revenge

"AAAAAGGHHH!-"

His stomach was sore from laughing, making an opening for you!

You managed to escape his grasp finally. Huffing for air before he started to wrestle you.

Before you knew it, you were pinned to the bed by him.

You could smelled the scent of earth lingering in his clothes, while his hair smelled like the sun. It really felt like you two were just back from messing around on the forest back at your village.

Back then, curses was a once in a month fight Suguru had to endure, but now it was like a daily meal for him. You're worried most of the times for him, but you're glad there's still some sense of him left, even now.

Though part of you can't help but wished it stayed as simple as it was back then

"Okayy champ..you win. Now get off." you say, trying to pry his arms off from you

"Nah..this is nice, i think i'll stay like this for a bit" he laughed at your groaning. He really was being genuine when he said this was nice. But taunting you was an added bonus

It has been a long time since you two were cuddled up like this. Just two platonic friends cuddling...Nothing else. There's nothing weird in that.

He closed his eyes murmuring something under his breath, you couldn't exactly hear as you were lost in your thoughts, reminicing the past, as you do.

"What was that Suguru?"

....

..

"...hm?..nothing..."

It was something along the lines of 'i missed you' but he was too prideful to really say it out loud, opting to just close his eyes again from the sunlight that hits his face

"Don't fall asleep suguru" you say, not making a effort to move either, as you felt your eyes getting harder to keep open.

"I won't"

...

..

.

he dozed off minutes after saying that

[shadebloopnik]

Finally for the first time tryin to draw this man

Just a lil doodle while in class.

Also had the sudden inspo bc of a lil thingy(AU? Would it still be considered AU if i dont plan to expand?). Ik Angel!Alastor AUs are a thing, at least i think so, so i decided to try it out a lil bit.

So tadaaa, Angelic Alastor. I cannot draw wings to save my life, so bear with me. I based the eye shapes and over all facial expressions on how i drew the first Alastor doodle, except its a teeny bit less sharp with less bolder lines. I shaped his hair somewhat the same for the top part, except a bit slicked back with a more windswept look. I imagine his hair would be white with red tips, with an overall white, and red color scheme, with a black collar standing out. He'd have the same red eyess, tho with whites surrounding it.

I gave him two wings, to maybe signify that he is above most angels, though below those such as the Seraphims and Archangels, at least in rank. I was a bit conflicted what to make his cane like(yea ofc im giving him a cane im not a monster). Originally i wanted to copy what his lil antlers looked like, as to be a simple staff, but ended up with that wider antler design. Idk.

Angelic Alastor wouldn't really be much different than Demon Alastor, except for the fact that he's better at hiding it all, at least he wants to. He's quite powerful amongst other angels, moreso than seraphims despite being of lower rank. Similarly to how he can melt in the shadows, as an angel, he can dissolve into the light. Haven't really cemented what exact type of angel he is, though i'd imagine he's still a bit of a recluse, preferring to go off alone to do as he wishes.

Angelic Alastor is every bit as mischievous as his demonic counterpart. He lives for the entertainment, and his humor's quite biting for a being of light. He's sharp and charming and witty, and quite rebellious as well. He's curious about different possibilities, and has never quite felt like he belonged among his "perfect" angelic peers. He knows he's imperfect, and that all those ideas would be considered blasphemous. So he remains quiet, under the radar even with his strength; all to escape the possibility of being persecuted.

Its what draws him to the Morningstar. Lucifer, the powerful archangel with a heart of gold and a mind filled with wonder. (Also to anyone who's seen my blog, yes ofc im inserting radioapple im weak) Despite their gap in rank, Lucifer never treated him any differently, and Alastor found himself treating the shorter angel as an equal. Their friendship was a bit odd perhaps for the others, considering how they'd often greet each other with playful jabs and teasing remarks, all quite informal and rather unruly. He was drawn to Lucifer's ideas, as was Luci to him, both relishing in the fact that they weren't alone, despite being different.

Lucifer had always been the louder dreamer. Though Alastor often agreed with his ideas, and sometimes egged him on, Al knew the risks and knew when to pull back. He was cautious where Lucifer took risks.

And y'all already know its Radioapple but what if we add Lilith to the mix-

Like imagine, Lucifer coming back to Alastor and gushing about the first woman, the taller man amused at his friend's lovesick expressions. Imagine him being acquainted with Lilith, and charmed as well by passion and hopes for change. He's weak for dreamers okay-

Like imagine him helping the two hide their relationship, being the most cautious of the 3. Imagine his heartbreak when the two gets sent to hell. Imagine Lilith and Lucifer holding him, stopping him from falling with them, because he cant do this without them please-

This may have gotten away from me a bit

Anyway, there's also a teeny doodle of biblically accurate Angelic Alastor(idk ehat to call them, but those forms Sera and Em have when they go 👁👁👁👁)

Idk if i'll ever do anytjing with this. I have a whole fic playing in my head but its very long with a whole lot of plot and idk if im strong enough-

[cinnimani]

Is everything going alright?

i'm great! i'll just do a li'l update on myself for those who care:

been working on my own original work, most notably a webcomic and more recently, a dating sim 🫶🏽

BUT i realized i burned myself out on art sometime late last year so i've been taking it pretty e-z!

i actually dont have puffs right now which seems blasphemous to say. i cut my hair off for the first time and dyed it ginger. putting the cinnamon in cinnimani ! i'm blonde rn though. #baldnation

got tickets to miku expo orlando! if you're going, come say hi!

also going to momocon!

still in college, i have 10 more classes left get me OUT .

tried playing undertale yellow recently! .... great gowns, beautiful gowns........ (ill get to ts underswap at some point)

also i been abandoned my twitter but i also deactivated my insta as well. bye bye !

OH and my birthday's in less than 2 weeks. i doubt i'll be here for it but when you think of aries season.. think on me..

[thecomfywriter]

🤖Writer Questionnaire Tag🤖

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet! I read through it and WHOOF she's hefty so buckle in and let's get into it.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I started this blog during the pandemic, I believe? Early 2020, or maybe spring.

What led you to create it?

