#the fonts will be changed but this is the general idea

[ellecdc]

elle elle elle can i request something with moon water killer (i think that's with barty?😭) with a reader inspired by the song Matilda by harry styles???

Since i saw you haven't gotten many requests with song inspo

omg! I'd never heard this song before! it's really beautiful, so thank you for sharing! also....I hope I did it justice <3 ** .... fuck ok I posted this and noticed you perhaps asked for reader to be Matilda coded? sorry I didn't catch that at the time

poly!moonwaterkiller x fem!reader who exceed expectations

CW: mention of Barty & Regulus' shitty childhoods and families (but nothing is described), lyrics are in a different font & the lyrics I inserted directly into the fic are in blue

You don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up. You don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own.

Being born a Black came with a lot of expectations.

A young Black was expected to be well-groomed at all times, to be quiet, obedient, well-mannered, and have proper etiquette training.

They were expected to be dutiful sons and daughters, driven and successful students, and to keep up the family’s good name.

They were expected to grow into robotic adults, find a partner who was probably not too distantly related from them, and raise the next generation of Black children who would then wash, rinse, and repeat. 

Regulus Black expected the same for himself. 

He expected to be a dutiful son, a diligent student, a successful heir to the Black family name, and produce a suitable offspring who would amount to much the same. 

And by some brilliant stroke of luck, he did not meet those expectations. 

Though he tried to be a dutiful son, and he was indeed a diligent student, it hadn’t seemed to be quite enough for Orion and Walburga Black. 

And it wasn’t until Sirius left that Regulus realised that it would never be enough for them. 

So he left, too. 

You can let it go.

And when Regulus believed that there was lingering Darkness that flowed through his veins, he had found three people who saw the Light in him… even when he couldn’t. 

And Regulus won’t bore everyone with the details; but somehow that Light brought him here, to this day, with these people. 

And though both you and Remus were privy to the life Regulus lived growing up, neither of you truly understood it; and Regulus was happy for it.

But Barty did. 

Barty knew what it felt like to never live up to the expectations that came with your Name, to be perpetually wrong and disgraceful, and unfortunately that the consequences of such were really quite high. 

But they made it. They made it out.

Though it was not without scars.

Birthday’s had always been somewhat touchy for Barty, which may seem strange for the boisterous, egotistical, cocky son-of-a-bitch that everyone knew Barty to be.

A whole day? Dedicated to you? Where people were obligated to shower you with love and gifts? What self-absorbed, high-performing only child wouldn’t like that?

Barty didn’t.

Though Regulus supposed it was less that Barty didn’t like the idea, and more that birthday’s had never been a positive experience so he never quite knew how to handle them.

But - God love you both - you and Remus were determined to change that; and Regulus thought you might actually be succeeding. 

Because Regulus stood in the backyard of his small, cosy, modest townhouse with string lights hanging between beams and bannisters, basking the space in a golden glow as the small fire crackled and music played softly from Evan’s sound system that he brought for the event.

The event being Barty’s birthday. 

Everyone Barty loved was crammed into the small space; and the people Barty claimed not to love but rather tolerate (read: Remus’ friends) had shown up too. 

Throw a party full of everyone you know.

Regulus had the prime view from where he stood leaning against the wooden fence; some drink in his hand that Potter insisted was “so sodding good, mate, you’ll love it” - that Regulus could admit wasn’t horrid - as he watched Remus twirl you around in sloppy circles that the two of you seemed to think was a dance (years of proper etiquette and dance training would have Regulus saying otherwise). You threw your head back in a laugh that echoed in Regulus’ rib cage as Remus dipped you low; his honey brown curls glowing ethereally in the golden glow of the string lights as he pulled you back up to your full height to press a kiss to your lips. 

And Regulus’ prime viewing location also allowed him to watch Barty as he, too, watched the two of you.

Barty always talked of the pain like it’s alright; ever the comedian, he was always able to play off some of the most traumatic stories from his childhood as funny. And Regulus understood that; nothing about the way either of them had been treated had ever seemed especially alarming until now…until they saw that it could be better, that it should be better. 

Barty had been laughing and chatting with Evan, Pandora, Dorcas, and Marlene from the deck, but he had since opted to lean against the bannister as he watched two of his lovers enjoy the party; his party.

A party that Barty likely never imagined…expected for himself, a party that would have seemed impossible years ago. 

If the subtle glisten in Barty’s eyes and the mystified look on his face was enough to go by; the sentiment was not lost on Barty, either.

Their eyes met then; two boys whose families never showed them love who moved on to find freedom in love and a family that they started all on their own. 

It should have been impossible for Barty’s face to soften anymore than it had been as he watched you and Remus dancing, but it seemed to do just that when he shot Regulus a wink.

Regulus raised his glass to his boyfriend then; to growing up, to moving on, to showing love, to their little family.

And to exceeding every expectation either of them ever had for themselves.

[knightotoc]

I always liked the riddle scene in the Hobbit, but I never knew what it really meant until I read the original just now. The main idea is lost in adaptations because you need to get into their heads. I knew it was a high-stakes version of a kids' game and a mythology/fairytale reference, but it still seemed pretty random and hard to believe, since these two are the last characters you'd put in a battle of wits.

But the scene is actually about how people's environments shape the way they think. Bilbo and Gollum are both so flustered that they can only think of what are, to them, very easy riddles. They keep feeling ashamed that they can't think of something harder, and confident that the other guy will get this immediately. But the other guy is stumped, because his mind works differently, because he lives in the opposite environment.

Solving the riddles isn't actually about being smart, but being empathetic in Bilbo's case and nostalgic in Gollum's. Bilbo is only able to comprehend Gollum's nasty way of thinking because they are in his lair, amongst the dark and fish. Bilbo is repulsed and even unable to guess Gollum's final riddle, only winning by luck (he stutters "I need more time" so badly it sounds like the correct answer, "time").

Gollum is only able to imagine Bilbo's pleasant answers by thinking back to his past, when he was a normal guy who lived with his grandmother near flowers, eggs, and cats. In this book, he isn't confirmed to be a former hobbit, but the parallel becomes more tragic with this retroactive backstory. Gollum indirectly tells Bilbo that time is the only thing that separates them, and Bilbo does not understand this. If Bilbo had the "more time" he requests, hundreds of years here in the dark, he would become like Gollum, wisdom at a terrible price.

The main theme of The Silmarillion is how immortality affects people. Elves are fated to live forever in the undying lands of Valinor. Humans instead have the "Gift of Ilúvatar," the great mystery of an unknown afterlife. Elves are counterintuitively jealous of this gift, since death allows humans to escape the music of Arda, the fate which defines all creation.

Bilbo and Gollum, who were so different in life that they could barely follow each other's thoughts, also end up with the opposite deaths. The elves take Bilbo to Valinor, while Gollum goes to the mysterious afterlife of the other unchosen mortals. (At least two elves, Lúthien and Arwen, chose this fate for themselves out of love for a guy. But generally this is the unchosen/fate defying route for souls to go.)

So during their first meeting, Gollum is the one who understands the destructive power of time. But in the long term, Bilbo will come to understand time as an endless font of wisdom and peace, since nothing can be destroyed in Valinor. We don't know how or even if the mortal afterlife experiences time; if Gollum's pessimistic definition would hold true, or if that, too, would eventually change.

[momolady]

Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Ramshackle Family PowerPoint Night Slumber Party Headcanons

Masterlist

Bonus: First years

Sleepovers at Ramshackle are common but one day you decided to spice things up by having a powerpoint night party

You told Ace and Deuce your idea on Monday so that they had enough time to prepare for Friday.

The party begins in the afternoon and the three of you start baking all sorts of treats in the kitchen like cookies and brownies before you get changed into your pyjamas

Deuce: 

His are really simple but bless him he worked so hard

He gets super into his and gets all animated and excited 

He loves it when you ask questions 

His slides are very neat, like one or two bullet points at most with a few pictures. He uses a baby blue background with standard black text. 

“I didn’t want to make it hard to read” ♡

Ace: 

Ace is what happens when a primary schooler is introduced to powerpoint for the first time

Every single transition and animation is used. He uses those cool font sites to make gif fonts that are going on every slide. It looks like a party popper exploded all over it. Each slide is a different garish colour. ‘Body text’? What’s that? Word art and word art only is his text

His presentations are either typical meme stuff like playing smash or pass with smash bros. characters or they’re the saltiest roasts you’ve ever heard

Yes, the last one was specifically made for you. He loves you dearly and has noticed that you’ve been on the receiving end of many a wandering eye. Prefect, you could do so much better

Grim

Since he’s baby™ he can’t make a powerpoint so he just has a whiteboard with the words ‘BUY ME MORE TUNA’ scribbled on

I’m not going to do the reader’s slides to make it more general but when it’s your turn to present you bet that it would be dead silent. If Ace so much as coughs, Deuce is decking him with a pillow.

After powerpoint night has ended, you play other games like those random Kahoot quizzes, charades with the ghosts, board and card games etc.

You even assemble a blanket fort that takes half an hour longer because of a pillow fight Ace instigated 

You all decide to do it again next week

[katoobee]

I HAVE. MY OWN DREAMTALE HEADCANON THAT HAS GOTTEN A BIT. LARGE.

so i wanna put it into a big post!

i like the ideas for Nightmare that Passive and Corrupted are separate beings, as its implied (or iirc, outwardly stated) in the story that Nightmare isnt a worse version of himself, its literally just a really evil entity possesing him.

so with toying with the set ideas for Nightmare (different person, negativity, shapeshifting) i came up with this!!

-

the general idea for this version of Nightmare is that his Evil Schemes and Dastardly Deeds have been resoundingly successful, much to the dismay of literally everyone

his power becomes abundant due to the amount of negativity in the Multiverse, and he changes his form more and more. (my HC height of Nightmare is related to this!)

his minions (ie Killer Dust Horror) slowly get more and more beat down by Nightmare and look more exhausted, due to more prevalent abuse in the gang

Nightmare loses the need to manipulate other AUs by appearing as Sans. his body starts to look,,, saggy. with the more power he gains, his features more long and "incorrect" (like he's not respecting anatomy). the teeth in his mouth are the only thing that moves when he speaks.

his minions notice this around (i guess i can call it stages?) stage 3, and theyve started feeling like theyre not respecting Nightmare's orders anymore, and that they're respecting someone elses orders.

all this leads to this image which also introduces

NIGHT TERROR

Night Terror i imagine, is quite literally the Human that killed Nim and was imbued into the Tree of Feelings, once again given form. the driving force that started everything

he no longer hides in the costume of Nightmare nor sans, as he shows himself for what he truly is. (quite literally tore off his skin and stepped out of it like a costume, i might draw this later)

he knows fully what his presence entails, and he plans to uphold himself to that no matter what. he will stop at nothing to cause as much death, destruction, and suffering as possible.

he's freakishly powerful, a step above how Nightmare already was.

Dream is the only thing that can stop him completely, with the help of weakening him by other sanses and other powerful bodies.

calls Dream and Nightmare "Nim-Child/Children"

his body is still goopy, but its smoother and not runny. akin to surface tension in water.

his eyes glow when he speaks.

he can summon knives, mimics of the actual knife that killed Nim. he can also summon a LOT more tentacles. these are all lot stronger than his relatively "weaker" form

he can single out one person in an AT-Lich like manner (uses this to talk to Dream directly, and also generally uses few-line commands)

his hands can become coated in pure toxicity, acting like agonizing acid that isnt just exclusive to Dream. his fingers can also become sharp like razors when coated in the toxicity.

where everyone else speaks in the sound-font, noise for each letter, he has his own voice. like fully, audible voice

he still is going for Dream's golden apple, but is more forceful about it due to his mask basically being dropped

(visuals made here with lyrics from a song by Chonny Jash, yes i know its a LOZ song IT JUST FITS THE VIBE)

i imagine "killing" Night Terror restores the real Nightmare to what he was once was. "killing" Night Terror doesn't actually kill him, but makes him go into dormancy, keeping himself inside of Nightmare's soul, like a worm burrowed into an apple.

the only feasible way to save Nightmare is for Dream to severely hurt himself, since negativity is like acid to him,,,

arms go byebye!

i also believe that reverting Nightmare back to normal would mean he'd still be his young age, like when Dream was encased in stone

ok thats all i have to say about this if anyones curious feel free to ask about it :]

[thera-daydreams]

SCARLET & SHADOW

ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ

[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]

Warning: This will be very canon-divergent, considering that it will be a fix-it fic for the Darkling's story. Will contain elements of violence, manipulation, and gore present in the series. Plus, mentions of depression, trauma, regret (as W. Maximoff) and the inclusion of possible adult themes in the later chapters.

Majority of this will also be based on the Netflix show since I haven't read the entire books yet. There may be inaccuracies and a whole lot of changes. You have been warned!

