Read Pt.1 Here

Elphie. Elphie. Pay attention to me

some doodles while chilling this weekend

textposts that remind me of the losers

no wondering why daniel had to deny over and over that they were not in a relationship

MASTERLIST

READER INSERTS

𐂂 detective comics (dcu)

𐂂 five night's at freddy's

𐂂 heroes of olympus

𐂂 marvel

𐂂 miscellaneous

𐂂 resident evil

𐂂 the last of us

𐂂 percy jackson

𐂂 uncharted

𐂂 wonka

CHARACTER SHIPS

𐂂 dune

𐂂 marauders

𐂂 the walking dead

𐂂 uncharted

𐂂 resident evil

𐂂 marvel

𐂂 yellowjackets

𐂂 detective comics (dcu)

anyone ever think about the fact that this is canon now

today’s lectionary texts—acts 5:27–32, psalm 118:14–29, revelation 1:9–11a, 12–13, 17–19, and john 20:19–31—are so densely interwoven it’s practically rabbinic. it’s the second sunday of easter, which historically functioned as a liturgical echo chamber for the resurrection. but today’s selections aren’t just liturgical filler—they’re deliberate theological architecture. acts 5:27–32 put you into a post pentecost context where peter and the apostles, fresh off their spirit induced empowerment, confront the sanhedrin. the line “we must obey god rather than men” (δεῖ ἀνθρώποις πειθαρχεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ θεῷ) is almost a second century anachronism. it anticipates martyrdom theology, rooted in texts like daniel 3 and 6, but also anticipates justin martyr and tertullian’s apologetics. it reframes civic disobedience as divine allegiance.

psalm 118 functions as a hinge text. it's the last of the hallel psalms (113–118), used during passover, which already overlays a liberation motif onto resurrection. “the stone the builders rejected” (v. 22) gets picked up in matt 21:42, mark 12:10, luke 20:17, and here again as a kind of post easter hermeneutical key. the rejected messiah becomes the cornerstone of a new ekklesia. it's also worth noting how this psalm was used in second temple processionals. what begins as royal liturgy becomes political protest. revelation 1:9–19 layers on the apocalyptic. john of patmos positions himself in exile “because of the word of god and the testimony of jesus”—a deliberate mirroring of the acts narrative. christ appears “like a son of man” (ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου), drawing straight from daniel 7, but recoded with roman imperial aesthetics: golden sash, bronze feet, sword mouth. it’s not just christological—it’s anti imperial polemic. domitian’s empire is the beast; the risen christ is pantokrator. then john 20:19–31. locked room. fear. sudden appearance. peace (εἰρήνη ὑμῖν), said twice. jesus breathes on them—enephýsen—an echo of gen 2:7 and ezek 37. this is a new creation moment, a new adam breathing life into a new humanity. and thomas, often unfairly dubbed “doubting,” functions more like a johannine stand-in for the reader. he gets to touch the wound (typos), an embodied epistemology. and yet, the final beatitude—“blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed”—extends the narrative beyond history into faith. the whole text folds time like a chiasm. so yeah. today is about post resurrection defiance, counter temple theologies, radical reinterpretations of jewish liturgy, imperial subversion via apocalyptic aesthetics, and an invitation to epistemic humility. it’s theology as resistance literature.

landoscar + txt posts = true 6.0

*vomits* yayyy my team wonnn

we need eve and alien!reader smut so baddd ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

CW. NSFW, yandere!reader, wlw, aggressive oral, overstimulation, choking.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft hum of ambient light filtering through the clouds outside the window. You sat perched on the bed like a queen, long limbs sprawled in lazy confidence, watching Eve pace the room with that signature scowl and arms crossed like she was trying to hold herself together.

She was frustrated. Again.

“You don’t listen to anyone,” Eve snapped, stopping mid-step, pink eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t understand boundaries. You—!”

You tilted your head slowly, like you always did when she got like this. Curious. Patient. Just a little amused.