I had finished the 4th (and blasphemous) draft of ToV and, at the time, I was super convinced that was THE draft, so I wanted to find beta readers. Happened upon tumblr's writing community, decided to write a couple of writing tips that I had learned over the years. The posts garnered traction and the rest is history.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

THE VIBES. THE ATMOSPHERE. I LOVE THE PASSION IN THE AIR. In all seriousness, I truly do love seeing the preservation of art without the need to churn things out like its content. Tumblr just feels like hangout spot in general vs a social media, and the writeblr community feels like an after-school writing club, which I absolutely adore.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

My submissions? Inbox? DMs? Always open. If you guys need advice or have a question, are curious about something book related or writing related, you are always welcome to shoot me a message. I am a full-time student and i do work 2 jobs, but i WILL get to your ask. And if I feel like its going to be delayed, I'll let you know. But i love questions. I love being able to help people with specific writing concerns, especially since I have dabbled in so many different genres of writing since i was six bro. I gotchu. Also, we're all friends here. It's all lax. If you just want to shoot a random DM like, "bro do you want to be writer friends?" I WILL BE DOWN. I miss the community tabs on tumblr from 2020. I was in a writers groupchat and its where I met so many friends I still talk to. So yes. DM whenever, even if its just to ramble and yap. I too am a yapper.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

oc pictures or random scenes. I don't care if its the goofiest sketch alive. give it to me. also, more chill rambly style posts? even if its a small little update like: "yoohoo! starting a writing session. aiming for 3k words" YES.

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

I had to search up what noodling meant lmao Honestly, CoS. I feel like the amount of attention editing ToV requires + school has stagnated my writing progress with CoS, which is fine, but also I really just want to binge read the entire series already???? Also, TIS. I've been casually outlining it but also binge-listening to the playlists (i make character playlists and book playlists with spreadsheets for what scene each song is a soundtrack too, fyi lmao). god, i love those playlists. they play like a movie in my head. OH! AND AONAS. AoNaS only exists in outlines, first drafts, quotes, sketches, and my fantasies. BUT MY GOD. It's the way I deadass quoted a line from the villain bearing his heart out to the heroine of that story in my speech at a NASA CONFERENCE. Not me deadass quoting MYSELF 😭

How long have you been working on them?

ToV -- since I was 7. CoS -- since I was 13. TIS -- since I was 5 (YEAH. IT PREDATES TOV) AoNaS -- 4/5 (she was the blueprint for all stories, truly)

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

ToV -- I could not tell you what dark events inspired 6-year-old me to write such a sugar-coated gruesome tale, but I will assume it was my obsession for dragons CoS -- a poem and my personal life events. I wanted to write a character that made me feel hopeful again TIS -- my doll games (again... babes what....) AoNaS -- my role-play imaginary friend adventure games (think 'the floor is lava', but on steroids)

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

Unhealthy amounts. Copious amounts. I had a friend tell me once that she didn't like talking to me sometimes because it felt like my book was my entire personality 💀 Needless to say, I don't talk about my book to people in my personal life anymore unless they ask or they are my best friend. I just let it live in the background of my mind 20/24 hours in a day :))

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

High political fantasy, but I dabble in a bunch of different genres. Name a genre and I probably wrote a story for it.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Ain't no way I'm doing the whole cast. I'll do ToV, CoS, and TIS Book 1's main characters, and that's it. For everyone's sanity's sake. The casts are simply too extensive. ToV: Alan, Caramel, Cara, Morreial, Hilbert, Markum, Shah, Jervee Iyzela, Jervee Revenold, Amara, Pietro CoS: Evan, Elenfa, Fawn, Riyzela, Raheer, Vaza-Ek, Qatya, Noctem, Aiyana, Alan, Caramel, Nyla, Mirza, Glamis, Morreial, Cara TIS Book 1: Her Highness Queen Naliya, Kiamu, Selven, Blaire, Ashely, Gyanste, Prince James, Kiya, Zeena, Leah, Katerina, Nicole, Brandon, Amaka

Who’s the most unhinged?

ToV: Caramel (little miss. 'accidentally commits arson more times than she can count') CoS: Evan (mr. 'i was explicitly told NOT to do this, so i did it anyways, and now i accidentally exploded a mountain and caused an avalanche') TIS: Zeena (little miss. 'i had to learn shapeshifting to assume different identities to escape my legacy of crimes')

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

ToV: Alan or Caramel CoS: Evan TIS: Naliya

Do you ever cringe at them?

Listen... They have their flaws and sometimes they give me secondhand embarrassment with their poor decisions. Amaka literally has a whole ARC dedicated to self-sabotaging which is informally named "the secondhand embarrassment arc". So yes. They make me want to crawl into an ant-hole and disappear sometimes because babes... this is not how you represent the family name STOP

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

No. These bastards are the most disobedient children I have ever parented. Autonomy this, Independence that! Look where that got you, folks! Traumatized, crying, throwing up, afraid, and having canon 'secondhand embarrassment arcs' GET UP AND LET ME HELP YOU PLS 😭😭😭I'm tired of watching y'all ruin your lives on the sidelines

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

Yes. Please do it more, it's never enough. I literally started a mockcast in 2019 with over 500 episodes now, all because I had so much I wanted to ramble and yap about when it came to my book, but I didn't want to bother my friends. So yes. Always. My inbow/submissions/DMs are ready. I have no preference. Give it all to me.

On writeblr engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I like to do some mild stalking of their recent posts, and then whatever their pinned post is to get a general vibe of them, their writing style, their genres, their personality, the posts they engage in, and their wips. If I enjoy it and it entices me, I follow. Sometimes, I follow for the vibes, and by vibes I mean I see a follower notification and I'm like, "bet" and follow back. It honestly depends on my mood lmao.

What makes you decide against following?

If its a dead account with no interaction for a long duration of time. If the vibes are iffy. if they post or repost harmful rhetoric or promote non-inclusive spaces. Off-vibes and its a yuck yuck bye bye from me.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

If its cool and it shows up on my explore, I'm interacting. I don't really look at if I'm following or not following, or if they're following me. I take it on a post-per-post basis. The mutuality of our relationship doesn't take precedent as much as the content does. That being said, I don't get tagged in non-mutual posts a lot? And whenever I interact with a non-mutual, we end up becoming mutuals within the hour lmao. So do with that what you will.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

I am once again confused by the noodle lingo 😭 If you mean if I think about my mutals' ocs, then yes! Tag games are so fun to participate in, but SO SO SO fun to read too. And reading little excerpts and whatnot from other writers is such a lovely experience to see where people's passions lie. But yes. Someone pls explain the noodle to me, I'm so lost.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Thank you for the tag again @the-golden-comet! I'll be tagging the regular degular gang below. GO BUCKWILD GO CRAZY

TCW Tag squad: @satohqbanana @mysticstarlightduck @harps-for-days @the-golden-comet @did-i-do-this-write @aalinaaaaaaand @drchenquill @honeybewrites @paeliae-occasionally

Ask to be added. Demand to be removed. Both are your TCW community rights 😤

Happy Writing!