Otherwise, proceed and enjoy! ♟️🌹

(Sidenote: So... okay. I'm deciding to write this and make it a formal fanfic—as per previous post one and post two—because I seriously cannot sleep with the overwhelming inspiration I'm getting from shipping these two characters. Aleksander and Wanda are practically the same person in different fonts. They both did shitty, selfish things but I need to give them a happy ending. Together. Somehow. And hate it or love it, I firmly believe this idea should be shared to the world. If you know my other JJK fic, you'll know Wanda is an obsession of mine. Also, also, also! Please bear with me if updates are scarce. I'm juggling my academic review, work, another unfinished fic, and my daily fangirling. 🥹)

1. once upon a dream

Aleksander had dreams of you long before he even knew you. Maybe it was the stress of this neverending war. Either way, you weren't real anyway... were you?

(3.9k words)

2. coincidence

The Black General finds himself magnetized by the seemingly inconspicuous gardener in the Little Palace. He gets to know you, contemplating life. Just when he thought you were just a strangely wise, young otkazat'sya woman, he finds out why exactly you decided to work in the Little Palace.

(2.5k words)

3. reflection

You are confronted by a certain Shadow Summoner about your motives in bringing the kids to the Little Palace. He realizes that you've loved and lost so deeply, eerily the same as he had. Perhaps that's the reason why he was so drawn to you; he could see his reflection in your eyes. But the more answers the Darkling got, the more questions he had. Unfortunately for you, Aleksander was a patient and persistent man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

(4.8k words)

4. haunted

You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.

(6.0k words)

5. ?

(tba)

... more chapters?

Synopsis:

"No more magic." You swore to yourself after the madness that you'd spiraled into; the chaos you'd wrecked upon the Multiverse under the influence of the Darkhold. Now, you had destroyed the Darkhold in every universe.

The last universe that had a Darkhold? Safe. Book of the Damned, gone. It was a land with no heroes, gods, or sorcerers... just... normal people and... Grisha? Either way, it was time for your atonement. Your repentance for your mortal sins.

But when you save and bring three orphaned Grisha children to the Little Palace, working as an otkazat'sya gardener to secretly keep an eye on them, it turns out that a certain Shadow Summoner begins to have his eye on you, instead.

taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird @pearlstiare

[notaorbital]

hi I really like your mb and I'm new here. Do u have any suggestions or tips to make mb? like where did u get the pics and the captions.

𝓜oodboards: a guide for beginner blogs!

I decided to bring here a small tutorial that can help other blogs that are starting out and still have questions that need clarification, with tips and links that you may need. I wrote this from my point of view of creating moodboards and I tried to be as brief as possible in my explanation, there may be errors in English as I'm not fluent in that language and everything here was translated using Google Translate, any questions you can contact me via asks or by message.

how do I find pics for moodboards?

Pinterest is where you will find most images for moodboards, so create a Pinterest board just for these images, separating them into subboards for each color or aesthetic to make it easier.

Some blogs leave the link to their Pinterest accounts in pinneds or in the carrd, you can follow them and save the pics they published on the app in your boards, this will influence the Pinterest algorithm so that they recommend more of the type of images you want.

You can also search on Pinterest for the aesthetic and color you want (coquette pink aesthetic, cottagecore aesthetic, y2k, etc.).

how to make moodboards + tips:

Well, it's not such a complicated thing for me. I generally make moodboards with 6 or 9 images, taking inspiration from the moodboards of other blogs that I admire, so I can get an idea of ​​how to make the captions and how to position the photos in a way that matches them.

To make it easier, first I create the moodboard and then I look for an icon of a kpop idol that can match the aesthetics and color of the moodboard. The reverse can also be done: first choose an icon and make a moodboard for that image, paying attention to the color palette and tonality (and for some reason, for me it's better to create moodboards in Tumblr's light mode instead of dark mode)

When I finish the moodboard, I add the caption, the hashtags (which will be very important for your post to reach other people) and maybe a divider. You can find these dividers on other blogs or by searching for "dividers" on Tumblr.

If you want to split a photo into two or more images, use this site.

how to create captions:

To make the captions, I use parts of songs that I like or that I found searching on Pinterest for "Spotify song lyrics", but they can also be album or song names, movie names, a phrase you thought, etc. The symbols you will put in the caption can be found on this website or just by searching for "symbols", "kpop symbols", "kaomojis" on tumblr.

If you want to use a different font for the letters, there are these two websites (01 and 02). And to change the color, there are also these two tutorials (01 and 02).

what to do to make your blog "popular":

Add popular hashtags that relate to the content you are posting. If you use almost the same tags as other big blogs, your posts will have more reach. Posting frequently and your account looking nice and organized helps too.

Ask several other popular blogs to promote your account. This was very important for my profile to grow in the number of followers and engagement.

Join the events that some blogs do, as they offer good prizes like reblogs if you win. And remember to have patience, as it often takes a while to get good engagement on Tumblr.

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Generous offer

Word count: 5.5♡

Part 2/4. Enjoy 😍🙏🏾

Warnings: fem!reader, demon reader, sub reader, pleasure dom Douma, pleasures dom Karaku, double penetration (2 pp's inside pussy),dirty talk, oral (reader receiving), nipple play, reader is mentioned to have sensitive nipples, Dacryphilia, squirting

There is only one demon that has ever entered Douma's temple, and it is his lord, Muzan. Not only is this temple very well hidden from demon slayers, especially at a hashira level but it is also filled with humans, also known to known to be Douma's "Disciples," or as others would refer to them as cult members.

Muzan only came to Douma's temple once to turn him into a demon and invite him to report back to him about his search for the spider lily and the ubuyashki family. Douma practically gave up trying to invite the other upper ranks to his temple, but faith brought you to keep this demon company.

Douma became obsessed with you. A demon weaker than himself willingly to care for him and teaching him new things, especially how to love? He definitely kept you as his woman. He practically begged muzan to let you stay at an upper moon meeting. Although douma is disliked by muzan, he still wanted special treatments like Akaza and Kokushibo. Even if it meant you were just sitting there. Douma just wanted you to be everywhere with him.

Once the meeting was done perusal, you watched as muzan disappeared. You are sitting next to douma and looking over to see him try and make small talk to Akaza again. You hold back a laugh to see him quickly get rejected, but before you could comfort your boyfriend, you felt a pair of eyes watching you. Your eyes change direction to see the same, emerald eyed demon in font of you in the distance get a look at you.

It didn't make you uncomfortable. However, it did disappoint you how he'd turn his head away and act like nothing just happened. Is it because you're with douma?. You turn to your boyfriend and touch his hand "Douma I've been meaning to ask you something." You leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"Mm?" Douma smiled, leaning closer to you, and chuckles softly when he felt your breath touch his ear lobe. "There's an upper rank who stares at me a lot. I'm not mad, but what's his name?" You ask and tilted your head to the side and made eye movements to indicate who you're talking about without making it obvious.

Douma's eyes followed but only saw the 4 clone brothers standing together. "Try to be more specific. y/n there's 4 of them," douma asked, making you groan in response. "The one with green eyes." You grabbed doumas cheeks and turned his head in Karaku's direction.

"Ah, that one. I believe his name is... Karaku, " douma said. You turned his face back to you to meet your gaze again. "He's quite handsome, isn't he?" You continue to whisper. "More handsome than me?" Douma fake pouted and held your hands. "Of course not. However, you did tell me to pick out a handsome or beautiful demon to do that with, right?"

Douma's pout slowly turned into a smirk. "Still thinking about the 3some i mentioned?" His hands go from regularly holding your hands to slowly Intertwining his fingers with yours. "When I first suggested a 3some, I didn't think you'd pick a male demon. You must like it rough, don't you y/n?" Douma let's out a light chuckles at how easily you fluster at his question. "I approve." Douma, let's go of your hands and picked himself up from the floor.

"Douma-" you sighed and kept yourself remained on the floor since it was only you two plus the 4 clone brothers in the infinity castle. You didn't hate Douma's boldness to approach Karaku, and it's not like you disliked the idea of a threesome. You just felt a little shy to be exposed in front of two male demons.

Even though this is something new to you, the excitement couldn't stop growing inside you. Two big, handsome musclar demon men handling you however they wanted? The idea couldn't stop making you rub your legs together as you watched douma approach the clone brothers. Hantengu's clones weren't known to be very tall, so when douma approached them, he easily towered over them and looked down with a big smile, and had his eyes closed.

"Karaku is your name, right?" Douma asked, having the four clones' brothers speechless to have upper 2 approach them. The three turned their heads in Karaku's direction and made him realize douma is speaking to only him. "That's correct. I didn't think you'd remember my name, Lord Douma." Karaku had his usual smile and spoke in a formal tone to the demon ranked way above him.

"I'd like to invite you to my temple!" Douma cheerfully asked and grabbed both his hands before Karaku could realize and even startling him a little bit. You got up and walked over and tapped douma lightly on his back. "Calmer approach, darling." You lightly smirk at Douma's approach.

You felt a little more confident now being this close to Karaku and even giving him a flirtatious smile. "Sorry. It's not every day I get to see my beloved comrades," douma laughed a let go of Karaku's hands. "There's something I want to do and requires a handsome demon for this task. Can you come to my temple?"

Karaku felt his cheeks heat up from just the compliment and lightly laughed, almost letting himself get flustered. It didn't help that you also gave him that flirty smile and made him smile ear to ear "yeah I'll come. Sounds exciting," he said and then got pinched on the arm, hard by Sekido, making Karaku cleared his throat.

"I accept your invite, Lord douma," Karaku said. In a second, Karaku's feet were lifted from tue ground, and his eyes widened, realizing he was just easily picked up by Douma. "Great! Ah, I'm so excited! Isn't this wonderful y/n? Isn't it!?" Douma asked, still holding Karaku in his arms and his brothers, watching what's going on before them and them feeling fear for the first time.

"This is exciting, but please, put him down." You reached to touch doumas biceps and gave the clones a reassuring smile to try and erase their fear. Karaku was put down, and you took a step in front of him. "I will be at the temple as well, so I look forward to your arrival. My name is y/n," you bowed. "I'll definitely be there. My name is Karaku." He smirks and bowed as well.

"We must get going now since my disciples will arrive at the temple shortly. When you come tomorrow, there will be demons and some humans escorting you on your way there. I'll see you tomorrow night!" Douma took your hand and waves. "Bye-bye. See you tomorrow, " he said, and you waved as well and began to leave with Douma. "Tomorrow night! See you Karaku!" Douma said, far away and kept repeating his words until he wasn't heard anymore.

"Alright, let's go home. The meeting is done so." Karaku put his hands on his hips and stretched with a wider smile than usual. "You're a fool." Sekido snarls. "Can common sense go into that brain of yours and take this seriously? You didn't even ask what he needs you for," Sekido said and poking at Karakus head until it hurt. Karaku just playfully slapped his hand away and laughs. "You're the one taking this too seriously, Sekido. It sounds fun, and i forgot to ask. I'll just figure it out when i get there," Karaku said.

"You're right, but aren't you a little worried? Well, if anything happens, it's not like you'd die, but still.. how sad," Aizetsu said. Urogi groans, "You guys are such buzz kills," he said and put his arm around Karaku. "I'd kill just to be in that temple. Do you know how many pretty human women there are in his temple? It's just rumors, but it's gotta be true," Urogi said, putting his arm around Karaku. "It sounds so much fun and exciting. I'm jealous of you. Don't listen to the, it'll be fu, n" Urogi sai, and Karaku put his arm around Urogi aa well "damn right it will be!"

"Fucking idiot's..." Sekido snarled.

Sundown came to an end the next day. Karaku said his goodbyes to his brothers, and they stayed outside until they could no longer see Karaku once he walked into the pitch black forest. The temple would've been impossible for Karaku to find on his own if it wasn't for regular demons dressed in clut like clothing and their faces covered to lead the way.

For once, Karaku wasn't talkative on his journey there. Most likely, since this is the first time, he's going somewhere without his brothers, especially Sekido. Karaku wasn't necessarily worried, he is very calm about the situation but still thought back on what Sekido said. Maybe it was better for him to ask what he's needed beforehand. However, it's too late now, and he will have to find out for himself.

"We have arrived," the demon guide said. Karaku snaps out of thought, and his eyes squinted to adjust to the lighting after coming out of the pitch black forest. Karaku raised his eyebrow in confusion to just see a bald man along with two women behind him. "You must be karaku. Lord Douma has told us about your arrival," the bald man said and bowed along with the two ladies.

Karaku held back his demon urges to not hurt or eat the humans in front of him since Douma's cult followers were important to him, and he wouldn't want to upset Douma when he just arrived. Karaku didn't bow back to a human and just grinned "well I hope I'm the only demon named Karaku," he said and placed his hand on his hip, then took a look around the outside building.

Karaku turned back to the demon who led him here. "Hey you. Your guiding skills suck. This is just a bathhouse," he laughed. The bald man in front of Karaku pulled out a letter from behind him and handed it to Karaku. The letter is from douma. He didn't need to see a name to know it was from douma. The symbol of a fan was enough.

The note said, "Oh! Forgot to mention something! Anyone who comes to my temple is required to take a bath. Not because you stink or anything but because I just think everyone feels nice after a bath! Enjoy, Karaku."

"...I can't tell if he's being genuine or if he thinks I stink." Karaku said to himself and crumpled up the letter and put it in his pocket. "Follow me this way, sir," the bald man said and started to walk inside the bathhouse. Karaku followed behind him and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Do I stink??" He asked the man. "It's only normal for a demon to smell like the outside. It's okay," he answered honestly and left Karaku shocked.

