† pray for me †

❝Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.❞ ☓ { Literate &; Exclusive roleplay blog for the antichrist incarnate. Original character - "about" for more info. }

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Misty was furious at how those cowardly assholes could treat such a nice boy the way they did. She witnessed as nobody stepped forward to help him out. Instead, they all overlooked the chaos and drama, leaving him suffering.

The young blonde was not going to let him suffer any longer so she did what she had to do to stand up for him. However, what she didn’t expect was the sudden power that had happened to the boy. It was almost as if a great force was helping her to defend the boy. But Misty had no idea where it came from or how it happened. Maybe her anger had been a part of it all.

“Y’sure?” she asked with concern. “I just hope you’re not hurt or nothin’. I ain’t gonna hurt ya, I promise.” Unlike Gilbert’s family, Misty’s family were not the richest people on the planet. Their home was near the Louisiana swamps and her parents couldn’t afford basic grocery food at some points. For a poor girl, it was needless to say that Misty was still grateful she had a roof over her head.

“I-I uh..” At this point in time, Misty was speechless. She was still shocked about how the wave of power came right through her. Maybe there was something more deep within her she had yet to discover. The boy too had something about him that she was instantly drawn to, like she could tell him anything. “I-I don’t know. It just happened,” she responded. “This never happened to me before.”

Immediately, Gilbert felt a sense of belonging. Despite the purity in her magic that would otherwise have cast him away, there was the simple fact that witches and the devil had been hand in hand since the beginning of time. Where was it that they got their power to begin with? Already, he could feel that he was acting as a battery. That would have explained the display she had been host to.

Curious now, he dragged his bare feet from the stream and closed the distance between them - studying her with eyes that were much too brooding and inquisitive for his age. It was a look that animals had when faced with each other - like a coyote greeting a domestic dog. So different, yet so alike.

“Can you do it again?” He asked her - testing her now. “Look - those rocks there. Throw them into the water.” Gilbert’s voice was soft, and could have manipulated the nails that held a house together. It was in no way commanding; it was the little voice in the back of someone’s head that was the suggestion for all things. It was the voice that compelled Judas. The very same voice that drove Cain to slay Abel.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’m not makin’ fun of you. I just want to see. Trust me.” Deathly sincere. He was a very serious boy. 

[lifeinpoetry]

if there is a light then i am going to swallow it. if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.

s. osborn, from “blasphemies at the 5th street station,” published in The Rising Phoenix Review (via okayodysseus)

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Misty Day was just another one of the younger folks who attended youth bible study at her church every Sunday morning. It was the same usual schedule in which her parents would drop her off for a couple of hours and leave her there alone, with nobody to interact with. What Misty didn’t know was that it was about to change. She would take one of the books from the study room and sit outside reading under the tall tree in the backyard, ignoring the world going on around her. Sitting peacefully, she continued to read, up until she heard some commotion going on.

Perking her head up, the little girl was startled to witness three bigger boys picking on one that was of her own age. This angered Misty, as she hated bullies from the very start. She was bullied herself, but seeing someone else at the hands of a bully, or more than just one, made her even more furious. Setting her book down, she walked over to the group and stood in front of the boy being pushed around. “Hey! Y’all need to stop! He didn’t do nothin’ to ya! Leave the poor kid alone!” she shouted. For such a little girl, her anger had made the other three burst out in laughter.

“He’s an asshole, just like the rest of y’all kids runnin’ around,” the lead bully retaliated. “Listen, shrimp, I don’t fight girls, but I will if I have to,” he then threatened her as the other boys snickered walking more towards the other boy they hadn’t finished off. Misty could feel her anger pent up even more. “I said leave him alone!” she yelled. Just as that happened a great force pushed all three of the bullies more than ten feet away from the poor boy Misty was defending. She watched as the boys landed on the ground with a loud thud, but was also shocked at what had just happened. She had no idea that was even in her to begin with. The bullies watched the little girl in horror as they stood up and backed away. “Y-You little shit! You’re a devil child! Devil child I tell ya!” the leader shouted as they finally made haste from the scene. Misty quickly turned back around to help him up. “Are ya okay?” she asked with concern.