[inked-night]

At the precise moment Ellenia slipped through the crowd, leaving a trail of floral perfume and polite murmurs, the smile painted on Freya’s face vanished like mist at dawn. Her expression transformed into a grimace of disgust so pronounced it might have been carved in stone. Beside her, Rudbeckia de Borgia, Izek’s betrothed, held a wine glass with the grace of a lady… or so it seemed.

"I'll be frank, Rudbeckia" Freya began, her voice as sharp as a knife's edge. "I don’t think you’re the right match for Izek"

Rudbeckia, who had been in a contemplative silence (Well, she was actually evaluating the salon curtains, finding them excessively ornate to the point of bad taste), was forced to focus on the young woman with purple eyes. 'Is she talking to me?' She wondered, pointing at herself in a gesture so belated it almost showed dust settling.

Looking back, Rudbeckia’s life had always been a carousel of the absurd (She had spent her days dying and reviving in an endless cycle to appease The Entity! Of course her sense of normality had twisted like a pretzel!), but even she had to admit this latest turn of events was perplexing.

Just hours earlier, she was in the realm of Haddonfield, playing cat and mouse with that scoundrel Michael Myers (The rascal kept trying to impale Illyana on a hook!), while her companions, Cale, Shen Jiu, and Penelope, busied themselves repairing the last generator…

How had she ended up being catapulted to another world that, by some cosmic joke, turned out to be her first life? Not that she had memories of it, but still, who was the genius who brought her back? And why had they separated her from her beloved girlfriend and comrades?

Illyana, this poor Rudbeckia misses you! But fear not, Rudbeckia will find a way back to you.

"Do you think that because Izek treats you kindly, you deserve to marry him?" Freya spat the words with venom so subtle it almost floated in the air, while she poked Rudbeckia’s chest, hoping to provoke tears or at least a grimace of pain on her unperturbed face.

"Marry?" Rudbeckia blinked, surprised by the mention of such a commitment. Her mind, usually drifting in a state of blissful intoxication by the presence of her attractive girlfriend, accelerated at a dizzying speed. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying not to appear completely clueless, though she was known to be slower than a snail in an obstacle race when it came to matters unrelated to Illyana. "Why would I marry anyone other than my precious, magnificent, and adorable Lyna?" The response came automatically, with a tone of indignation suggesting that the mere idea was blasphemous (And this coming from someone who had at one point shared blood ties with Myers).

Marry some Izek in this life? Never! Rudbeckia was resolutely loyal to Illyana. She had dreamed of her ideal wedding with Illyana more than once. Lyna, dressed in white, adorned with the most dazzling jewels in the world, and Rudbeckia, crying tears of joy, would cling to her future wife’s waist as she dramatically fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the honor of being loved by Lyna. Rudbeckia would try to kiss the ground Lyna walked on, but she, as benevolent as a saint, would pull her up by the hair (Yes, yes!) to calm her, patting her back and giving her looks full of sweetness and affection.

"W-What?"Freya froze at Rudbeckia’s torrent of words, unable to fully process what she had just heard. "Are you mocking me?" She retorted, gripping her fan so tightly the ribs creaked. "Who the hell is Lyna?"

"My future wife!" Rudbeckia proclaimed with such vehemence it seemed she had opened the floodgates of a dam that everyone (Cale, Shen Jiu, and Penelope) had decided to keep locked with padlocks and possibly tons of cement. The passion and love Rudbeckia felt for Illyana were so intense and cheesy they bordered on exasperating. "The woman for whom I would give my life! No, forget that, if anything happened to Lyna, I would raze this unworthy world to ashes and then join her in death"

Rudbeckia loved talking about her girlfriend. She could spend hours, entire days, rambling about any detail of Illyana, to the point it was worrisome how she could speak nonstop without taking a breath in those moments when you had the misfortune to ask her about 'Lyna'.

Cale thought Rudbeckia had a problem… but Rudbeckia had no problem! Nothing in this universe was worth or as fascinating as Illyana! Rudbeckia was born to adore that precious, ethereal woman!

"No, wait…" Freya didn’t expect to stutter, but she also didn’t expect this young woman, daughter of a conservative and devoutly Church-going family, to speak so rapidly about a woman, whom she described as: 'The Goddess of Goddesses, before whom all should bow and feel grateful if Illyana ever glanced at them!' "Stop… Are you even breathing!?"

"Look, look, I have pictures of her!" Rudbeckia, ignoring Freya’s frantic attempts to stop her, pulled out a wallet from nowhere (Do wallets exist in this world? No? Luckily, Rudbeckia always carries hers, filled with photographs she took with the full consent of her beautiful albino!) and unfolded it, showing images of an albino woman with long, wavy hair, vibrant fuchsia eyes, and soft features that seemed to hold all the calm and patience of the universe.

Freya could only watch in horror as the object extended to touch the floor, and not only that, she was sure the wallet had wrapped around a nearby column. What kind of sorcery was that!?

"And what about Izek!?" Freya tried to regain some ground against Rudbeckia’s verbal onslaught.

"Who needs that Izek fellow?" Rudbeckia paused her monologue for a moment, looking at Freya as if she was the one who didn’t understand anything. A smile lit up her face, almost glowing, forcing Freya to squint. (Freya could swear she even saw hearts floating around Rudbeckia!). "I was born by my mother, and I will die for Illyana, preferably being suffocated between her thighs"

[camillecrellin]

Merely Players — Grace Chastity

Synopsis: Hidgens' new musical, Workin' Girls, is in production and due to the lack of casting oppositions, he had to cast you. But to get it right you had to practice, and Grace offered to help you.

A/N: Based on this song.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: minor workin boys short film spoilers, Hidgens being controlling, first kisses, swearing, christianity

Grace Chastity wasn’t too fond of musicals. Grease: too dirty; Into the Woods: too dark; and Jesus Christ Superstar: blasphemous.

And so, when you told your best friend that you had been cast in the new musical at the Starlight Theatre, she was less than excited. Especially when the show sounded like it was about hookers.

Workin' Boys Girls. Henry Hidgens' passion piece about boys girls doing business and longing for the days when they played football for girls.

Due to his lack of casting options, Hidgens casted you in his prized role: Chad. But everything acting choice you made seemed to fill him up with more and more irritation.

"You're fucking it up, Y/n." Hidgens exhaled, pinching his forehead.

"Again!" He ordered, making you once again run through a scene with Zoe that was far too homoerotic to not be true.

The scene in every way felt wrong, almost too personal and yet you were performing a romantic scene with Zoey, 23 year old theatre freak.

"Chad, it's you." Zoey acted for the 20th time today, her fingers intertwining with yours.

"I knew we would always reunite, Henrietta." You recited the lines, awkwardly squeezing Zoey’s hand, a stiffness to both your delivery and performance.