Karaku was happy the bathhouse was empty. He scrubs his skin with a cloth and the soap he picked out in frustration. "Demon's do that baths. We just can't get a moments peace because of demon slayers," he said to himself and picked up a bucket of water to dump on himself to wash the soapy bubbles off his skin.

He then goes into the huge tub and has half of his body submerged in the water up to his nose, where he starts to create bubbles in the water and continues to sulk. Once he came out to dry his skin off, the same man was waiting for Karaku in men's changing room and handed him a new kimono.

".... Where's my hakama pants? And my Yuigesa harness," Karaku asked. "That has been put in the wash. These are clothes, Lord douma picked out for you and insisted you wear them," the man said, making Karaku look at him in disguste. "Is there a problem?" The man asked and felt concerned. "Yeah, I'm being forced to look like my older brother by covering myself up!" Karaku raised his voice.

Eventually, Karaku put on the kimono that covered him more than he liked, and it took a lot of convincing from the man to make him put it on. Other than being fully clothed, Karaku was amazed at how big the temple is and how many human women there were.

They were frightened to see a demon here, especially seeing Karaku's large horns, cracks in his face, and his dark green eyes. Karaku knew the human woman and men were doumas cult members and he could see them trying to be respectful since Douma was the one who invited him but he could see the fear in their eyes which only made Karaku lick his lips and trying to hold himself from having a food feast. He's here on an important task, not for food even though that was killing him inside.

"Lord Douma is in his bedroom along with Ms. Y/n. I will take my leave now." The man pointed down the hall with a red carpet and then bowed. As the man left, Karaku held out his hand and was about to ask something but sighed once he left.

Karaku started to walk to Douma's room. The walk down the hallway was normal, but the vibe quickly changed until Karaku heard muffled moans. He stopped close to the door, too close for comfort, but he only took a small step back and listened some more. Those were definitely your moans. A smirk curls on his face and his hand, making its way down to his crotch, almost like he's controlling himself. "Maybe this is a bad time to come here," he whispers to himself and palms his dick softly through his kimono.

Karaku lets out a deep yet quiet sigh before taking another step back away from the door. "Oh, is that you, Karaku?" Douma's voice called out from the room. Karaku's eyes widen, and your moans stop, which makes him holt his hand from palming himself. "I almost couldn't sense you," Douma sarcastically said. "Come in, come in," Douma said in a welcoming and non threating tone. Karaku hesitant for a moment and having his leaf behind his back.

He placed his hand on the door knob and gripped it , turned it slowly, and opened the door. Karaku's mouth hung open in a small 'o' shape at what he just opened the door too. He sees your naked more, shiny, and moisturized over Douma's lap. Douma had his kimono down to his hips and his chest, looking the same as you and clearly showing your body covered with body oil.

You softly moan, slipping your hips side to side on Douma's lap. Karaku wonders what you're getting off to until he heard a buzzing sound and then looked to see a small remote in Douma's hand. "I didn't know you were into stuff like that y/n. What a nice side to see of you," Karaku said, making you whimper softly in response.

"I didn't know if I should've come in since I heard moans. Or do you guys get off to someone hearing you guys go at it?" Karaku chuckles and makes Douma laugh in response. "I did plan for you to hear that, but i don't think it's a kink. Now close the door," Douma said and spanks your ass making you yelp. "Let's have a talk." He said.

Karaku's smirk grows wider seeing how you reacted to that spank and shuts the doot behind him. Douma caresses where he spanked and grabbed your ass, smirking at how smooth and slippery your skin is with the oil on your body and how your hips move side to side in his grip "D-douma please~ I'm gonna cum again-" you whine but then cut off by a hush from douma.

Douma places his finger over his lips to hush you again. "Not yet, y/n. Hold it in until Karaku and I are finished talking, okay?" He teases and watches your head fall into the pillow, too quiet yourself. Karaku clenches his teeth together as he watches as your hips move in circles from the vibrator and your feet pushing back and forth in the air. "Would you like to have a 3some with us?" Douma asked and started to take you off his lap.

Karaku was taken back by the question but answered honestly. "Yes, but... why me? Wouldn't you rather Lord Akaza or Lord Kokushibo for this?" Karaku asked and looked up at douma once he was close enough to speak one on one. "I have, but they always turned down the idea." Douma's head tilts down a little in fake sadness, "y/n also had no interest in them. Just you. She loves the way you look at her and suggests you should join us in a 3some," he said.

Karaku's eyes softened, knowing you enjoyed when he looked at you and even gave him an ego boost. He looks over in your direction and sees your head peeping up from the pillow and then quickly hiding your face again once he notices you. "Can't be all shy now. I'm into you too, princess, " Karaku smirks. "Y/n maybe shy at first, but once you touch her, she's not as shy as she may seem," douma said, making Karaku more excited.

Douma stepped to the side to make Karaku more visible to you. "y/n, look here for me," Douma said, and you turned your head to look at the demon men by the door. Douma's hand grips on Karaku's jaw, hard enough to make him open up his mouth. He stuck two fingers in Karaku's mouth and clipped his two fingers down on Karaku's tongue to pull it out slowly. Karaku almost gagged at the sudden touch and sticks his tongue out to make it easier.

"Look y/n it says "pleasure" on his tongue," Douma said and ran his nail down Karaku's tounge tattoo. You watched and saw the drool beginning to fall from his tongue to moisturize it. "I was right to pick you." You licked your lips and got up from the bed and made a finger motion for Karaku to come closer.

Douma gave Karaku a little push, and he walked closer towards you. Karaku makes the frist move and grabs at your hips and his hands slowly going up to cup your boobs "you're body is so beautiful" he said and rubs his thumbs over your nipples and watches you jump from his touch. "You were right to pick me. I'll make sure to have you cumming all night" Karaku said and sticks out his tounge

"I can't wait~"

Karaku cups your cheek with his hand. He looks into your eyes and watches you try to keep them open once he puts his knee between your legs while having a hand on your back to support you. "This vibrator is such a tease, isn't it?" He asked and rubbed his thumb on your bottom lip. You nod and your brows knit together, desperate to cum.

"It was just new something to try out," Douma said innocently, but you knew this was planned to tease you. "Let's keep it in there," Karaku said and pulled you in for a deep, passionate kiss. Douma goes back to sit on the bed with your back facing him. Douma's nails touch your back and slowly go down, making you shiver from his touch and then feel his soft kisses on your back, leading up to your shoulders.

You moan in Karaku's mouth from the feeling of Douma's nails, which gave Karaku the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, tasting your tongue and feeling your heavy breath with his. Your legs tensed when Karaku's fingers pressed on your clit tightly and your hands grip onto his kimono.

Karaku started to rub your clit in small circles but from being edged on before Karaku came in the room, you couldn't hold yourself back from releasing an early orgasm. Karaku swallows your moans in the kiss for the moment and then chuckled as he pulled his lips away from yours. "That was quick. Did it feel good? Of course it did," he said and made his fingers slip past your folds to grab the vibrator, slowly pulling it out.

"You're so wet the vibrator was already falling out of you but you're already too fucked out to realize that huh?" Karaku laughed and began to take his kimono off. "Don't like the clothes?" Douma asked. "I prefer to have no shirt." Karaku said but stripped down to nothing. "Have you ever tried this oil? It's good for the mood," you breathlessly asked and walked to the small desk next to the bed with slight wobbly legs after your second orgasm.

You purposely bent down in front of them to pick it up, then held it in your hand and turned around to show Karaku. "Heh. Can't say I have tried that. Why don't you come here and put it on me?" Karaku said and held out his hand for you. "I'm coming. I'm coming," you joked and took his hand and gasped when he pulled you into his arms. You couldn't help but smile and admit that it was very smooth yet romantic.

"Tell me how his body feels y/n," Douma said and watched you squeeze the oil body to let it fall in your hands. You rub your hands together and start by touching his biceps and then the rest of his arms. "His skin is so warm for a demon. His pretty tanned skin also looks beautiful... especially being oiled up like this." You giggled softly and continued to rub his arms and then move your hands to Karaku's chest.

"I love his chest..." You whispered to yourself and rub the oil on his pecs. Karaku flexed his pecs making you both chuckle and you shake your head "and his abs look perfect" you said sliding your hands down his pecs, down to his sides and giving his waist a little grab and then feeling his abs. "You're forgetting to compliment something eles" Karaku takes your hand and makes it go lower fo touch his hard cock.

"Right, I can't forget this," you said and touched it lightly. "Is it bigger than mine?" Douma teased "n-no... but you two do look the same size. It's big, " you confessed, making both of the demon men chuckle at your cuteness. "Come here, darling." Douma pulls off the rest of his clothing into the floor and lies down and patting next to him on the bed.

Karaku hopped onto the bed and laid down on the other side and made just enough room for you to lay in the middle. As you put your knee up on the bed and jump up, douma gives your ass another spank. Once you've gotten in the middle, Douma makes the first move by cupping your tit.

"Let's see of we can make you cum by just sucking on these nipples" Douma said and plays with your harden nipple between his fingers. "Just look at her shaking already," Karaku said and scooted himself down for his mouth to be at your nipple and give it a light lick. Your eyes closed, and your mouth opens slightly to let out a soft moan. "Keep going..." You begged.

Karaku hummed as he grabbed your tit in his hand and behind to lick your nipple. He starts off with light, wet licks and watches as your nipples harden and smirks in satisfaction before being in to kiss and suck on your nipple. Douma continued to tease your nipple with his fingers and even use his nail to poke at the center of your nipples and smirks at you, arching your back already.

Douma begins to grope your tit and then gives you a kiss before getting to Karaku's level to lick your other nipple. Your legs rub together, and your bottom lip folds in your mouth, biting it with soft whimpers escaping you. Douma lied though, he did want to make you cum from just playing with your nipples but he couldn't help his hand from making its way down to your pussy.

Karaku follows, and they both shrink their nails on their middle and ring finger so they don't hurt your pretty pussy with their sharp nails. Douma slips two fingers inside easily from your wetness and begins to finger fuck you while Karaku places his fingers back on your clit, this time making faster circular motions on your clit.

"O-oh fuck!~" Your mouth hangs open, and your heavy breaths mixed with moans leave your throat with your head pushed back into the pillow harder. "That it. Cum for us" Karaku said, giving your nipple a soft bite and flicking his tounge on your nipple while rubbing your clit faster with more pressure on it. "Let go darling~ cum on my fingers" Douma curls his fingers thrusts them inside you faster until it made soft clapping sounds.

Your body joints and your thighs flex as you cream on Doumas fingers. "Fuck~, let me taste her," Karaku sits up, making his way between your legs. "W-wait, I just came," you moaned when douma pulled his fingers out of you and watched as Karaku lays on his stomach and 6 his head between your legs.

Karaku makes a 'V' shape with his fingers to spread you open. He smirks at your pussy throbbing and sticks his long tounge and making its way inside your pussy. "Karaku!" Your thighs quickly close in on his head and your hands grabbed onto his hair. You felt his tounge lick around your inside and tasting you just like he said he would.

"Open these legs darling" Douma said but before you could comprehend his words he places his hands on your knees to force your legs open himself "I know you can cum for us again. I wanna see it." He said. Karaku sneaks his hands under your ass to lift your lower half up and sits himself on his knees so that douma can help him hold your lower half up and turn his head to the side to lick at your clit.

Your body is folded in half at this point. Your hands gripping onto the sheets smd your teeth clnechrd together akth your euss shut with loud moans. "C-cumming! Cumming~" you groan slightly with a loud moan as your stomach tightens, your clit thobbing and your insides squeezing Karaku's tounge in until you cum.

Your eyes were still shut once your lower half was back onto the bed but then quickly opened when you felt a hand tapping on your cheek. "Don't pass out on us yet, darling," douma said while caressing your cheek. "You haven't even been stuffed yet. Where's the fun in that" Karaku said and you watched him stroke his cock in front of you.

"I have an idea. Let's stuff her pussy with both our cock at the same time" Douma suggested with a big smile on his face. You were dumbfounded at the idea. How is that even possible? Their big cock fucking your pussy at the same time? You thought this was a joke until you heard Karaku's dark chuckle. "Sounds like a great idea" he laid down and taps his thigh "come here princess and get on my cock" he said.

"I-i don't know if this will work.." You nervously said as you claimed on top of Karaku. His hands caress your hips softly. "It will. You've been prepared enough to handle two cocks don't be so worried princess. Now come here" Karaku said and watched you lean forward.

The oil is still on your bodies, so when your tits met Karaku's chest, it was slippery, but your tits still rested on his chest just fine. Karaku reached his hand down to grab his cock and slides it through your folds and watches you moan softly "your voice is so sexy. Let me hear you moan like a slut on my cock y/n" Karaku grunts as his tip pushes inside you and thrusts the rest of his length inside you.

You let out broken moans at how easily his cock pushed its way inside you. "Karaku, Karaku~" You look down at him with glossy eyes and bit your bottom lip softly when you felt Karaku's hands on your ass. "Crying already? I haven't even moved yet" he chuckled and grabs you ass cheeks to spread you open until you heard your pussy make a small wet sound as Karaku opened up more.

