Chaos

Salutations.

I am confused, I am caffeinated and preppared to make bad descisions.

Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1263570085-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-4-raised-from-perdition Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/103642149#workskin -CAUTION: This one may include trigger warnings for those who are sensitive to descriptions of hell and very mild gore. You have been warned- ---- Hell was a horrible place; it was filled with the vilest of human beings, demons and creations you could ever imagine. People who had sold their souls were hung on hooks like meat hung in racks; in hell, a human and a cow were no different. The stink of sulphur, blood, smoke and flesh was constant, but if you were there you would find that the rotten scent was nothing compared to being whipped; to having your flesh torn and ripped repeatedly as blood and sweat rolled down your back. It was always ablaze, fiery hot and bright; never for a second was hell silent, but you would get used to the splitting headaches and the lack of sleep eventually.

Screams of pain and gurgles of pure agony surrounded Dean in hell; pain radiated throughout the man’s body and he didn’t have his blindfold over his eyes to allow him to feign ignorance to the many bloodied and beaten people surrounding him. The man didn’t remember how long he had been in hell, the pain too much for him to think about anything else; he hung on hooks, screamed and bled until he couldn’t take it anymore. He fought as hard as he could, avoided becoming a torturer at all costs and tried to remember what earth was like and who he was.

He was a priest, yet he was in hell; he struggled for forty long years until a saving grace came upon him. Hell lit up with a yellowish-white glow bright enough to blind you with a single glance, demons perished all around and Dean was raised from hell once again as a hand burned his left shoulder.

~♰~♰~♰~

Dean gasped as his eyes flew open, arms flailing and hands desperately grasping at something to hold on to; the first thing he registered was the feeling of cold stone beneath him, as well as beneath his palms when finally he had a grip on something.

Looking up, he saw towering ceilings and archways stretching high above his head; the many depictions of angels painted skywards were new to him, he had never even known that they were there. His left shoulder ached, and he came to realize his left hand lay on a very familiar statue; dozens of rosaries hung around her neck, swaying just slightly in a breeze that carried itself through the open door at the very back of the church. Dean sat up, breathing in the still-stale air; he could smell rain on the breeze and yet the church’s oxygen remained dusty and scented like history, it seemed no one had cleaned it properly in a while. The man only barely registered the pounding in his head as he looked around at the pews and the windows of his church, still a little disorientated by the sudden drag up from hell. Finally understanding that he was safe, Dean hauled himself up onto shaking legs and got a more thorough look at his surroundings...

Because I support y’all and just really like swords- 

reblog if you’re bi, support bi people, or just really like swords

Playlist #1

My personal favourite playlist; I did not make it, I found it on youtube. https://youtu.be/jhX-2wYCjxI

May you burn with the monster that plagues your soul; may you lay in the ashes of your very sins and damnation. May the devil do with you as he sees fit and throw you deep into the pits of the eternal hellfire, and may you reap what you have sown.

Cole, Tacita Corvus (my book)

Atelophobia is a plague that attacks your mind and not only instils the fear of not being good enough in your mind, it is a package deal of insecurities and overworking. Atelophobia is working into the late hours of the night, writing and thinking for fear of failure; it is empty coffee cups and fighting insomnia to get just one last page of work done, or so you say. It’s feeling eyes watching you as you type until your fingers are sore, until you really can’t keep up your own eyelids, until your eyes are burning from the amount of hours you’ve forced them open.

It is worrying about the future, wondering if you really are taking on too much but forcing through it, all for the sake of not failing. But what is failing, if not the fear of never achieving perfection? Atelophobia at it’s core is the fear of losing a battle you had no chance of winning.

Daddy is gonna pull out the toys tonight kitten 😈…….

Re-blogging for the vine.

You can love someone and still choose to say goodbye to them,

Tara Westover, Educated

Night before christmas - twisted tale

Twas the night before christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were ripping and tied to a chair, Sat poor St. Nicholas, who had abbandoned his cheer.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief and pa in his cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

But out in the sitting room was the eldest son, despaired, he stood before St. Nick with a long, cold stare.

"You have made up a holiday and stolen into my home" "And now you must face the wrath of Steve, Bobby and I, Gerome" With that out sprang two other young people Glaring at St.Nicholas with looks that spelled "evil"

"You dress up in red and bring toys for children" "Yet we know not who you are, or where you have been." "So there shall be no milk and cookies tonight for you, villain." And thus St.Nick regretted his decission; of breaking into this house on the night before Christmas.