When the scene came to a close, Hidgens closed his eyes and muttered to himself. "And kiss."

Upon hearing his words, you exchanged a glance with Zoey and furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your script, before turning to Hidgens and saying, "It doesn't say that in here-"

"Well changes are to be made." Hidgens announced, clapping his hands. "We must add it, it's the most natural progression."

"No offence, Henry, but uh Y/n's 18. I'm not gonna fucking kiss an 18 year old." Zoey commented, giving you a small glare out of her eyes in disgust.

"Oh, but you are." Henry retorted, a clear annoyance in both his tone and expression. "It's my show, my rules."

Clapping his hands, Hidgens announced to the cast, "Well, that's it for today.”

You, along with everyone went to pack up your stuff. Talking to Ruth, you were interrupted when Hidgens called out. “Y/n!"

"Yes?" You cautiously turned around to face the director standing across the theatre.

"Come here." Henry gesture you over, before allowing you to take a seat, and bluntly saying. "Your performance is shit; we need to make you less shit."

"Okay." You nodded, trying not to stumble over your words. Hidgens was becoming more and more psychotic as the musical went on, and you did not want to be on the receiving end of that.

"No, I don't think you're understanding me." Henry shook his head in anger. "This is your Lady Macbeth so why the fuck are you giving me Peasant No. 4?"

"Sorry, I just need to practice." You apologised, trying to avoid Henry’s gaze but he would not let you.

"You're right you do, because if your acting isn't up to par by tomorrow, I'll have Hayley fill in for Chad, and I fucking hate Hayley. Don't make me use Hayley."

"I'll practice, I promise you." You said, a determined smile on your face. Despite not hating Hayley, you felt like you had something to prove.

"Good." Henry nodded.

It wasn't long after that exchange that you called Grace to help you. Grace quickly agreed, knowing her parents would be fine. After all you went to the same church, you were a good Christian to the Chastity's. And so, they let you stay the night.

"Chad, it's you." Grace acted out, placing her hand in yours.

"I knew we would always reunite, Henrietta." You recited the lines, squeezing Grace’s hand.

Breaking character, you looked down at your annotated script. "And then we have to kiss, it's a new note but we don't have to because that's weird for friends and I'm kinda nervous for it.

"Nervous? Why?” Grace asked, her voice having an inch of concern as she studied your worried expressions. “I heard stage kisses aren't even real."

"Yeah, they aren't, but I haven't actually kissed a girl before." You said in almost a whisper.

"Well, I haven't kissed anyone either, but I still wouldn't be nervous. It's not real." Grace responded, trying to be reassuring.

"I know, but Zoey's intimidating and mean.” You added, feeling more insecure as you look at Grace. “Plus, she's 23."

"Gross." Grace commented.

"Yeah."

Grace looked towards her bedroom door, which was closed, and then back to you before confidently saying, "I mean we could practice."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "The kiss?"

"Yeah."

"Grace?"

Grace shook her head, a wide smile on her face. "Oh, don't worry, it's fine, it's not real."

And so, you once again started the scene, going through the motions with more ease and confidence than you had ever with Zoey.

You dreaded getting to the last two lines, but you did. Once again, getting through them with ease.

"Chad, it's you." Grace acted, intertwining her fingers with yours and squeezing your locked hands.

You leant your forehead up against Grace’s, smiling as you recited the words, "I knew we would always reunite, Henrietta."

Leaning in, you placed your lips upon Grace's melting into a kiss. Grace placed her hands at the side of your face, giving in far too quickly.

It felt so real. You felt everything without fear. The love that Henrietta and Chad had for each other or maybe the repressed feelings you had for Grace.

Pulling away, your eyes were locked on Grace's face, reading her for a reaction.

"Wow." Grace said, her hands travelling over her lips like she did something wrong.

You looked to Grace and then looked to the floor. "You’re a good actor, Grace, that felt really real."

"I did feel real, didn't it?" Grace agreed, breathlessly. "But it's acting, right?" Grace asked, almost in denial.

You nodded along. Maybe it was acting, maybe it was real. The only thing you knew for sure is that somehow you wanted to kiss Grace again, but you couldn't. For you were merely a player in Hidgens' production. That's all it was… a directed scripted kiss. Your first ever one.

[mask131]

Max Ernst's "One Week of Kindness"

Which could also be called "A Week of Benevolence" - the original French being "Une semaine de bonté".

This post is a follow-up to a reblog I made, right here. Please go read this reblog first, because this post continues from all the info I placed there. If you don't go check it out first, you'll be slightly or massively confused.

I wanted to expand a bit on this fascinating piece of art, and to do so I'll use the info the Musée d'Orsay shared and put on their website when they organized an exposition of Une semaine de bonté.

An expo that deserves its own mention due to how exceptional it was. It was a 2008-2009 exposition of the original collages of Max Ernst the booklets were reproductions of. It was a grand world-tour that started in the Albertina palace of Vienna and ended in the Musée d'Orsay of Paris, passing by Brühl, Hamburg and Madrid. Why was it such a big deal? Because this was the second exposition of Ernst' work - the only other exposition of Une semaine de bonté's collages was in 1936, in the Museo de Arte Moderno of Madrid, just before the Spanish Civil War. It had been organized by Paul Eluard, who loved Ernst' work, but five of the illustrations couldn't be part of the exposition - due to being deemed too "indecent" or "blasphemous". And since this date, the works had never seen the light of day anymore, being preserved in private collections... It explains why the second exposition was such a big deal.

A few more sources for this collage-work I forgot to talk about: Beyond the general category of covers and illustrations of investigation stories/crime novels/polar tales, we also know that Ernst used illustrations of Sade's novels, the caricatures of Grandville, and the illustrations of Fantomas.

As with typical surrealist work, Une semaine de bonté offers a work of onirism that transcends the limits and categorizations imposed by society, by science, by our very conception of reality, and rather offers nonsensical visions and extraordinary wonders. It was the third "roman-collage" of Ernst, after "La femme 100 têtes" of 1929 and "Rêve d'une petite fille qui voulut entrer au Carmel" (1930). Throughout the illustrations, we find many references to the Bible, to famed legends, to fairy tales, to Greco-Roman mythology, but mixed with Ernst' recurring and favorite themes. More precisely, his strong rejections and dislikes: his rejection of the Church, his hatred of the bourgeoisie, his dislike of the traditional family, his refusal of patriotism...