You look over your shoulder with knit eye brows to see douma behind you. "Look at that~" Douma moaned as his tip rubs your hole with Karaku's cock inside you. "Be a good girl and let me in darling" Douma sticks out his tounge to let his saliva fall off it and onto your pussy. Douma then slowly pushed his tip in, making you jump at the feeling and then letting out hitched breaths as Douma pushes his length inside your pussy.

"Almost in~ haa you're so tight." Douma moaned while grabbing both your ass cheeks. "Dose it hurt?" Karaku asked and kissed your chin while his fingers rub your clit softly. "N-no. It's just so big~" You moaned and then looked up to see Doumas sadistic smile. Douma makes a final thrust with a satisfied moan as he gets his cock inside you.

"C-come on." You wiggle your hips and place each of your hands at the sides of Karaku's head. "How needy," Douma comments while thrusting his hips slow and gives your ass a spank. "Fuck~, she's clenching down on me harder when you spanked her." Karaku lets out a dry laugh, followed by a moan and thrust his hips upwards."You like that, dont you?" Karaku asked and spanks your thighs

"I-i d-aaah~ I doo~. Haa m-ore faster!" You slur your words, mixed with whines as you felt their thick cocks already hitting your spot. Douma bends down and gives your ear a light kiss. "Like this?" Douma whispered in your ear with soft grunts as his thrusting started to get faster. "Just like~" you let out a long whine and look at Karaku "you too, fuck me faster~ please" you begged.

"Already on it," Karaku grabs your hips, and his upwards thrusts sped increases. "Heh, I don't have to worry about my c-cock slipping out. Huh~" Karaku moaned while watching your tits bounce in his face "your pussy is clinging into us I don't think we can pull." He said lifts his head up slightly to catch your nipple in his mouth and sucking on it.

Your back arches and your legs begin to shake with your sensitive nipples being played with again to push you to another orgasm. "How dose it feel to be stuffed with two cock in your pretty pussy darling. Oh, I know you love it~ love it so much you want us both to fill you up, mm?" Douma's thrusts became harder, making your body jerk forward but he bends down to have his fingers rub at your clit.

"T-too much!~" You let out a loud gasp with tears rolling down your cheek as you began to let out high-pitched moans. "Too much? Aah~ but it feels so good, doesn't it darling? Think you'll squirt for us?" Douma whimpers softly in your ear, getting close but continues to fuck your pussy hard while over stimulating your clit.

"Fuck yeah you are" Karaku clenches his teeth as he watched his cock thrust inside your sloppy pussy. Your pussy felt so good, he wanted to cum so badly but his realse would only feel better once he sees you squirt. "You're gonna squirt on our cocks like the slut we are training you to be." Karaku said, digging his nails into your thighs and his brutal thrusts fucking you harder and harder.

They seemed to get off from your tears, your high-pitched moans, and how your body shakes when they over stimulate you. It became so much you couldn't even announce that you're cummimg. You could only hang open your mouth scream in pleasure as you released the clear white liquid Douma and Karaku have been demanding you to let out.

It didn't stop there. As you're squirting they continue to fuck you through your orgasm "what a mess your making on my stomach, and you're still going." Karaku moaned watching your liquid drip on his stomach. "A-and on my thighs, fuck~ y/n, y-y/n~" Douma moaned your name repeatedly until he, and Karaku cum inside of you.

It finally came to an end.

The two demon men ride out their orgasms until they stop for a moment. "Felt good?" Douma asked, and you nodded your head. You opened your eyes and calmed your heavy breathing down but then noticed that they're still inside you. "Guys?" You questioned only for Douma and Karaku to let out a dark chuckle.

"I'll feel sadness for the first time if it's over already," Karaku said as he caressed your cheek and then slipped his thumb in your mouth to play with your tongue. "We've only made you squirt once. We have to keep going until you can take it anymore, " Douma said and kissed your neck. "Let us fuck you to sleep since the sun will rise in an hour. Won't you let us?" Douma asked and bites your neck.

It wasn't over, but it wasn't a bad idea. You weakly grin, still wanting to be fucked dumb by these two until you sleep.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Hi. I don't know what this is. 2k of nonsense, mostly religious and Dew/Copia. Please take it and don't ask too many questions. We're sexualizing and spiritualizing Dew's transition and the trans experience in general. Or whatever. How many times can I rephrase the same basic idea is the real question.

@askingforthesun talking to you inspired me to finish it for better or for worse. Does this even make sense. I don't know.

There are fifteen votive candles burning in the chapel. Five on the left, five on the altar, five on the right. If he focuses he could tell exactly what temperature they burn at; from the base that gobbles up the soft cotton wick to the dancing and flickering tip. He could estimate what temperature the wax melted, what temperature the glass holders were. Anything to do with heat and flame, Dewdrop could pull from some unknown source and tell anyone who asked.

Nobody asks. 

And he can't tell if there's water in the baptismal font.

He has his new uniform on, a triangle stitched on the inside of his collar. He had done it himself and when the needle slipped, stabbing the soft flesh of his unprotected thumb, he let the blood well out and soak into the thread. It seemed like the right thing to do. Even after everything, he didn't think the fire completely took hold of him until that one private moment.

Everything he was, given up for everything he could become. It had worked. When the others asked, eager for details and gossip, he had lied and said he couldn't remember the process.  Only Delta had understood the trial of it all, a silent camaraderie shared with knowing looks and shared cigarettes. As much as he loves the others, they just…they weren't like him. They hadn't felt that strange, hallowed call coming from the very fibers of their being. Something must change, this is not right. He often wondered if Delta had an easier time of it— if his Quintessence soothed the anxiety in his blood of not being in the right form, or if it made things worse. Instinctively he knows it's not something he could ever ask. Dew might have taken himself down the path of elemental transition but the similarities ended there. The only footsteps here were his own.

“Dew?” Mist says softly, breaking him out of his reverie. “We'll be here when it's over.”

The same words spoken before the door to the ritual chamber shut behind him and his ordeal began. He'd given his pack a nod, straightened his spine and knocked. And when the doors shut behind him…

Change was never easy. 

But it had been worth it, in the end.

“I know.” He replies, looking over his shoulder at them. At everyone.  Zephyr and Mountain and Ifrit and Aether and Mist. Omega and Alpha. Delta, with his heavy, knowing gaze. The water ghoul holds his palm over his heart and gives the slightest of bows. There's a faint smile on his face when he comes and Dew…Dew smiles back. The worst is over and this is the blessing. The celebration and giving thanks to Lucifer. On the other side, Copia awaits to start this ritual and Dew straightens his spine, looks ahead and pushes the door open because he's already been accepted. There's no need to knock.

Fifteen candles and Copia at the altar. Tradition dictates that fire is welcomed best at the zenith of the sun's progress through the sky and the light that shines through the stained glass windows sends multicolored blocks of light kaleidoscoping across the floor of the chapel. The door closes silently behind Dew and Copia turns around. He's in his black robes and biretta, with a design of face paint Dew has never seen before and his heart stutters. This is not the Cardinal. This is his very first glimpse at the Papa Copia will someday become.

Copia holds his gloved hand out with a soft smile and Dew begins his slow walk down the aisle. Goosebumps break out in a ripple on his skin though the air is pleasantly warm, not stuffy in the slightest. The fire calls to him as he passes, welcoming him like it welcomes all kindling but he knows it will not devour him. It has accepted him as an extension of the flame. Copia's white eye burns far hotter than any flame as Dew crosses the final distance between them and takes his hand. 

“My ghoul.” Copia starts. No nervousness to him, no anxiety and if Dew was capable of anything other than awe, he would laugh. This is the Copia that welcomes initiated Siblings into the fold, brings them into the flock with love and care. How many Sisters have swooned under these exact circumstances? “I welcome who you have chosen to become.”

He wonders if the words are scripted but does not dwell over them much. Besides, now Copia's giving him a sly little wink and murmuring, “Let's get this show on the road, eh?” and that's the Cardinal he's familiar with. Dew nods in silent resolution. With a sweeping gesture, Copia beckons towards the black idol of Baphomet just beyond the altar; shaggy and goatheaded, male and female. Baphomet is large, both the statue and in stature but his lord does not frighten Dewdrop. In the carven eyes, he sees the flicker of candlelight and then, something more than just candlelight. The stone itself seems to take on new life the longer Dew looks and as Copia bows to the idol, Dew breathes in and catches the faintest scent of sweet hay and fresh goat milk. Though Copia addresses Baphomet as the Unholy Father in his opening speech, the idol's face is as kind as a mother looking at her newborn for the first time.

Both and neither. Dew could fall to his knees at the love he feels emanating from the god. You have chosen and shaped yourself. Baphomet whispers into his mind. To do so is to truly follow in my footsteps.

“Thank you.” Dew breathes. Copia pays no notice. His job is direct and contain the energy of Lucifer in all three of his forms as Dew asks for the blessing going forward; Unholy Father, Fallen Son, and the Unknown Spirit. Each an aspect of their Lord and each equally important in their faith. With the three of them invoked, their presence filling the little chapel, a second is needed in the Ritual to channel their images. One alone ran the risk of losing themselves in the power. 

Dew trusts Copia. He'd known the little man since his summoning; then, a nervous little bishop always in the background. Scurrying around with his folios and paperwork, always sitting in the back pew and praying long after Mass had ended. And his prayers were answered, as the machinations of the Clergy elevated him to the lead of the Ghost Project shortly after he became Cardinal. Not to discredit Copia's own hard work. Dew thinks the only ones he might trust to act as conduit are the previous Papa's and he only said yes to Copia because he'd been the first to ask.

“And now, we begin.” Copia states. To their left awaits the shrine to the Unknown Spirit. Dew follows close behind Copia as they proceed, searching in the shadows for something that shows Lucifer has heard his prayers. To depict the Unknown Spirit goes against the very nature of its being. It is the presence felt at the crossroads, it is the creak of the gallows and the sound of the fiddle. It is the space between stars and the darkness of the tomb and it is the red light from the stained glass reflecting off Copia's glove.  It will grant any request if the asker can pay the price of its favor. 

And Dew has paid.

His action here is nothing more than lighting the sixth candle sitting cold and unlit on the altar. Action itself, is highly valued by the Spirit. The first step down the long, dark, and twisting road. He calls the fire and it dances into being for him, a tug in his heart similar to one he felt upon making the choice to transition. 

The shadows stir and for the briefest of moments, Dew sees a figure; clothed in black, a wide brimmed hat hiding eyes that burn like coal. The hat is tipped, a nod given. An understanding has been made.  Nothing else is required here.

Across the nave, to the shrine to the Fallen Son of Heaven. Here, a statue is more appropriate– to show the lovely features of Heaven’s brightest twisting in righteous anger, his wings burning and halo disintegrating.

As Copia stands beseeching, Dew thinks about gratitude. He thinks about what would make a beloved son of heaven wrest power from an unfair god that didn't deserve his child's devotion. What stirred the first thought of rebellion in a perfect machine made only for worship?  He thinks it might be odd to be grateful to his Lord for something he did entirely on his own. It was his own strength of mind that brought him through the ordeal of the change, his own desire to see the process through. How much did Lucifer really have to do with it, to the point where He needed thanks like the god He rebelled against?

We made our choice, you and I. The statue whispers to him. We fought to be what we are now. Feel the body you now wear. The fire has always loved you too much to let you burn away.

Lucifer, Morningstar. A streak of light across the darkness outside of heaven’s eternal purity. Burning as he fell, the blaze cloaking him, shielding him. Becoming his home once his descent was complete and there were eons between earth and heaven. Dew sees the wall of fire from his ritual, how walking through it took all his strength as it enveloped him, tested him, scorched away anything that might keep him from his destination. Any doubts he had, any worries lingering, all were taken by the flame. The water of his essence,  steaming out of him, dripping and hissing on the hot tiles below his feet. The flame loved him. He would not burn. 

The warmth comes back to him now as he stares at the depiction of Lucifer. Most beautiful among God’s angels. Beauty to inspire a host of angels to break away and fight, beauty that would never be passive and subservient. Fire was aligned with lust and passion for a reason and the eyes of the statue seem to burn with both the longer Dew looks. A hush seemed to fall about the chapel as Dew steps forward, past the praying figure of Copia. He knew, he just knew if he reached out and touched it, the marble would be warm like flesh and there would be firm muscle underneath. 

No longer angry, Lucifer regards him with the sort of intensity that made Dew weak in the knees. But he stood. He stood and reached out towards his Lord and the hand reached back and the statue was alive, it wanted him, it longed for him to come close enough to snatch away and feast upon, for them to burn together in each other's flames and Dew opened his mouth, called to the fire like a lover, poised on his tiptoes ready to be taken and-

The sixth candle on the altar flares to life, jumping so high it licks his skin and the moment is gone. Lucifer, mere marble again. But the weight in his gaze remains, made more demanding by the denial of Dew’s touch. 

