Welcome to my realm of exploration, where tradition and curiosity collide, and every journey is a step into both light and shadow. ⭐️ Here, I unearth forgotten histories, explore sacred teachings, and dive into the mysteries that shape our world—often sharing a little more than I intend. Art, literature, and fragments of my own journey mix with the things that captivate my mind. If you’re thirsting for insight and eager to venture into deeper truths, you’ve found your place.
⬇️ Directory/Library ⬇️
🐰 Greetings, I’m Bunni. At 25, I've walked many shadowed paths, each leaving its mark. In this space, I invite you to glimpse a world where tradition and contradiction meet. My words are born from experience, shaped by faith and a thirst for knowledge.
✝️ I hold tight to Christian values, often standing alone in these beliefs. I honor the roles of faith, family, and the sacred order that so many have forgotten. Though my convictions may not align with modern sensibilities, they are the foundation I stand upon.
🧙🏻♀️ Once, I walked the occult path for 13 years before being led to the light of Christ. Though I create with a touch of darkness, my hands still weave stories, and my mind still seeks understanding.
📚 I welcome all discourse: may we disagree, but let our voices be heard. Should you seek knowledge or wish to explore a subject, feel free to ask.
📖 This is a library of the forgotten, the unknown, and the deeply personal, offered as an elegant refuge for those who seek more.
📚 Table of Contents
Esoteric Christianity Studies
Bible Study
Occultic Studies
Mood Boards
Devotionals
Archangel Metatron
Sacred Geometry
Survival Guide
History
Science
Discussion Posts
My Music
Personal
He’s perfect in every single way. He’s gentle in a way that doesn’t feel fragile or performative. Just… steady. Real. Safe. I don’t have to hide anything from him. Not the soft parts, not the broken ones, not the things people usually flinch away from.
He lives 1,500 miles away from me. And still, he got on a plane and flew out just to see me and spend Easter week with me. Just to be here. Just to sit with me, to exist beside me in something real.
And I need to say this right, because it matters.
He doesn’t fetishize what happened to me.
He doesn’t lean in closer when I talk about the worst parts of my life. There’s no curiosity that feels invasive, no subtle shift in tone, no hunger for the darkness. He doesn’t try to turn it into something “deep” or “beautiful” or poetic. He doesn’t make me feel like my suffering is what makes me worth loving.
Because people have done that to me before.
They’ve taken the most violent, dehumanizing things I’ve lived through and softened them into something aesthetic. Something intriguing. Something they could hold without having to feel the weight of it. They’ve looked at my trauma like it made me special in a way that was… usable.
He doesn’t do that.
When I speak, he listens like it’s something sacred, not because it’s fascinating, but because it’s mine. Because it hurt me. Because it still hurts me. And his instinct isn’t to explore it. It’s to protect me from having to sit in it alone.
Even the parts of me that feel fractured… he doesn’t take advantage of that either.
It would be easy. Easier than I want to admit. When your mind isn’t always one solid line, when parts of you are younger, softer, more vulnerable, it creates openings. Gaps. Places someone could step in and take more than they should. Control more than they should.
He never does.
He’s careful in a way that feels intentional, like he understands the weight of what he’s holding. He doesn’t blur lines. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t take softness as permission. He treats every part of me with the same level of respect, no matter how small or scared or disoriented it might be.
There’s no power play. No quiet manipulation. No “I could, so I will.” Only “I could, so I won’t.”
And that matters more than I know how to explain.
He makes things feel… normal. Not like nothing happened, but like I’m allowed to exist outside of it. Like my life isn’t doomed to orbit around what was done to me. Like I can be something other than a collection of survival responses.
He’s my best friend and my lover, but more than that, he’s someone who wants to see me whole. Not in a forced, rushed way. Not in a “fix you” way. Just… patiently. Gently. Like he sees the cage I was put in, the one built from things I never chose, and instead of stepping inside it with me
he stays at the edge, holding the door open.
Just waiting for me to remember that I’m allowed to leave.
Every nerve in me tightens, trembles, sharp as a blade, like I can feel the pull of him through the miles. My chest goes hollow and heavy at once, like I’m collapsing into a weight I can’t see but know is there.
He hasn’t touched me, hasn’t even been near, and still… I’m undone.
I’m animal, raw and desperate, waiting for something I can’t have yet, craving the sound of his voice the way a body craves air.
I imagine him speaking, low, certain, knowing exactly what I am without asking, and something inside me bends. My mind shatters. My body answers before I can think. It’s instinct, deep and feral, something I didn’t know existed until it recognized him.
I would do anything for him. Anything. And I don’t even know what “anything” looks like yet. I don’t care. The thought of giving myself fully, of letting him unravel me and own me completely, makes me shiver from my toes to the hollow behind my ribs.
And in the silence, I hear it, his words in my head, sharper than any touch could be:
Good girl.
Shockwaves tear through me. I’m burning, trembling, feral.
He doesn’t even have to reach out and I’m already undone. Already surrendered. Already his.
He is jagged edges wrapped in velvet, a storm that could devour the world yet softens entirely for me. Every word he lets slip trembles through the hollow of my chest, and I am undone before I even realize it. There’s a merciless weight to him, a roughness that could break anything, but when it’s me, he bends impossibly gentle, and it shatters me. His voice, deep, deliberate, like smoke curling in sunlight, pulls me apart in the most exquisite way, and certain things he says strike like lightning, reverberating in my bones. I am unreservedly his, entirely raw in his presence, and I would give anything, everything, to meet even a fraction of the man I already know in my marrow.