Because Une semaine de bonté is actually a denunciation work, a great critique, a satirical caricature of the French society of the 1930s. Ernst superposes, subverts and reverses all sorts of stereotypical and cliches depictions, of either the "good society", or of the evil, the crime, the monster. Now, of course, there is no actual "real" or "good" story for this work. It is open to interpretation and everybody has to and must find their own meaning in it - as with all proper surrealist work... But there is still strong themes that form recurring motifs, and a message Ernst wasn't so subtle about.

The satirical, ironical, cynical, biting nature of the work can be read in the very title, which plays on two levels. One, on a Christian level: "Seven capital elements" is, as I said, a parody of the "seven deadly sins/seven capital sins" ; the motif of a work centered around a week alerts that there will be numerous references to the Biblical genesis, but most importantly "One week of kindness" is a reference to "La semaine de bonté", The Week of Kindness, a 1927 association creating for social help. Tied to this subversion of typical Christan morals, ideas and values, is the second level of irony in the title: this collage-novel is called "One week of kindness"... And yet it depicts all sorts of violences and abuses. Its pages are filled with murders, tortures and natural disasters - and Ernst doesn't hesitate to subtly denounce the sensationalism of a society obsessed with depictions and illustrations of the most horrible and criminal sides of humanity.

It also is no wonder that this work was created during the 1930s. The ghosts of the World Wars are haunting this piece. On one side, Ernst was seeing with an anxious and angry eye the rise of violent nationalist movements and of brutal, discriminatory dictatorships - the very ones that would cause World War II. On the other side, Ernst was of this generation that inherited the trauma and memories of World War I, had to live with the broken and disfigured survivors of the "Great War". Ernst himself had served in the German army during the Great War (if you don't know, while Ernst was born and raised in Germany, he ended up having a triple-nationality, German, American and French). One can almost read in this book Ernst' vitriolic take on a society that distracts itself with materialism, excessive pleasures and sensationalism, in an attempt to bury the wraiths of its past, and to stay blind to the dangers ahead...

It is only by the last day of the week that the atrocities fade away, and that we return to pure oniric poetry, in a set of illustrations focusing on voluptuousness and fantasy, inviting to or glorifying freedom and dreams... Now let's take a look at the structure of the Week in more details.

Day 1: Sunday. Element: Mud. Example: The Lion of Belfort

(The Lion of Belfort is a commemorative statue of the Alsacian town of Belfort in France, in homage to how the city had been assieged by the Prussians during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870)

Another Christian subversion: the week doesn't begin here on a Monday, but on a Sunday. We also see some of the games Ernst has with the Biblical Genesis not just by waking the "last" day of Genesis the first day of the week, but also by associating to Sunday (the day of rest for a God that created everything already) the day of the "mud" (understand, the primordial mud from before the world was created, the "chaos", the "primordial soup" from which the universe had to be sculpted). Not only that, but Sunday, the holiest day of the week for Christians, is filled with brutal deaths, sadistic violence and blasphemous imagery.

More precisely, this booklet/day explores the relationships between men and women, male and females. And... let's just say Ernst has a bad view of it, since all the interactions between male and female characters in this booklet can be summarized by: persecution, seduction, theft, punishment, torture, death. Since the Lion of Belfort is the recurring theme, there is a recurring character throughout the illustrations of a lion-faced man. He is always in a position of power and domination, and it is no surprise: we often see him wear military decorations, political medals or even religious symbols such as the Sacred Heart. As a result, the lion-man clearly embodies all the dominating, oppressive and violent male-dominated organizations of the time: the political world, the military and the Church.

(If you are curious, the Musée d'Orsay offered the original picture on which the one above was based. It was taken from the Mémoire de Monsieur Claude:

Day two: Monday. Element: Water. Example: Water.

Unlike the male-dominated first booklet, this one is filled with female figures, making it the most "feminine" of all the days. There is still a lot of violence in it - but it is not a man-made violence anymore. Rather Ernst presents the violence of nature, the brutality of natural disasters - through water, a water that is seen flooding bedrooms, destroying bridges, or drowning entire streets of Paris.

Day three: Tuesday. Element: Fire. Example: The dragon's courtyard/The court of the dragon.

La Cour du Dragon, The Dragon's Courtyard is actually - or rather was - a famous street of Paris. It doesn't exist anymore, but it was in the 6th arrondissement, between today's Rue du Dragon and Rue de Rennes. This street was called as such because of a famous dragon-sculpture located at the top of one of its entrances - the dragon can still be seen at the Louvres I believe. And it is within illustrations of this "Dragon's courtyard" that the booklet begins.

The dragon is one of the recurring symbols of the booklet, with variations: dragons and snakes of all shapes and size that follow the characters around ; humans with various dragon or snake-like features ; or simply the presence of bat wings reminding of demons, sometimes counterbalanced by angelic characters with bird wings. Here, the caricature, in terms of setting and characters, clearly is of the bourgeoisie. Not only is Ernst making the world of the bourgeoisie "Hellish" by filling it with snakes, dragons, demons and flames, but he also seems to use the symbolism of the fire as a way to denote the cliche of the "passion bourgeoisie", the violence of passions, emotions and desires within the bourgeois world, leading to tragedies. (Opposing the "natural forces" of the water, here fire seems to be the human forces) It is no wonder that this booklet has a great emphasis on walls and doors, often decorated by surrealist symbols: they are here to evoke a cloistered, walled-up, compartimented world where walls and doors hide and try to restrain things such as fears, desires or dreams...

Day four: Wednesday. Element: Blood. Example: Oedipus.

This booklet is entirely driven by the myth of Oedipus (that we know to have been one of the surrealists' favorite Greek myth). All the illustrations have one element or another of the legend, and keep retelling specific episodes of Oedipus' adventures. Oedipus killing his own father, the riddle of the Sphinx, or baby-Oedipus being abandoned at birth... Oedipus himself is symbolized in the collages as a bird-headed man.

One of the most famous collages of this booklet is the one that retranscribes the part of the legend that gave Oedipus his name, "swollen feet" or "swollen ankles", due to receiving a wound there as a baby. In Ernst's work, the bird-headed man (Oedipus) rather stabs in the foot a woman:

Day five: Thursday. Element: Black. Example: The laughter of the rooster ; followed by "Easter Island".

This is where we reach the last three days placed in one same booklet. It is also only in this last booklet that Ernst placed text, in the form of quotes or poems from other authors. This day has three quotes. In the "Laughter of the Rooster" segment, two. One from Marcel Shwob's L'Anarchie: "Those of them that are joyful sometimes rise their behind up to the sky and thow their feces at the face of other men ; than they lightly hit their bellies." Another from Schwob's Le Rire: "Laughter is probably fated to disappear." The third quote comes from the Easter Island segment, and is from Arp: "Stones are filled with entrails. Bravo. Bravo."