He's not surprised to realize he's aroused. An aching thrum of sheer want coursed through his body and came to rest between his legs, where his cock was starting to swell up. There is no judgment and nothing is forbidden here, in this blessing. What he feels, he is to act on, and there's not an ounce of shame as Dew's hand almost absently goes to soothe his cock with a press of his palms against it. Was it a trick of the light, or was Lucifer gazing fondly at him? 

Take what you want and feed me your desire.

His legs wobble. Dew spreads his stance, as if that will help but it only serves to pull the fabric of his pants tighter against his cock. He's warm all over, hyper aware of his own body, skin prickling as the statue devours him by looks alone. A pearl of pre well up at the top and melts into fabric. His shirt rasps over his chest as he breathes, just rough enough to brush over his nipples. The buttons, once a comforting tightness, now hug his waist, turn it waspishly thin and highlight how wrong it feels to not have hands there, nothing guiding him, grabbing him, doing whatever they wanted with him. 

He moans and immediately covers his mouth in embarrassment. Copia doesn't react. Too absorbed in the ritual, his voice a comforting drone in the background. It's second nature to reach for him, a source of stability in the faith as Dew treads new ground. His robe is soft in Dew’s hand and he feels only a tiny bit of guilt when he realizes how sweaty he is. 

Give it to me. The statue hisses and Dew damn near doubles over, clutching onto Copia like a lifeline as his cock surges, jumps and weeps pre. A swoop of arousal hits him so hard it brings tears to his eyes and it's with one shaking hand that Dew undoes his pants and falls to his knees, burying his face in Copia's robes as he cries out, frantically tugging at himself because if he doesn't cum now he thinks he might die, he really will. A hand, heavy and gloved comes to rest on his head, scratching just right between his horns and Dew sobs. He can't stop. He's so close, so fast and Copia is touching the sensitive skin right by the base of his horns-

His core flares, the flames jump higher and he cums faster and harder than he ever has in his entire existence. Thankfully with the presence of mind to catch most of it in his hand. Lucifer might forgive him for staining the red velvet of the kneeler, but he's not keen on a repeat of the ordeal when he inevitably is the one to scrub them out afterwards. 

Now he collapses. Ash crumbling away, but Copia catches him. Breaks his prayers to murmurs words of comfort to Dew as he easily cradles him, lifts him up. Dew brings his soiled hand to his mouth and cleans himself with his tongue as Copia brings him to the center. Lays him on the black marble of the altar, under the gaze of Baphomet. 

You have endured much. Baphomet says. A trial of your own doing. 

And he would do it again and again and again if it meant feeling the presence of his Lord so close.

Oh, little one. Baphomet says warmly, so full of love Dew could cry. I am always with you. Fire was yours to call home from the start.

The dark waters of his home in Hell. Far below the churning surfaces, to vents spewing black and white plumes. Hiding Dew from predators, keeping him warm. The memory of scrabbling at the sharp black stones, trying to pry them apart to make the cracks bigger, to one day wriggle inside and be engulfed in the heat. 

I am not all powerful. Baphomet says thoughtfully. Nor do I control every aspect of my realm. One is always encouraged to test the limits, push past boundaries. Discover what breaks them and what makes them whole. There is no sin in self discovery.

If Dew wasn't hanging on to every word the figure spoke, he would notice Copia’s silence. The way his eye took on a new light and the shift in his whole being.

And I applaud you for this journey, little one. Baphomet tells him. Be proud, for what you have done is worthy of pride. Change does not exist in heaven. An eternity of stagnation is a horrible thing.

Hands tenderly cup Dew’s face. Warm lips press against his, human and trembling with a want that has been there for so long, Dew doesn't know how he didn't see it earlier.  But the fire has burned away what blocked his vision. His arms come up to hold Copia; his Papa. Hard against him as Dew is dragged to the edge of the altar, ripe Communion for a Black Mass. He tastes paint and wine and blood as his fangs cut Copia's lip in their kiss. 

Do as all flames do. Baphomet speaks for the final time. Consume.

Dew opens his mouth and holds Copia tight.

The sixth and final candle lights as they move against each other; the ritual now complete.

[ashtarels-archives]

The Mysteries of Elunite Ore

- Headcanon Speculations -

Elunite Ore, a rare mineral considered blessed by Elune Herself, is one often sought after; and yet shrouded in mystery. As many priests, priestesses, templars, and other devotees of the Goddess may strive to incorporate Elunite into their armaments and regalia, the quest for obtaining and fashioning this material is one that has spanned many lands and generations. This is a compendium on the nature of Elunite from various geologists, theorists, and researchers across Azeroth.

Earthly Origins

The origin of Elunite’s terrestrial formation is not entirely understood by Sisterhood scholars, nor by lithic experts of the world. One of the oldest proposed ideas is rooted in the ancient legend of Elune and the Well of Eternity: that she once dwelled in its depths during the day, and rose into the sky as the moon each night. Due to her strong former connection to this font of arcane power, it is surmised that Elunite may actually be crystallized remnants of the great well; whose leyline rivers once nourished the planet. One theorist believes that because all modern moonwells contain traces of the Well of Eternity, and are damaging to demons and scourgeblight, this could explain the similar holy properties of Elunite. However, others claim that it finds its beginnings as a simple, mundane ore embedded within the earth, which is eventually augmented with Elune’s blessings once it is exposed to the surface and directly shone upon by moonlight. More mythical sentiments say that any ore can become Elunite if the goddess wills it, and that finding it is an extremely rare and divine auspice. It is believed that processed Elunite is a multi-faceted metal whose properties can change depending on imbuement from various moon phases and other major lunar events, such as eclipses. While some think it is ever-shifting, varied accounts of miners and blacksmiths with the remarkable ability to shape Elunite describe that its qualities are determined by the state of the moon on the exact night that the ore is extracted from the earth. Either way, this is a succinct list of their observations:

Full Moon Properties: Bolsters the wearer/wielder’s healing capabilities, and is often inlaid into staves and suturing needles. Full Moon Elunite is also highly damaging to demons and the undead; therefore anyone on a demonic or undead purgation mission may seek out a weapon of this influence to aid in expunging corruption. 

Waxing Moon Properties: Becomes a material which houses additional mana, that can then be tapped into for a small increase in magical reserves until recharged beneath the next waxing moon. Those who carry moonwater or the liquid fire of Elune may opt for this particular metal to house these sacred substances.

Quarter Moon Properties: Contains a natural abjurative energy which is typically used in the creation of Elunite shields, talismans, librams, wards, and armor for those who exercise a more defensive combat style, or wish to protect themselves magically against unholy forces.

Waning Moon Properties: Often the choice for Elunite accessories and other ephemera, which are usually crafted with the eventual intent of Elunarian sacrifice. When an item of waning moon Elunite is offered up, its physical form is completely consumed in exchange for a singular blessing, protection, or spell. Lunar liturgical glyphs or words of power are typically engraved on these accessories with particular spellwork in mind, although a priest/priestess may sacrifice a blank slate piece and incant one spell of choice with a greater potency.

New Moon Properties: It is said that New Moon Elunite is magically similar to the blessing of shadowmeld, allowing for easier camouflage into surrounding environments and quieter movements. Those who wish to make use of the protection offered by chainlinks or armor plates, while still retaining obscurity, may seek to have their regalia crafted with this semi-noise-dampening material. This offshoot of Elunite is additionally often sought after for the creation of arrowheads, shurikens, and other projectiles; as its magick may be utilized for brief invisibility before it dissipates and its physical counterparts reappear.

Solar Eclipse: Solar-eclipsed Elunite is often chosen in the creation of rings (such as archery thumb-rings) that are usually beset with moonstones and other blessed gems, whose imbuements can strengthen one's physical or magickal attacks.

Lunar Eclipse: Lunar-eclipsed Elunite is typically the choice material for divination tools: such as pendulums, scrying mirrors, and spirit-speaking quills. Some also craft ritual daggers with this material for the purpose of collecting flesh to be offered in Elunarian flame sacrifices.

Artisanal Knowledge

Another unknown characteristic of Elunite is how an artisan attains the ability to gather and shape the ore. It seems that precious few across Azeroth have this exceptional privilege, the two most prominent having once resided in the boughs of Darnassus. Elanaria and Mathiel have not been seen since the Burning of Teldrassil, but much can be gleaned from the stories of those who once worked with them. Many miners and blacksmiths are incapable of grasping the techniques surrounding Elunite, which poses some intriguing theories. The simplest is that the secrets of this ore are strongly protected, and seldom taught to others. Another that some have posited, is that the way to gain the privilege of crafting with this mineral requires proving oneself by performing an act of protection or preservation in defense of the goddess’s domain. She then assumedly rewards this deed with the artisanal knowledge of Elunite, or it then becomes malleable to that specific person. Elanaria supposedly tasked her trade partners and trainees with sacred missions such as slaying satyrs actively corrupting moonwells, and ending the suffering of oathbound shades. The late, self-cursed Captain Elura was said to wear a precious medallion, though we do not know if it was of Elunite make. Some theorize it was simply requested as a physical token of proof for the task; while others believe it was Elunite indeed, which is why Elanaria wanted it retrieved. If the medallion was shaped of this hallowed ore, the fact that Elura still wore it even in death may speak to its deep reverence, a spiritual binding property, or a partial immateriality.

Because of its sanctity, and the profound cultural respect for it among Kaldorei, crafting with Elunite may be more common among the Sisterhood of Elune; but still heavily guarded from the rest of the world. It could be that there is a sect of the Sisterhood devoted to sacred artisanry such as this; or, the Sisterhood may commission lay craftsmen who possess the means to Elunite. This material is also said to be utilized in profession tools such as sewing needles for mooncloth tailoring, quill nibs for lunar inscription, and rune rods for Elunarian enchanting. Hippogryph riders of the Sentinel Army, as well as individual riders, may commission blessed Elunite hoofshoes for fortified hind leg attacks, periods of extended wear on the back legs, when the creatures grow old, or are unable to fly; as some claim that they ease pain. Additionally, some equip saber, owl, and chimera companions with Elunite armor, claw/talon caps, and adornments just as they would wear regalia themselves.

In regards to metalworking with Elunite, some theorize that cold working (shaping metal at or below room temperature) may be the superior method as opposed to the extreme heats used with common minerals. Byproducts of Elunite smithing, such as the coal that is left behind from this process, may be used within braziers. It is said that Elunite coals, and the flames that burn from them, are resistant to water quenching; and as such are often used in settlements or outposts with heavy rain and snowfall. The most prevalent theory as to how these fires continue to burn posits that the coals themselves must be open to the skies, as the flames are “kindled,” so to speak, by the energies of the moon each night. Members of the Sisterhood are said to carefully wrap and gift Elunite coals to patrons on various holidays for people to place within the hearths of their home as tokens of spiritual protection and good will. Communal events organized by the order additionally use Elunite coals in cooking fires as an added method of blessing food stores; which some claim temporarily defends against illness, strengthens the body, and fortifies the spirit.

As of today, it is unclear whether or not Elunite can be alloyed. It could be that those who are able to work with the ore simply refuse to do so for fear of dampening its sacred properties; or, its inherent magick may be rendered useless or significantly weaker when alloyed with other common metals. In matters of corrosion, Elunite proves particularly mysterious. It would stand to reason that the goddess’s ties to water might strengthen the ore against rusting and deteriorating over time; although, there have not been any ancient Elunite artifacts recovered as of yet, perhaps implying that the material cannot withstand the elemental ravages of the eons. One possible argument against this is that because the ore is tremendously sacred, there may be ways to reshape or reuse the material; and that is why no timelost Elunite relics have been recovered.

Lore and Legend

Ancient, yet unsupported stories, say that Luminarian was one of the first to uncover the mysteries of Elunite; his name supposedly a pseudonym of sorts to commemorate his luminary works, and the ability to shape this luminous ore. While Elunite was fabled to be the reason for his rise to prominence, many speculate that he eventually abandoned the craft in favor of arcane creations; hence his lasting fame as a magesmith, and as the creator of mythical weapons like Felo’melorn and the Prismatic Blades. It is also rumored that the legendary Ta’Kierthan Songblades may have been forged of Elunite, considering they were crafted by a renowned Kaldorei priest: many of whom employ music and singing in their devotions and spellwork. The art of bardic weaponry seems to be an elusive one, perhaps completely lost to the ages, but nonetheless a technique that Elunarian scholars still seek in the ruins scattered across the lands of Azeroth. Those who traveled through the Dark Portal nearly forty years ago, as well as Draenei refugees, have noted a striking similarity between Elunite and some regalia found on Draenor, as well as others bequeathed directly by the naaru. No one is certain where these pieces are originally from: some claim that they once belonged to adventurers and were merely traded through many hands, while others are convinced that Elune and her blessed ore could have connections to the naaru, and that the ore may be on other planets throughout the cosmos. Elunite-imbued leggings were also recovered from the forest troll stronghold of Zul’aman; though how they got there is anyone’s guess. A commonality between all of these items is an increased critical strike chance, as well as greater potency for both damage and healing via magical spells. Two of the three also provide a passive mana restoration over time (much like moonwells), perhaps owing to the nature of Elunite’s inherent power.