The stones left no mark on the ivory skin of the boy. Instead, they just fell, useless, with a plunk into the blue and gray waters.

But he watched with large eyes as the girl exhibited some kind of... ability. Immediately, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

He squinted in the sunlight, and took a step back from her - but he wasn’t afraid. Could it be that there was another like him? Devil child... There was something too pure about Misty to suggest that. It cast an uneasiness around his core. If only they knew. However, his childhood protected him. Gilbert could easily walk among pure souls - and what was more pure than a child?

She had that Louisiana slum accent - his grandmother wouldn’t have approved. The Gaudets were proud people, and they didn’t let anyone forget it, even through their deep southern drawl that suggested aristocracy.  “I’m all right,” he told her, and again he took another step back. There was a primitive fear in him - was she an angel? The air was charged with supernatural energies. His, dark and secretive; hers, light and forgiving. 

“How’d you... how’d you do that?”

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GOD HELP YOU, DUMB BOY.

independent fandomless antichrist oc. 18+ only.

[neaarty]

[henycavil]

Dane Dehaan Photographed by Guy Aroch for So It Goes Magazine (2014).

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@allmcnstersarehumcn​

The Southern sun rose through weeping willow branches, over the Lakeside Fellowship youth bible study - cosmic children.  A tawny haired boy stood ankle-deep in a stream. He was soft-looking, and the golden rays fell on his ironically angelic face.

Three bigger boys thought it amusing to throw rocks - and Gilbert was their target. They shrieked with frustration every time a stone bounced from his flesh, leaving nothing - not even a bruise. It only made them throw more.

“Y’all are gonna be sorry,” he told them, though he made no movement. He stood, rooted, which only made the bigger kids madder. It would only take one simple hand movement, and something far worse than rocks would have been sicced on the villains - but Gilbert was far too concerned with his image to do anything. They already thought he was weird.

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I’m on mobile so plot w me in the dms

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tell me your honest opinion of my portrayal

[dangerthrillryanson]

Wake up

[mahoumoonlight]

gothic americana

❝ hell is REAL. ❞

[realfootage]

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@fionagoode​

“It… it did something.” She couldn’t decide whether she looked younger per se or… healthier. Her skin seemed rosier, eyes a little brighter. Her hands were a little smoother, maybe, but the changes weren’t stark enough to be startlingly noticeable.

And that was fine. A start was a start.

At last, she tore herself away from her mirrored image, turning back to Gilbert with a sly grin. “Looks like you’ve proved yourself after all. I believe we had a deal, so… how shall I make it worth your while?”

Gilbert had to quell the pride he felt at having done something right. He had been HELPFUL. There was a definitive change in the woman - that he could tell.  The PRIDE in him swelled like a balloon at her affirmations. He was like a pup - just looking for approval.

However, he blanched at her suggestion.  “I just thought... I just thought I could stay here?” He asked her. The pride deflated - self doubt. “I thought you could help me. And I could give you want you want.”

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@silcntstorm​

Jude had heard that MANY times before. Patients who still had their WITS about them always thought that their admission was a MISTAKE. But it rarely ever was, at lease not in HER eyes. “There’s been no MISTAKE,” She shook her head, kneeling down in front of him but keeping a few feet between them still. “Tell me, boy, what’s the MARK on your neck? Have you allowed yourself to become a SLAVE to the DEVIL?”

There really had been a mistake. A very GRAVE one. Someone would be very sorry for admitting him to the care of the religious institution. But he had no control over that - he just had to maintain innocence. 

Absently, his hand closed over the mark. He grew his hair long - to cover it. It hung, shaggy, in his eyes. “A slave to the Devil?” He echoed archly. He sounded quite bored. He knew her name - just by looking at her. It was clear as day in his head. “Sister Jude - you’d surely know better than that, pious woman that you are.”

[posseofthevoid-deactivated20171]

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fionagoode replied to your

fiona: not around me he doesn’t

gilbert the literal antichrist: i can do what i want when i want. 

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hc: the antichrist vapes