Here the symbols seem to again represent men or organizations of power. On one side, you have the recurring rooster - which is of course the symbol of France, and thus can be seen as a representation of the French government or French state. On the other side you have cruel and brutal men with the head or faces of the Easter Island statues, reflecting them not just being humans made of stone - but being literal "stones idols" (in the religious sense of the term, the sin of idolatry, again a Christian subversion).

Day 6: Friday. Element: Sight. Example: The inside of the sight / The interior of the view.

Again, three quotes here. One from Professors O. Decroly and R. Buyse's "Les tests mentaux": "If three is greater than six, make a circle around the cross, and if water extinguishes fire, draw a line from the sceal to the candle, passing above the knife, then make a cross on the ladder." One from Paul Eluard's "Comme deux gouttes d'eau": "And to love I oppose / Already-made images / Instead of images to be made" (The text is much more poetic and punny in the original French). The final quote is from André Breton's "Le revolver aux cheveux blancs": "A man and a woman absolutely white."

Unlike the previous booklets which presented dynamic, violent, active, interactive scenes, here we are in more still, contemplative images. Symbols, visions and settings to be looked at and gazed at, as the title of the section indicates.

Final day: Saturday. Element: Unknown. Example: The key of songs (again, a pun on "The key of fields", a French expression)

Only one quote: "........ / ........ / ........ / ......" from Pétrus Borel's "Was-ist-das".

For this part, the Musée d'Orsay used a quote by André Breton to explain Ernst's intentions: from the Surrealism Manifesto, "Glory to hysteria and its cohort of young, naked women sliding down the roofs. The problem of womankind is, to the world, everything there is of wonderful and troubled/murky." In this final day, we see women, always leaving a bed or bedroom or resting place, and either flying away or entering landscapes where gravity does not work. There is clearly here a work on the "clinal hysteria", and Ernst' own take on the surealists great obsession with hysteria, that they deemed to be disease, yes, but an illness that brought both freedom and inspiration. This idea of being set free is within the section's very title: "Prendre la clé des champs", "To take the key of the fields" is an expression meaning to go away (especially to go away from an oppressing or suffocating, unpleasant situation), to flee, escape, disappear (with the connotation of the fields as a vast, open space of great possibilities and endless horizon).

[good-rwbyaus]

Currently stopped at March 24, 2021. Will continue going through them. These are organized by mod and put in reverse chronological order (most recent). Once I see writings of a mod, I'll add the mod name there such as Mod Red, Mod Violet, Mod Pink etc.

Posts I've reviewed will have the mod name tagged in if it wasn't already added.

Warning that I don't know a lot of the crossovers.

I may start putting like a tag for post length cause some are like less than 30 words while some are huge. Any ideas for a good cutoff for small, medium, large?

Posts under the cut. - mod lilac

Mod Green:

Ozcury AU - Mercury mentoring Ruby in a kick-based style

Berta Beef - (LetterKenny reference)

Ozcury AU - Watching Penny and Ruby interact has Mercury convinced they're dating

Ozcury AU - Mercury whacking Cinder while pulling off SAO Abridged Kirito's "humans are a write-off as a species" lines

Mercury and Emerald with a kid AU - Mercury's bad choice of movie material for his daughter

Kobayashi Dragon Maid AU starring Saphron and Terra Cotta-Arc

Vampire Mercury Black AU - Emercury

Crack Ship One-Shot Neo x Penny

Dog Faunus Jaune AU One-Shot

Mercury Meets Deadpool instead of Cinder after killing Marcus AU

KonosubaAU! character's comments on Darkness!Pyrrha's masochism

Yang embarassing Ruby at her wedding.

Crack!Alternate ending of the Fall of Beacon for Pyrrha discovering she's a Salem clone.

Star Trek Fan AU

Vampire Mercury Black AU - Mercury's casual convo with Emerald about hunting

Vampire Mercury Black AU - Mercury on Witches and Necromancers

Vampire Mercury Black AU - Meeting Tyrian

Ozcury AU - Sass-off while fighting back to back with Ironwood

Salem finds it awkward and disconcerting to talk to Oscar

Ozcury AU - Not quite fully in control.

SAOAbridged!Kirito Mercury doing the Bridge speech.

Ozcury AU - seeing Penny in Atlas

Mama Black, the Winter Maiden

Singer Mercury

Ozcury AU - nsft - Not quite asking the right questions with Jinn

Ozcury AU - awkward meeting with Ironwood

Weiss chasing Jaune AU

Conspiracy Theorist Raven AU

Mod Yellow:

BatFamAU - Emerald after meeting the Joker the first time and the BatFam's reaction

BatFamAU - Fanart of Em from thatfreak03

BatFamAU - Batgirl Emerald facing the Joker for the first time

BatFamAU - Batgirl Emerald taught Bruce's bad tastes in companionship

BatFamAU - semblance descriptions for the BatFam

BatFamAU - Battle of Haven (I think this is Mod Yellow's but I'm not sure since it was untagged.)

BatFamAU - Emerald Wayne's first gala

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Waynes' Thoughts on the Schnees?

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Is Season 1! Ruby a fan of the Batfam?

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Lazarus Pit?

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Emerald's Thoughts on Other Batman Characters

LazyTownAU (Crack AU)! Pyrrha alternate ending to Fall of Beacon

Accidental Pun Master Raven (it puns in the family au)

Remnant saved by Salem getting a cold (Sick Salem AU)

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Did Batfam intervene at the Grimm invasion?

Bleiss AU nsft: "This isn't a nude beach!"

Redemption AU - Ruby and company unwittingly getting Emerald and Mercury to defect

CampCamp AU - Harrison is Ozpin's son.

BatFamAU - on the Fall of Beacon

BatFamAU - Emerald and thoughts on the other Batgirls

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Who is Azazel?

BatFamAU - Emerald and thoughts on the other Robins. Also, the Tim Test

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Ironwood's thoughts on Bruce Wayne

BatFamAU - ModAsk: Is Bruce part of the Ozpin's inner circle?

BatFamAU - Training and Bruce Wayne

BatFamAU - Which Kingdom is Bruce Wayne in?

Crack!The Real Reason why Salem hates Oz

Ozpin picks Nora as the Fall Maiden instead.

BatFamAU - Bad habits die hard.

Everything is the same but ruby speaks in owo and uwu UVU ovo

BatFamAU - Emerald meets the Batman

Mod Lilac:

Untitled Piece - The end of a dream and Ruby's attempt to make it right.