[emelinstriker]

You say third brand, I’m not sure if it was mentioned before or if it’s a spoiler (I’m going through the blog and only saw it being mentioned once and only seeing the chest design)…. What exactly is the branding in the Esau? How badly does it hurt them? :(

Answer:

I was waiting for someone to ask about their brands fhfgnhfg-

It's not much of a spoiler, it's more of an identification thing. And no worries, it doesn't hurt anymore. But it did hurt a lot when they got those. They did get marked with eternal branding iron, after all. :D

Basically, the biggest and first brandmark on their backs stands for "Servant". I guess also technically slave for some, but being a servant would be the generally nicer term. Quite a few have this mark within the palace, so it's not uncommon.

The medium and second brandmark is on their chests and stands for their titles as their Master's "Champion"s. The champion title is like the VIP rank of servants, which does include more direct responsibilities, such as being a bodyguard, personal servant and all that. In return, Champions do get so much more attention and recognition though. They also got more perms and can be put in charge of soldiers like generals. Only a handful of the Master's most trusted have this mark.

*And lastly, the third brandmark is a lot smaller and is basically only available to those who are worthy of being in the Master's chambers. It stands for "Toy". I'm not gonna go into details cuz the position of that one is already telling of how NSFW that shit can become. But there's only very few selected ones with the third mark. This mark specifically is usually treated like a sacred symbol however, so the boys don't like showing it to anyone except their beloved Master.

(*Update from 12/3/23: Due to the recent drama that happened, the third mark is now no longer being considered part of the canon as of today. People can still go the NSFW route with characters regardless. Nothing is being affected by this change other than the characters' designs.)

It's not required to always show either of the marks, but they do come with benefits within the palace. Wukong actually tends to prefer showing his champion mark for the respect he gets; Macaque on the other hand doesn't deem it necessary as he doesn't need the crowd's approval if his Master loves him.

Fun fact: There was actually the idea of having the Reader trail their fingers along at least Wukong's brandmark during the Obedience one-shot, but then decided against it cuz I wanted to let that happen another time. So instead he just got headpets like a good boi.

But generally speaking, literally anyone with the champion marks are very much obsessed with their Master and they love it when their Master places attention onto those marks. c:

Another fun fact: Each symbol is actually a letter from my self-made alphabet font/language I use in basically everything for years. Like, especially now with those mysterious members from the group pulling on the strings... Ehe~

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (4)

You stand at the precipice of Liyue. The land of Geo. The resting place of a corpse-god, the dragon Rex Lapis, and the home of Archon Zhongli.

Though some part of you hopes that they'll be less hostile, you can't help but feel that Liyue will simply be more of the same.

More suffering. More death.

But now you have a gift. A way to protect yourself. The symbol of one of your loyal creations, and a font of power from which to draw destructive energy. You are not alone. And you will not fall so easily.

You step through a boundary, a line between the nations, and the world changes. Suddenly, the sky does not feel so vast. The air feels thinner, and the ground beneath your feet feels... denser. More present. As though the soil and stone of Mondstadt was gravel.

You take a few moments to breathe, to aquaint yourself with lungs that go unaided by Anemo, and begin walking.

Somewhere in the distance lies the Stone Gate. You decide to avoid it and the people of Liyue as best you can.

You decide to experiment with the abilities you now have so you can defend yourself if need be.

First, you should probably learn to sense them, starting at the symbol upon your wrist.

After a minute of concentration, you feel the faintest twitch of static in your veins. The subtle hum of energy that now calls you home.

You move the energy sluggishly, slowly convincing it to travel along your veins, and it proceeds to gain speed.

By the end of your first hour of 'training', there is a storm in your chest, your heart pounding thunder down your ribs, your blood singing with voltaic power.

It feels good.

You are unaware that special organs are rapidly growing in your dermis and flesh to allow you to conduct electrical energy safely.

You are unaware of the way billions of neurons are rearranging themselves to make your use of this power instinctive.

You are unaware of the way your entire nervous system is editing itself, allowing you to pump your body full of electro energy without a cost to your health.

You are unaware that you could now shrug off chewing on a power plant generator's active primary circuit or that you would register lightning as nothing more than a mild annoyance.

What you are aware of is the ball of lightning hovering over your hand. You grin, victorious.

(Electro watches from their throne at the peak of existence, smug smile on their face.)

Your doppelgänger howls in agony as they carve a spiral into the space between their shoulderblades with a blade that oozes molten gold.

They cannot allow themselves to be discovered as a false God. To be revealed now would be a waste of all their work.

To lose the luxuries they rightfully deserve is so horrible a fate that they'd rather maim themselves to keep up the illusion.

Soon, their acolytes will arrive.

They command that their 'imposter' shall be killed on sight.

Five Archons obey.

(They do not notice the way their Gnosis begin to dim.)

You spend two weeks slowly navigating the terrain of Liyue and exploring your new abilities.

You've learned to weave the energy into your limbs to vastly speed them up. You've learned to push that energy into your nails and teeth, turning them into vicious claws and fangs.

You've learned to push the energy into your brain to increase your reaction time and slow the world around you to a crawl.

Days of travel are collapsed into mere hours as you become a purple-streaked blur that rushes across the terrain fast enough to run up cliff faces and across water.

...you've also had countless bloody noses and scraped limbs, gotten enough dirt in your mouth to fill a flowerpot, choked on a multitude of flying bugs, and nearly drowned trying to water-walk.

Fruit and vegetables are bountiful, but you can't quite shake the urge to find some new small creature and bite down into it and fill your mouth with delicious red-

No. You are better than your urges. You are a person, not an animal, no matter how tempting the idea is.

Unfortunately this peace does not last.

You run across a small patrol of Millelith members, each bearing a weapon of some sort.

"Fuck," you hiss, ducking into the treeline to hopefully avoid being found. It's too late.

One of them cries out in alarm, and the entire group is instantly alerted to your presence.

You learn from the orders their leader is barking that you are now to be slain on sight.

Spears are leveled in your direction, arrows are nocked and readied, clubs and greatswords rise.

You easily avoid the arrows, your body humming with electro energy, and the first to swing their blade at you is met with a spear of lightning through the brain, their body writhing violently at the end.

You dispel the spear and dodge a mace, giving the woman bearing it a blast of electrical energy straight to the face, turning her head to ash and instantly killing her.

An arrow slices your side as you toss the headless body away from you, and the wound immediately begins to sizzle as it mends in a golden scar.

You reach into the head of the archer from a distance and send a jolt of power into his brain, flash-frying nerves and swiftly ending his life.

You don't remember ever being as clumsy and slow as they are before you had Electro. Are humans this pathetic, or are the Millelith just awful?

Five more stand in your way.

You gather the charge within your gift and send it out as a bolt of raw electro energy.

The leader is hit, but does not die. They are instead surrounded by a potent magnetic field. The metal of their armor and the metal of their squadmates attract to each other, and they're slammed together.

The five of them struggle to part themselves, pathetically squirming in place. You put them out of their misery to save them the embarrassment.

As soon as that's done, the gravity of your actions hits you. You just killed eight people.

You're horrified - but they were going to kill you first, weren't they?

Should you feel horrified for defending yourself from people who wanted you dead?

...should you feel anything for these people? Some part of you still desperately clings to the idea that this is all some fucked-up dream or a game.

It ceases to matter when elemental energy erupts right in front of you, and Kequing lunges out of a teleport to cleanly slice off your head.

As your vision begins to blacken, and the world drifts away, you watch your headless body stagger backward a few steps and then drop.

"Maybe next time," you mutter without sound, as the darkness swallows you.

Deep purple blood oozes from the stump of your neck as every trace of your corpse disintegrates.

("I will put you back together, my maker," whispers the Abyss. "I will always put you back together.")

((Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead

[o-sunny-day]

THE FONT FAMILY????

HEHUFHUDHUEHHE I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH FIRST OF ALL, WAS A GREAT EXCUSE TO PRACTICE CHARACTER DESIGN,

(give me more fonts to make PLEASE)

SECOND OF ALL (massive rant)

Personally, I like the idea of S n P just living in Deltsrune, maybee Grandpa Semi still existing but probably not living with them, parents not really mattering, then oh no Deltarune things happen, and now they’re in Undertale.

see, thats the PLAUSIBLE VERSION

This is the version where I crash through the window and ruin everything for the sake of the funny

what if… they have a HUGE ass family but they all live in New Home, and never talk to them.

BUT after the pacifist ending, with all of them on the surface, Undyne n Toriel n the gang sees them and is like “AYO!!! I HAD NO IDEA YOU GUYS HAD MORE FAMILY- WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER TELL US???

and its just this… secret family drama that no one has, or will talk about. just “you know what you did.”

Like Papyrus is the most forgiving dude on the planet and Sans is the most chill guy in the world, but they just H A T E these guys 😭😭😭

enough about the skeletons we know and love tho, WHAT ABOUT THESE SILLY FELLAS THAT I WILL ABSOLUTELY MAKE MORE OF BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH EUPHORIA THIS GIVES ME-

Impact: Oldest cousin, older than sans, tries not to talk too loud but slips up sometimes, so goes inbetween Upper and Lower case. Bodybuilder, helps out his dad at their family restaurant

Kefa: Middle cousin, older than Papyrus, very chill but still pretty spontaneous. Her font is Kefa but shes REALLY into graffiti fonts and general alternative stuff. Does a lot of the art for her families restaurant

Courier: classic disapproving father in-law, but works as a busboy at his son in-laws restaurant. talks in lowercase permanently. thinks changing fonts is dumb and unnecessary. does not approve of his granddaughters love of “graffiti” but still loves her

Roman: complete opposite of her father, speaks in uppercase, very enthusiastically helps out at her husband’s restaurant by way of taking care of all the plants cause its a plant themed restaurant. Would get along with Toriel, she loves snails

Savoye: incredibly passionate and only chef at his very famous restaurant in New Home. Loves his kids to bits, all that jazz

They all hate Sans and Papyrus as much as they hate them

O yeah did you know Papyrus was going to be called Roman/Times New Roman?? we dont… we dont talk about his beta design.

[entropy-game-dev]

Phylogenesia Automatorum is out!! A roguelite / incremental / life simulation hybrid

Download it here!

Over the past couple of weeks I've been working on my entry for the New Years Incremental Game Jam 2024, and I finally submitted it late last night.

It's a silly little game where you tend to your garden of digital plants, hoping to generate enough Life and Death points when they spawn/die respectively, in order to buy more plants, mutate their characteristics, and expand the field in which they live.

Mutations and field properties will directly (and indirectly) change the plants' behavior on both a local and global level, with some very interesting and unexpected results. Numbers going up isn't always better either too, as, if you upgrade their stats too much, you might make a superplant that chokes the life out of the rest of your simulation and other plants!!

(Oh, and my friend did the music for this game, and it's awesome - each plant as their own instrument/track and they layer on top of each other as you buy more!)

It's a roguelite in the sense that each run you will be choosing between random upgrades, plants, and field tiles with various effects between simulation runs in order to try and maximize your point gains and stay ahead of the reset cost. It's not totally balanced (as it was whipped up in 2 weeks), but with a bit of knowledge and juuuust a hint of luck, you can make almost any run pop off! The goal is to buy all 10 plants and have them all produce points within a single run (representing a diverse garden or something, rather than a monocrop).

As I mentioned previously, it's based heavily on Conway's Game of Life, as I am a huge sucker for incrementals with hypnotizing visuals that change and evolve as you interact with the various systems at play. I took this idea, added a bunch of plants that are variations on the standard ruleset, and went from there.

You might also notice that I used some assets from Stellar Terminus, namely, the 3 sound effects, fonts, color palette, and, retro computer theming. I swear I can do other styles, just, er, not in 2 weeks when I already had quite an ambitious idea!

Over the coming days I'll post some more about the development of it, how I implemented certain systems, and a post mortem. You can probably imagine how datastructures-heavy this game was. In the end I had 1 object that ran the entire simulation, 1 that displayed the breakdown of how each plant was doing, and like 20+ objects for UI...

For now though? I'd love for you to try it out, play a few runs, and hear your thoughts on it!!

[fortunatelygloriousruins]

Whispers in a Liminal Font

In the quiet pause between moments, where the familiar fades and the unknown looms, lies the essence of liminal spaces—a definition filled with promise, yet laden with unease. A hallway, an airport terminal, a bridge—these spaces whisper of movement, of change, of a destination waiting just beyond sight. They embody the hope that one day, the discomfort will give way to a new rhythm. Yet for me, life has been a relentless carousel of transitions. Each time I step into what feels like a new beginning, it quickly morphs into yet another waiting room, another corridor extending into the dark. A move to a new city brought excitement, but ultimately, it became just another threshold, another place where I felt both lost and oddly familiar. I realized that while liminal spaces are often viewed as temporary, my existence has been marked by a ceaseless series of them—a relentless cycle that doesn’t allow me the comfort of belonging. The unease festers like a shadow, whispering doubts that echo louder than the sounds of possibility. In the quest for an anchor, I grasp at fleeting connections and evolving passions, only to watch them slip through my fingers like sand. I crave a return to firm ground, but the landscape of my life remains fluid, constantly shifting beneath my feet.