“You angry?” you asked, voice smooth and low, like honey poured over a blade. “You want me... far?”

Eve froze, eyes narrowing, face flushing. “Don’t twist this! I’m serious!”

You rose to your feet in one fluid motion, the fabric of your loose shirt falling off one shoulder. Eve's breath caught. You closed the space between you slowly, hips swaying in that inhuman, seductive grace that made everything feel like a hunt.

“Eve...” you purred, circling her. “Why you always red when I close?”

“I’m not red!” she protested, but her voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just—!”

You slipped behind her, arms curling gently around her waist, pulling her back into your chest. Your lips brushed the shell of her ear as you whispered, “Liar.”

Eve shivered.

You moved one hand up to rest over her heart, the other trailing down her waist. Her breathing hitched.

“You say no,” you whispered, “but body says yes.”

“I—” Her voice was breathless now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You want I stop?” you murmured, voice all velvet and smoke.

Silence.

Then a weak, “No.”

A smirk spread across your lips. You turned her around and kissed her—slow at first, tasting her hesitation, then deeper, hungrier, tongue pushing past her lips with a kind of wild, invasive passion. She whimpered into your mouth, knees nearly giving out as you held her steady. You pulled back just enough to whisper:

“You soft. Sweet. I don’t want stop touching you, Eve.”

Her hands fisted in your shirt.

“Then don’t,” she whispered, eyes glazed, lips parted.

“You mine?”

She didn’t answer at first.

Then she mumbled, “Yeah... I’m yours, alien freak.”

You grinned like a predator, kissed her cheek, and curled protectively around her.

Eve’s voice was long gone — shredded hours ago — leaving only those raw, cracked little sobs that couldn’t even form words anymore.

You were still perched on her face like some starved beast, hips grinding in frantic, wet circles, that inhuman snarl tearing from your throat every time she so much as twitched her swollen lips against your cunt.

"More," you growled, fangs bared, the muscles in your thighs trembling as you shoved her deeper, suffocating against the plush mound of your pussy. Your claws left crescent-shaped dents in the headboard as you forced yourself down harder — riding her face with violent, animalistic need. "Guh— deeper. Lick."

Eve’s hands clawed weakly at your thighs, her face a mess of slick and spit, red hair matted to her flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. She was trying to push, trying to get air — but you didn’t care. Your cunt clenched too tight around her tongue, throbbing as another gush spilled, messy and hot, all over her nose and chin.

Her eyes rolled, glazed and fluttering, lashes soaked. Her body jolted once under you, chest arching like she was going to pass out.

And fuck — that just made you grind down harder.

"Mine," you snarled, voice guttural now, pupils blown wide like some feral thing. Your hips slapped down with a brutal smack, smearing more of your slick against her face as you rode her mouth like a rutting animal. "I said— mine, Eve."

Your claws grabbed fistfuls of her hair, yanking her face tighter against your dripping core. Her nose bumped against your swollen clit just right, and your back arched with a sharp, broken cry — vision blurring at the edges as you squirted again, flooding her mouth.

Eve’s body convulsed. Hands went slack.

"Ohhh," you hissed, body trembling. "You're sleep now? Hahh— pretty Eve... so pathetic now…"

But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Your hips were moving on their own now, chasing that raw, desperate friction as your swollen folds ground against her mouth, her chin, her slack tongue. Each roll made filthy, wet squelches fill the room, slick pouring down her throat while she lay helpless, body twitching under you.

"Your place is right here." Your voice cracked into a dark, shuddering moan, drool dripping from your open mouth as you fucked her face like a woman possessed. "You're mine. No running away now."

Your hips stuttered. Vision went white.

And with one last violent slam of your pussy against her face, you came again — harder than before, screaming as your slick gushed out in thick spurts, soaking her completely.

The bed creaked. Your claws tore holes in the sheets.

And as you finally slumped forward, panting over her limp form, you growled softly into her ear — voice hoarse but smug:

"...Told you. You stay red when I'm close."

— MASTERLIST ☆

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