Accidental Cult AU - 6. Blaspheme (and maid!Ruby's reaction)

Actors and Actresses AU - The Schnees Play Monopoly

Accidental Cult AU - 5. Worship

Accidental Cult AU - 4. First Recruit

Fleeting AU - Ozma returns to the Beginning with nothing but a whisper to come. Everything changes.

Accidental Cult AU - 3. Ruby meets Weiss again

Accidental Cult AU - 2. Chance Encounter

Accidental Cult AU - the Church of Weiss Schnee / Maid Ruby AU

WinterMaiden/ Untitled Goose Game AU - picture

Dabbing is the real reason why the worlds ends Crack AU!

Persona AU picture - Ozpin as Igor

Unnamed Crack Time Travel AU Part 3 - Featuring Chronic!Backstabber!Syndrome!Cinder

Evil Ozpin AU - except Ozpin is more "this is hella inconvenient evil"

Prankster Summer Rose

Crack!Blake writes very terrible smut. Jaune likes to use it to interrogate his enemies. Poor Tyrian.

Uncle Crow AU - Intermezzo

Unnamed Crack Time Travel AU - part 2

Ozma lets Salem play out her megalomania fetish. She gets tired of it very quickly.

Unnamed Crack Time Travel AU - part 1, features ChronicBackstabber!Cinder and DonewithEverything!Ruby

Misc (Submissions, Reblogs or I don't know who wrote them aha):

Crack!Headmistress Ruby AU - unknown

Adopted Mercury Arc - submission by plaidgamer64

CosmoKyrin's collection of nuts n dolts - them as animals.

Young Headmaster Ozpin AU - "now unlock it"

No one believed that Jaune has a girlfriend, not even his family - moistmailman

[arctic-shard]

Outer Child, chapter 5

( Things ramp up severely because I have no setting between 'fluff' and 'horror'. The Ambassador says hello. 035 and 049 get scared but not hurt. )

Outer Child, chapter 5

Warnings: West gets half-strangled by a noose and breaks her own hand.

Words: 1500~

-----

Sleeping, Victoria realised, might be a problem.

Specifically, Victoria needed to sleep. Amica and the Doctor didn't. She was going to have to leave the two SCP-turned-toddlers unsupervised for eight hours.

There wasn't anything for it. At least there wasn't too much trouble the two could get into in her containment. Victoria went into her bathroom to change into her pyjamas - with socks and gloves - and get ready for bed. When she came out again, she looked down at Amica and the Doctor. "I have to sleep now," she told them. "I'll still be here. You can either come up on the bed and rest with me or continue to play quietly. I'll leave the lights and music on for you. If you need me, wake me up, understand?" They both nodded.

Victoria was surprised, though maybe she shouldn't have been, that they chose the first option. The Doctor snuggled back into her arms to be the little spoon, and Amica wrapped itself around the Doctor, cuddled up like kittens. They might get bored and wander off after a while, but for now she knew where they were and she could sleep.

---

Victoria was awakened by screams. Vision still clouded by sleep, she made out a human figure standing beside the bed. Which put Amica and the Doctor between her and the intruder. Victoria grabbed the two small SCPs close, rolled over to deposit them by the wall, and started to turn back to the intruder.

A sharp pain under her jaw hoisted her to her knees, forcing her to look into the face of the intruder.

It had no face. Humanoid but not human. Never human. Tall, mummified in colourless rags, draped in chains, hands behind its back as it stared down without even disdain. She was below disdain. Victoria hadn't seen this being before - she hadn't been able to look at it, it had stood beside the Hanged King and Amica had warned her not to look at the Hanged King. But she knew this being with its aura of poison and pride.

This was the Ambassador of Alagadda.

The rough rope around her neck tightened, not enough to cut off her breath entirely. The Ambassador didn't speak, its voice simply sounded in her mind: So many mortals have thrown their lives away for the Black Lord. Do you really think you are special, little pawn?

Victoria couldn't speak, but knew it didn't matter. She projected all the confidence of a mortal chosen and beloved by the Black Lord of Anguish: Yes.

Amusing. But the faint trace of humour left its voice. This trope is idiotic. The Black Lord cannot remain this way. It is an embarrassment to Alagadda. An insult to our King's grand play.

Will you take the Black Lord to Alagadda so the Hanged King can restore it? asked Victoria.

Do you think our King a crass magician, a mere vendor of miracles? Blasphemous pawn, sneered the Ambassador. No. Our King is the author of the play, and a deus ex machina is poor writing. No, little pawn, when a trope is too foolish, a character too ruined, all that is left is a rewrite.

No!

It is not your choice.

We're doing what we can to restore everyone affected by the object back to normal! Give us time! Why is it so important that there are no children in Alagadda?

The Ambassador tilted its head. You ask me questions, little pawn? The role of the ensemble is to do as they are told, not question the director.

My role is greater than mere ensemble! I am a favoured consort of the Black Lord of Anguish! Victoria snapped back, trying to argue in a way an Alagaddan might listen to. Stories, it was all stories, according to Amica. Make it dramatic. I have stood before the Hanged King! I have earned a question!

Tsk. I do not like when mortals talk back to me as if I am a summoned spirit. Mortals should know their place. You are fortunate that I can smell your fear and desperation. Perhaps, little pawn, if you perform for me, I will deign to answer your question.

What do you want?

The Ambassador considered that. In a city of stories and lies, truth is a novelty. I would enjoy to hear you beg, but it would not be true - you are not one to grovel. So you will give me pain, of your own free will. Is an answer worth pain to you, little pawn?

It took all she had not to think, seriously, is that all? She'd died for less. Victoria lifted her left hand, palm facing the Ambassador. Amica, cover your eyes and the Doctor's.

She waited a few seconds, hoped Amica and the Doctor couldn't see, then reached her right hand up and ripped back on her left little finger before she could think about it too hard.

There was a crack and searing pain as her finger broke.

Of course it wasn't enough. The Ambassador sighed in bliss. Again.

Breaking her ring finger was worse, since now she knew how bad the pain would be.

Again, little pawn.

Victoria broke her middle finger, realising what a stupid bargain she'd made. How much would be enough for the Ambassador? Did it expect her to break every bone in her body?

Again.

Victoria broke her left forefinger. The Ambassador sighed again, but this time said, Balance.

Fuck you, that's it? Victoria thought before she could stop herself. I broke my fingers for 'there's no children in Alagadda because nobody really dies so it's population control'?

Smugness radiated from the Ambassador. Stupid, impulsive, and angry. You really are a perfect match for the Yellow Lord.

Fuck Odious too, snapped Victoria. Fine, so it's not population control, it's 'in a place where no one dies, no one can be born' and it's a metaphor for something. I was in STEM, not Arts and Literature. Either way, you can't kill the Black Lord. It's not really a child, it was transformed by some anomalous object. No birth, no death. No rule was broken.