As celebrated in countless artistic representations, these spaces evoke a haunting tranquility, but often lack the warmth of genuine human connection, leaving an ache in their absence. In popular culture, liminal spaces evoke not just the idea of a transition, but an unsettling beauty—a strange stillness that speaks volumes without uttering a word. Films imbued with surrealism, such as those crafted by David Lynch, plunge viewers into these uncanny realms, where the absence of human presence heightens a disturbing sense of paranoia, leaving one captivated yet yearning for connection or even just safety of a warm presence, of familiarity. In the realm of the internet, ‘liminal space’ aesthetics flood social media feeds, portraying desolate hallways and empty playgrounds—spaces that exist in a vacuum, devoid of life yet brimming with emotion. While these imagined spaces entice with their aesthetic charm, they also amplify a solitude that reverberates somewhere deep in the bones. I find myself wandering through my own empty hallways, much like the desolate landscapes captured in art, where the allure of solitude clashes painfully with the yearning for human connection. In contrast to the glossy allure of these spaces in film and photography, my reality often feels like a silent scream—an echo without a voice to answer.

There is a strange magnetism to liminal spaces—those unsettling places that exist on the threshold, like deserted parking lots in the dead of night. They’re meant to be temporary, to be passed through quickly without thought or hesitation, yet they pull us in, inviting contemplation of the indefinable discomfort they evoke. The allure of liminal spaces has seeped into pop culture, into the eerie photographs and grainy videos shared on Reddit and TikTok, the empty rooms bathed in fluorescent light, abandoned swimming pools, and back alleys captured by dim, flickering street lamps. They draw us in with the haunting promise that, however unnerving, these spaces are transitory. A temporary pause in the steady march of existence. They specially piqued the interest of the generation-z around late 2019 when the pandemic led to everything shutting down around them. This happened for the first time in a while when everyone was forced to stay inside. The usually busy places were suddenly devoid of human activity. And calling those places "liminal" provided them a much needed comfort—that it's just a transient phase, that would eventually make way for a new normal, no matter how deeply disorienting it may feel in the moment.

For me, however, they are not a pause but a pattern. My time here has been a series of liminal spaces, one after another, an endless succession of thresholds that I can never quite cross. The feeling is visceral—like I’m standing on the edge of something unknown, waiting for a change that never arrives. I am caught in the perpetual dusk between who I was and who I could be, but never who I am. The unease, the disquiet that comes with transitions, has become a permanent resident in my bones. While others move through life as if through rooms—each with a door that closes behind and another that opens before them—I remain stranded in the hallway, never quite belonging anywhere.

The pop culture obsession with these places hints at a shared understanding: the strange comfort of knowing that the eeriness will end. People pause to admire the beauty in the emptiness, to find poetry in the in-between, but then they move on, not before shaking off the chill that runs down their spines. I can’t move on. My tragedy is that I have never been afforded the luxury of belonging. Each moment of my life feels like another entrywa a building with no exits.

It is no wonder that liminal spaces are almost always portrayed devoid of people. The absence is stark, a universal truth in every image—an abandoned gas station under a buzzing neon sign, a swimming pool drained and dry. In these spaces, human presence is always missing, and I’ve come to understand why: true belonging happens only when you have become a part of a story, not when you are standing at its threshold, unsure whether to step in or retreat. In life, you find comfort and purpose when you are woven into the fabric of something meaningful, something that feels whole. But I remain forever on the periphery, trapped in the space between stories.

I think about those images often, how the emptiness of these spaces mimics the solitude of my own experience. Those photos and videos, scrolling endlessly on social media feeds, depict places where people were once present but have since moved on. They have left their mark, their fleeting footprints, and then disappeared, perhaps to find themselves fully within the next moment, the next chapter. They were participants in a story, however brief, and then they exited. But I am the one left behind, the one who does not belong either inside or outside. For them, it is a journey; for me, it is a destination I never intended to arrive at, a destination where nobody ever arrives nor stays.

Maybe that’s why I feel most at home in those photographs of empty spaces—because they are the only places that mirror my own reality. A reality where I have never fully crossed the threshold into a narrative that feels like my own. To be present in a story, to be part of something greater than oneself, is to know where you stand, to know that you are not simply a shadow lingering at the doorway. But I do not stand; I hover. I am not an actor on the stage, but a ghost in the wings, forever waiting for my cue, which never comes.

To truly belong is to be written into the story, to feel the weight and the warmth of other people’s lives pressing up against your own, merging, creating something that feels substantial, that feels real. Instead, I exist in the gaps between those moments, the spaces where no one else lingers long enough to even see me. I find myself most drawn to these places because they reflect my own existence back to me, in all its stark, aching solitude.

And so, I remain here, wandering these empty spaces that stretch endlessly before me. I am the emptiness that haunts them. If these spaces are metaphors for transitions, then perhaps I am the exception that disproves the rule: the one who stays when all others move. A ghost in a world that doesn’t know how to see me.

There is no comfort in knowing that one day, this will end because even endings are a luxury not afforded to everyone. I remain as transient in the spaces between, where the walls breathe, and the lights flicker, endlessly.

The liminal- they exist in the uncanny hours, the moments of transition between what was and what will be. We are drawn to them, to the way they disorient, to the way they feel like the pause before something unspeakable. We linger in their eeriness, the empty hotel corridors that seem to breathe on their own, the swimming pools drained of water, standing like gaping mouths. But there’s comfort, we tell ourselves, because these spaces are not meant to last.

For others, perhaps, that comfort is true. But I know what it is to be trapped in these places. I feel the walls close in, the floors stretch beneath me like old, creaking wood. I am forever waiting, caught in the grip of some invisible force, a heavy hand pressed against my chest, keeping me from moving forward. Each step I take echoes against the hollow emptiness around me, but never reaches a destination. I am the figure in the photograph you can barely see, half-hidden, blurred at the edges like a ghost who can’t decide if it wants to be seen or remain in the dark.

I am haunted by the absence of people in these spaces, not because they never were, but because they left. They crossed the threshold, into rooms with warmth and noise, into stories that welcomed them and wrapped around their existence like familiar sheets. They found themselves inside; they became something more than just the sum of their loneliness. But I am the one who stays behind, the one who cannot cross. The perpetual guest, never the inhabitant. I drift from one room to the next, never lingering long enough to leave a mark, never staying long enough to be remembered. I am the visitor who never finds a seat, the traveller whose bags remain packed by the door. I see the way others sink into the spaces they claim, their bodies folding into the comfort of familiarity, their voices rising like music that fills the air. I watch from the sidelines, my presence like a breeze that stirs the curtains but never enters fully.

Every room I enter feels borrowed, as if I have stepped into someone else’s life and can only tiptoe through it, careful not to touch anything, not to disturb the fragile peace that belongs to others. I leave no footprints on the carpet, no fingerprints on the glass. I have learned to navigate quietly, to slip in and out without being noticed, like a shadow cast by something unseen. I feel the walls around me pulse with the life they contain, a heartbeat that is not my own, a rhythm I can never match.

It’s as if I am always knocking on the door but never crossing the threshold. I stand there, on the cold step outside, feeling the warmth of the inside brush against my face, but I never feel it fully on my skin. I am always outside looking in, peering through windows into rooms aglow with light that never reaches me. I am the outsider, forever on the fringe, watching life unfold from the other side of the glass, never invited in.

To be an inhabitant is to know the smell of the walls, the creak of the floorboards, the way light falls through the windows at different times of day. It is to feel the texture of the air change with the seasons, to hear the hum of the refrigerator at 3 a.m., to know which step on the staircase will always groan underfoot. It is to be known by a place and to know it in return, intimately, deeply, as if it has become a part of you and you, a part of it.

But I am not known by any place. I do not belong to any corner or crevice. I am the one who slips in under the cover of darkness, whose name is written in dust rather than ink. I am the one who drifts between spaces, feeling the way they reject me, spit me back out into the cold air of not belonging. I am forever the guest, moving through rooms that are not mine, beds I will not sleep in, and doors I will never close behind me.

I pass through, my presence barely a whisper, a breath against the skin of a life I can never truly touch. I am left hovering in the doorway, where the air is always colder, where the shadows grow long and the light is always just out of reach. I stand there, hands in my pockets, feeling the weight of the spaces I can never claim pressing down on me, a weight that grows heavier with each passing moment, each step I never take.

I am the perpetual guest, and the world is a house that will never be mine. I remain outside, my fingers grazing the doorframe, my feet never crossing the line between here and there. There is no place I can call my own, no room that knows my name, no door that opens for me willingly. I am forever in transit, forever searching for a space that will let me in, but always finding myself back at the beginning—a stranger to every threshold I meet.

And perhaps that is the cruellest truth of all: that I am destined to wander, never quite belonging, never quite seen, forever the guest in a world that moves on without me. A phantom at the edge of every story, a nameless figure passing through the pages, never finding a place to rest.

The images on social media show this over and over—the empty malls, the deserted offices with chairs left spinning, the playgrounds in twilight where no children ever played. These places resonate with me because they are my own; they speak of an existence where the story never begins. Where I hover like a breath just before it is exhaled, hanging in the air, suspended. They are empty because they do not know how to hold me, because I am not made to be held.

I’ve tried to step inside, to enter the frame fully, to feel the world with its weight, to feel alive in a way that doesn’t echo with hollowness. But every time, I find myself slipping back, back into the doorway, back into the corridor that stretches endlessly into the dark. I’ve never been part of the story, only its interruption. A whisper between chapters, an ink smudge on the page.

In these places, I see myself reflected back, a figure without form, a shadow that never becomes flesh. I am drawn to them because they are the only places that tell the truth. Here, in the endless twilight of empty hallways and cold rooms, is where I belong. Where I am what I have always been—a liminal being, caught forever in the act of becoming but never being—it is a curse I carry like a stone in my chest. I feel the weight of all the almosts and could-have-beens, their presence a reminder of every step I failed to take, every door I left unopened, every room I never dared to enter. There is a deep shame in this, a gnawing regret that chews at my insides, whispering of all the ways I’ve failed to step fully into my own skin. I have been caught in the web of my own making, tangled in threads of hesitation, paralyzed by the fear of what might be on the other side.

I think of all the times I have stood at the threshold, my hand hovering over the doorknob, feeling the heat of life radiating from the other side, yet unable to push through- I have waited for a sign, for some force to pull me forward, but it never came. I was too afraid to make the first move, to take that step and claim my place in the world. And so, I lingered, trapped in the twilight between where I was and where I could have been, suspended in a state of perpetual almost.

I feel the weight of the selves I could have been, versions of myself left behind, quietly slipping away. There's an unease in the comfort I’ve found in the unknown, in the shadows where I’ve lingered, waiting for things to change. I’ve spent so much time waiting, hoping for a shift, for a sign that would guide me toward a different path. Yet, there’s a deep awareness that these moments of hesitation have cost me something—a slow drift through time, a distance from the potential I once carried.

It’s like living on the edge of things, forever in the act of becoming, but never quite arriving. I’ve stretched myself in so many directions, tried on so many faces, yet none have felt like they truly belonged. Sometimes I feel like a ghost in my own life, passing through spaces that don’t quite fit, haunted by roles I’ve tried to inhabit but never truly embraced. I’ve held so many possibilities in my hands, yet none have fully taken root.

The passing years have carved out this space where a more certain self should have stood, leaving behind a quiet ache. The moments I didn’t seize, the chances I let slip away—they linger like whispers, reminding me of the lives I could have lived. There’s a sense that I’ve spent so much time in the doorway, waiting, never fully stepping inside, caught between worlds that never quite merge.

Yet, even in this state of suspension, there’s a quiet recognition that my hesitation wasn’t solely my own. There were forces, subtle yet powerful, shaping me long before I knew myself—expectations I never quite agreed to, destinies that felt like they belonged to someone else. The world taught me caution before it ever taught me courage, planting seeds of doubt that took root deep within. Perhaps I’ve spent more time in the pauses, the quiet spaces between breaths, because it was all I knew.

Still, I’m here, caught in the act of becoming. Not lost, but not yet found. There’s a soft reckoning in knowing that the paths I’ve walked may not have been chosen out of fear alone but also out of circumstance, out of the quiet shaping of a world that held me before I knew how to hold myself.

I wish I could say I was strong enough to break free, to pull myself from the web spun tight around me, but I am not sure I ever had that choice. I have moved through life like a leaf caught in a windstorm, tossed and turned by forces far greater than myself, unable to find a moment of stillness, a place where I could plant my feet and stand firm. I have felt myself pulled in a hundred directions at once, and in the chaos, I could not help but freeze, paralyzed by the impossibility of it all.

How could I have acted differently when the script was written long before I even set foot on the stage? When the path was laid out like a trap, a snare hidden beneath the fallen leaves? I was cast as the wanderer in the spaces between, and in that role, I felt myself shrinking, shrinking until I became almost nothing at all.

And yet, even as I drift, I feel the shame like a brand on my skin, knowing I could not have been any other way, that the world had left me with so few choices, and none of them my own. I wonder if fate is cruel, or if it is simply indifferent—if it laughs as it watches me stumble, or if it doesn’t care enough to even notice. I am left standing here, on the edge of what could have been, holding the fragments of a life that never fully came into being, the broken pieces of a self that never had a chance to be whole.