The role was broken. There are no children in Alagadda, so a child cannot be the Black Lord. The noose began to tighten. I tire of you, pawn. You were a brief entertainment.

The bed jostled behind Victoria, and a few small hands gripped her arm. She couldn't see, head forced up as it was in the noose, but knew Amica was standing beside her, glaring up at the Ambassador. "Go away! No Ambassador! Go away!"

My lord, it is not your choice.

"No!" Amica yelled, with the determination only a contrary toddler had. "Go away!"

Our King commands -

"Liar!" Amica shrieked.

To Victoria's surprise, the Ambassador actually seemed taken aback by this. Amica had spoken enough about Alagadda to know that the Ambassador had no fear of the Humours, even when they were at full strength, which could only mean … The King didn't send you. You're just using the Black Lord's current weakness as an excuse to kill it and force the King to make a new one because you don't like this one.

"I'll tell," Amica threatened. "I'll tell our King. It'll be mad."

This was apparently a threat the Ambassador heeded. It took a step back and seemed to fade into the background. The rope that had been holding Victoria up on her knees vanished as well and she collapsed to the bed, gasping.

As soon as she had enough breath and the black spots faded from her vision, she ran for the bathroom and emptied her stomach into the toilet. It might have been the fear, for herself, for Amica, or just the unbearable presence of the Ambassador, but the encounter had left Victoria's guts churning.

She was still holding the toilet, not yet ready to stand again, when small hands patted her shoulder. Victoria looked over into a pair of wide gray eyes. "Victoria is sick?" asked the Doctor, worried.

"No, Doctor. I was scared. Sometimes being scared makes you feel sick. I'm fine now."

"Victoria is hurt."

"Yes. I need to get up and call for help." Every containment had a panic button, technically for researchers who got locked inside but sometimes the SCPs had reasons to use them. Right now, Victoria just wanted to rest a moment, no matter how badly her hand hurt.

"I help," said the Doctor firmly, and to Victoria's surprise, took a child-size doctor's bag out of himself.

Over the next few minutes, the Doctor proceeded to do a fairly good job of splinting Victoria's fingers with popsicle sticks and band-aids. The band-aids were purple with little cartoon ravens on them.

Wondering where the other one was, Victoria turned her head and found Amica hanging back by the bathroom door. "Are you okay, Amica?"

It nodded. "Ambassador went away. I told it to go away."

"Yes you did."

Victoria stood and went to the sink to rinse her mouth out and splash some water on her face. In the mirror, she could see the rope burn dark around her throat and splashed some water on that as well to try to soothe it a little. Then she went back out into the main room to find her glasses and summon help.

[igobycluless]

What I'm about to say may be blasphemous, but I have only just started playing Undertale for the first time in my life yesterday.

I've always wanted to play (especially since I played Deltarune first, yes Ik the savagery) but only got around to yesterday (it's on sale on the Nintendo shop too!)

Anywho, once more Toby COOKED, I'm late asf but it's a banger I am not disappointed at all

I'll prolly replay Deltarune once finished so I can get the full context of everything. So excited!!!

[edward-cabrini]

My Sources of Inspiration

With my recent Character Focus posts, I've taken a bit of a deep dive into my core cast of characters and lightly touched on their various sources of inspiration. I think it's time we take a harder look at my sources of inspiration. In terms of media/Texts we have: Berserk, Dark Souls 2, Dragon Age: Origins, Kingdom Come Deliverance, Blasphemous, Mount & Blade: Warband, Archaon Books, various Irish folk tales & myths (Cú Chulainn & Fomorians in particular). One of these is not like the others... Mount & Blade doesn't really have a story, it's a sandbox where you invent your story as you play. With a 190hrs in it. I've yet to ever conquer caldaria as a lone mercenary warband. My last run came closest though. I dedicated my self to being an effective leader, I recruited the best companions, I worked for King Ragnar with the hopes of marrying into royalty to increase my legitimacy. Five years I worked under Ragnar amassing Fiefdoms and wealth as we wiped out the Swadians and pressed into the Kingdom of Rhodoks. Yet when the time came to leave Ragnar's service I was caught out by a Swadian war band, I lost everything... My companions fucked off to the four fucking winds and after a solid 60hrs I gave up I enabled cheats made my self damn near un killable with the strength to solo armies. I razed everything until I recovered my fiefdoms and then I disabled cheats and carried on as normal. However the damage was already done, that run was stained, marred by my weakness. Any way I deleted the save uninstalled the game and did a quick run of Dark souls 2 to cheer myself up. But it got me thinking... That was a grand adventure, and right up until the total collapse of my plans I was very happy. This was the first spark of inspiration for "The Curse of Want". If I remember rightly, I'd read the Archaon books for the third time maybe a year before this point. Archaon's fall is surprisingly the inspiration behind Lorcan's heroism and rise through the ranks. Ernin is almost, but definitely not, the same role as Giselle from the Archaon series. I think it wasn't until after I read all of the Berserk series (that was out at the time) that I resolved to start writing something. Not the "Curse of Want" just yet... Mostly I poured a needless amount of effort into a series of D&D characters. A lot of human fighter combat masters. Fight me, I just love the mechanics and being human.

It was actually one of my best mates and DM that introduced to Fomorians. I knew various Irish tales but not a lot about their history or that they were written in various cycles. The research rabbit hole went very deep very fast. By the time I finished reading up on the shit that Cromwell and the Church did to Ireland, Irish culture, and the Irish people. I was resolved to write "The Curse of Want" my own mythos inspired by the Fomorians of legend and the Church's rewriting of Irish myths. Book 1's plot isn't all that different from events wise the golden age arc of Berserk. Child soldiers led by a pretty charismatic child soldier go from battle to battle achieving ever increasingly impressive victories. Until they go to capture the last fortress. However, consider what that would look like from the perspective of the enemy. A near unstoppable force of humanoid devils tearing across the countryside, ripping and hacking apart your friends as they advance toward your families. Here at last we come to the Dragon Age: Origins & Kingdom Come Deliverance Inspiration. Though to write more about why these particular narratives inspired me would I think lead to some pretty major spoilers. So you'll just have to guess what inspired what and who in my works. The last thing to touch on is Blasphemous, the church and all it's evil and good are present through out the game. I think I'll leave you with this thought I had as I squared up to fight Escribar: The unknowable will of The Miracle, made manifest by the belief of the citizenry. It's divinity enforced by the church and it's preachers; spreading the word of it's miracles and punishing heresy violently and publicly. Time to kill it.