And so I am left with this aching contradiction: the guilt of my own inaction, and the knowledge that I was helpless to act. Caught in a web not of my making, a prisoner to a fate I never chose. A leaf in the wind, a ghost in the doorway, waiting for a storm to pass that may never end.

And so, I remain here, wandering these hollowed-out spaces that stretch on and on. I am the emptiness that fills them. I am the ghost that can never leave. They say these places are only temporary, that they will end, but I know better. I know that some of us never leave.

The door is always open, the light always flickering. I hear footsteps in the distance that never come closer. I feel the walls closing in like a shroud. And still, I wait, knowing that even an ending is too much to ask for.

Because even in endings, there is some kind of peace, and I have been denied even that. I am the silence that fills the gaps, the breath caught in a throat, forever suspended, forever waiting.

[lacefuneral]

hi reddit. here are some tips.

i will be putting these below a "readmore" - which is the first lesson. on desktop there is a button for this. on mobile you type :readmore: followed by a linebreak. it is considered common ettique to shorten your long posts in this way.

by the way, are you reblogging a long post that isn't under a readmore? tag that as #long post so users can blacklist it and not have to scroll for five years.

(weird gaps in bullet points due to character limits lmao)

Title. Icon. Banner. blog description. (look around if you need an idea for what to put in your blog description.) Blogs without this information (ESPECIALLY the no icon + no title combo) gets you blocked immediately. This is because tumblr has always had a severe bot problem. Just grab a meme from your camera roll or a picture of a character you like from google.

also, because most users have their pronouns in their bio, it is expected that you will look there to check before addressing them, out of courtesy. don't just default to "they" - only do that if a person's pronoun's are unclear or if the pronouns listed ARE "they."

Disable public likes. the like button is for personal bookmarking. very often, people will like posts they have not read yet, so that they can read them later. a person's likes is not always reflective of their stances, and if your likes are public, people may use them against you in an argument. think of your likes as your browser history. tumblr users value privacy in this instance.

unrelated to the above point: likes are also used to show compassion for a user going through a tough time, or to say "hey, i thought this joke you made was funny." this use of likes is more for friend-to-friend communication.

Disable anything in your settings that is algorithmic including seeing posts based on other people's likes (one, because algorithms exist to make you mad and two, as part of respecting privacy)

set "following" to appear before "for you" (and overall avoid "for you")

Snooze Tumblr Live (sorry. you have to do this once a week bc tumblr sucks.)

Open your askbox so people can communicate with you. Decide if you want to allow anonymous asks and/or public DMs.

Enable the desktop version of your blog. This makes it so that when you use a computer and go to [yourusername].tumblr.com you can have a website with HTML and CSS. tumblr has tried very hard to kill blog personalization but you can find many helpful users posting in the tags, as well as pre-made themes you can install. tumblr users are the ones making the bulk of neocities websites, and in general tend to be friendly in redirecting you to resources.

enabling your desktop blog also allows you to insert links and do very basic editing (like inserting line breaks) in your blog description (we call "bio") which translates to the mobile version of your theme. you have to do this in the editor for the desktop on a computer. also, editing your theme on mobile (like changing color, font) will undo your HTML. your best bet is to edit your mobile theme first and THEN do the HTML/link stuff on a computer. i know it sounds a bit convoluted but you'll figure it out. (this website is made of duct tape)

also while you are on desktop: download xkit rewritten. it won't work on mobile but it gives you a lot of helpful features. also consider installing ublock origin if you haven't already, because tumblr will sometimes add annoying widgets to their website and that tool will allow you to block them. i also use "palettes for tumblr" to customize my dashboard color. tumblr DOES have built-in dashboard themes but i do not like them personally.

pinned posts. you can pin any post you make or reblog. some people use this to pin a funny meme, and other people use the pinned post as an extended bio (or otherwise an alternative to it). a tumblr post made on desktop can hold up to 30 images (the limit is 10 on mobile.) you can also embed links, a video, and even audio. you can change text color, have bullet points, and increase font size. as such, you can express yourself much more in a pinned post than in your mobile blog description. a typical pinned post may include information about the user, a link to an external website (like a carrd, neocities, or linktree), and sometimes an image or two. tumblr allows you to disable reblogs for a post, so most pinned posts are set this way so it just stays on a user's blog.

DNIs (also called "BYF"). not everyone uses them, and they can be divisive. it stands for "Do Not Interact" - and is a boundary set to keep people away. this may include age (example: "minors DNI"), political opinions (example: "prolifers DNI"), and sometimes deeply niche online discourse. DNIs are also sometimes a joke (example: "DNI if you like tuna salad"). there is actually a meme where someone will write a post with a very long, unreasonable DNI and users will count how many apply to them.

If you would upvote a post on reddit, you would reblog it here. If you see something and you think it is cool, you think it is funny, or you think it is helpful, reblog it. Some users have sideblogs (you can have infinite sideblogs attached to your main account) to organize all of the posts they reblog. Others simply use a tagging system for organizational purposes (and so users can blacklist ("filter") those tags in their settings if they don't want to see the post). For example, if I followed a user for Star Trek, but they also posted a lot of Star Wars, I might add "#star wars" to my list of filters. This way, I am only seeing the Star Trek posts. Tumblr's default way of handling this is to display a box that says "this post contains #Star Wars" and you can choose whether or not to open it. on desktop with xkit rewritten, you can have it hide those boxes entirely. please use filters. your sanity will thank you.

In a reblog, Organizational Tags are for /you./ I see a lot of confusion about this from new users. If you reblog someone else's post and add 500 tags..... it's not going to get picked up in tumblr search. You're not going to get any sort of exposure. Because it is not your post. Those tags are only for /you/ - if you want to find the post again.

tags are also used for commentary. most tumblr users do /not/ talk in post replies or in the comments of a reblog. most of them talk in tags. tags have a character limit so these messages are broken up in fragments. tumblr uses a comma (,) to make a new tag, so users often use either no punctuation or a period (.) or a hyphen (-) to break up thoughts. two apostrophes ('') are used instead of quotation marks (because they dont work in tags). this is also where "tumblr writing style" comes from. we all began to write in lowercase and use punctuation in. a weird way. like. for emphasis. there is also the Tumblr Comma, a special unicode character that resembles a comma and works in tags when copy+pasted or put there with a keyboard shortcut. but this is often not used. here it is: ‚

also here's an example of tags. you will notice that commentary goes before organizational: #GOD DHSHSKDDJDL #i cannot BELIEVE i forgot about this. what the fuck #star trek #spock

when leaving tags, most users talk to themselves. but please remember that tags can be seen by anyone, including the original poster. in general, it is discouraged to traumadump or be rude.

"prev tags" (which tumblr staff is trying their damnest to erase sadly) is when a user reblogs a post from another user and tags it simply ''prev'' or ''prev tags" (meaning "i agree with the previous user's tags"). sometimes it's because a thoughtful observation was made, but usually it's a way of saying "hey! that was a funny joke!" without putting the user on blast by screenshotting the tags. it's most common between friends and mutuals (users following each other). i would say it is equivalent to users whispering to each other and giggling rather than getting up on a table and shouting. "prev tag chain" is when users reblog "prev tags" "prev prev tags" - and so on. however, sadly, tumblr has removed the feature of moving backwards in a reblog chain on desktop. i have not updated my app and refuse to, so i so not know if it is gone on mobile as well, but it probably is. EDIT: the browser extension Xkit Rewritten has an option now, in "tweaks" called "restore links to individual posts in post header." it should be the first option. prev tags, on desktop at least, is saved!

screenshotting someone elses tags and adding the image in a reblog is known as "passing peer review." it is, however, considered to be Greatly Annoying to accompany those tags with unnecessary commentary (ex: "these tags pass peer review!" "WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE THIS IN THE TAGS" "LMAAOO THIS IS SO FUNNYYY"). the tags can stand on their own. the only instance in which this is different is during a serious discussion, when you want to build off of another user's perspective. in which case, you address them as normal. some people credit taggers, some people don't. crediting tends to occur in discussions.

when making an original post, do not use irrelevant tags for Exposure. this is Greatly Hated by the userbase and is also against the TOS. you will get blocked at best, reported or yelled at at worst. only add relevant tags, and do not go overboard.

reposting other people's artwork is highly discouraged and is considered the Highest Offense. if you do any sort of reposting, you should credit and link to a creator directly. however, tumblr loves reposted videos, especially ones from tiktok. there are entire accounts dedicated to posting those.

sideblogs! it is possible to have multiple blogs under one email address. tumblr treats these blogs as proxies of your main blog. this means that sending someone an ask/commenting in the replies of a post will always appear with the name of your main blog, your likes will appear with the name of your main blog, and that if you follow someone you will appear on their followers list as your main blog (so you may be mutuals with someone and not even know it because their sideblog interacts with you, but isn't on your follower's list... because their main blog is listed there instead.) however, DMs DO appear as the sideblog name. you cannot swap your main blog with your sideblog. and right now, there is a bug where deleting a sideblog will delete your entire tumblr account so. don't do that lol. anyway, the amount of sideblogs you can make is literally infinite and i think there's just a Daily Limit of creating 10 of them or something. some users make a sideblog for each interest they have. others have no sideblogs and reblog everything to main. and then you have people like me that do both. somehow. some users will make sideblogs to hoard URLs. also sorry i'm just introducing this now, but that is what our usernames are called. because when tumblr was more desktop-oriented, every blog was literally a Personal Website. so ya. we call them "URLs." anyway, if someone wants to hang onto a URL for later, they might save it on an empty blog. this usually pisses people off. a "canon URL" is when someone has a URL that is like One Word or a Company Name or a Fictional character. hypothetical examples: "ketchup" "burgerking" "lukeskywalker." these are highly rare, coveted, and you look cool as hell if you have one.

tumblr's /\/SFW policy (/\/ is an N. i've censored it.) is best described as ???. posts that are safe for work get marked as /\/SFW and hardcore p0rn somehow persists. in general, be very wary of posting even artistic nvdity (even though it is supposedly permitted.) never deliberately mark your own posts as Mature. this is essentially like walking directly into a bear trap and waving a big sign at tumblr staff saying "hey! make it so people can't find my blog and i'm far more likely to get banned!" also do not tag posts with "/\/SFW." too many of those will get your entire blog marked as mature (which makes your posts pretty much invisible to other users.) tumblr users used /\/SFT (/\/ot safe for tumblr) for a long time, but staff caught on. there is now no consensus and people use their own personal tags for it. just pick something and people will catch on and blacklist it if need be. (btw you CAN type whatever you want on this website. i am only censoring in the hopes that this will allow my post to appear in the tags. this isn't tiktok lol)

while it is possible to disable reblogs on a post, this is a very RECENT addition and most users forget it exists. as such, please use common sense. if someone has written a post about, say, how sad they are feeling because they got in a fight with their family... that's not a good post to reblog. a like would be better here, like a pat on the back.

we LOVE polls. we love them. they are like sports to us. most of them are popularity polls - who is the better character? but people also use polls for, say, making bug emojis "race" each other. or "lets build a cake." other people use polls to write poetry, or learn about regional differences, or even to draw a pen!s. if you tag a poll as "poll" it will most likely be seen and voted in, because users look in the tag to find buttons to click.

there is unfortunately a T3RF (this one censored specifically to protect my notifs lmao. 3 is E) presence here. report, block, ignore, move on. common courtesy for users to inform each other if one is accidentally reblogged from. it also helps to blacklist tags related to them to avoid them. use shinigam! eyes browser extension on desktop.

there is NO equivalent to reddit awards on this website. as the userbase hates the staff, it is considered blasphemous to spend your money on checkmarks, etc. - buying them as a gift for another user is seen as a hostile act. it's like receiving a "kick-me" sign. once owned, badges cannot be deleted. thankfully, tumblr now allows you to disable checkmarks and other badges from appearing publically. that said, some users also give checkmarks unironically to show appreciation??? and others buy checks for themselves???? so yeah. tumblr doesnt actually have a verification system - these exist to mock twitter and to make a quick buck.

tumblr blaze. essentially, tumblr has a system in place to showcase user posts instead of advertisements sometimes. this is done by the user paying money. the higher the amount, the more impressions. tumblr users can now also blaze OTHER PEOPLE'S POSTS. MAKE SURE YOU HAVE BLAZE DISABLED!!! blazing another person's post (without asking first) is seen as a hostile act. why? because most blazed posts result in rude comments from strangers who are annoyed to see the post on their dashboard. unless it's like, a cute picture of a cat. or something genuinely helpful. boosting your soundcloud or a selfie or a rant about fandom does not typically garner positive responses. you can blaze just like. watch out. and also always ask the OP if you want to blaze someone else's post. (there is a reason this feature is called "blaze pvp")

tumblr merch is also frowned upon, as tumblr staff steals ideas from the userbase and profits off of them without financially compensating or crediting the users. there was a meme on here, "vanilla extract", that tumblr turned into water bottles while the person who made the meme was having to fundraise to survive :(

BLOCK. LIBERALLY.

umm i think thats it for now. but like if you have questions feel free to launch them into The Void with some tags and users are pretty quick to help out! hopefully i covered some stuff that other ppl haven't