#day 4: deities/haunted

[xinganhao]

📺 now watching: "hotel del luna" (jihoon x reader)

part of my svtflix milestone event. warnings: cussing/swearing, mentions of death. more content under the cut. enjoy watching!

hotel del luna's guestbook, as managed by lee jihoon.

Name: Han Seung-woo Check-in date: August 17, 2019 Reason for stay: Seung-woo was a street artist who passed away in a tragic car accident at the height of his career. He stayed at hotel, haunted by the regret of never completing his masterpiece mural, which he planned to dedicate to his late mother. Reason for leaving: The hotel manager tracked down Seung-woo's original sketches and helped arrange for a modern artist to complete his mural at a public plaza. Witnessing his vision come to life brought him peace. Check-out date: January 11, 2024

Name: Choi Min-ji Check-in date: May 4, 1997 Reason for stay: Min-ji was a nurse who sacrificed herself to save patients during a hospital fire. She lingered at Hotel del Luna because she couldn’t forgive herself for leaving her younger brother behind, feeling she hadn’t done enough to care for him. Reason for leaving: Decades letter, her brother passed away; the manager brought him to the hotel. During their reunion, he reassured Min-ji that her sacrifice inspired him to become a doctor and save lives, fulfilling her legacy. They crossed into the afterlife together. Check-out date: October 9, 2024

Name: Kang Mi-young Position in Hotel del Luna: Receptionist Check-in date: July 8, 1975 Reason for stay: Mi-young was a renowned opera singer who lost her voice in life. She became the hotel receptionist to welcome guests with warmth and kindness, making up for the bitterness she had shown in her final days. Reason for leaving: A guest, who was a devoted fan of her opera performances, recognized her and reminded her of how much her art had inspired others. This helped her regain a sense of purpose and release her regret. Check-out date: December 31, 2024

Name: Park Jin-ho Position: Concierge Check-in date: January 12, 1843 Reason for stay: Jin-ho was the very first staff member of Hotel del Luna. He accepted the role of concierge after passing away as a penniless merchant who regretted his life of greed and failed relationships. He hoped to redeem himself by helping guests find closure. Reason for leaving: After serving at the hotel for over 180 years, Jin-ho finally forgave himself when the manager thanked him for teaching them the value of love and selflessness— something he had yearned to learn in his own life. Check-out date: June 8, 2024

Name: Lee Jihoon Position in Hotel del Luna: Proprietor Check-in date: August 23, 1290 Reason for stay: Jihoon lived over a millennium ago during the Goguryeo era. He was the leader of a band of thieves and was devastated after the massacre of his loved ones; namely, his bandit group and closest friend. Fueled by vengeance, Jihoon killed various people in his fury. Deity Ma Go punished him for his sins by bounding him to the Hotel del Luna. He was warned that he would only be unshackled from the hotel once he is able to replace his fury and grief with remorse and love. Reason for leaving: You N/A Check-out date: N/A

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[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.4

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"Home is the first grave, and you will always be buried here, in my heart."

Summary: In his chambers, Aemond Targaryen gazes upon his wife, the once vibrant spirit now hollowed by his hand. Her anguish tears at his conscience as he realizes the depth of her despair. She would perish in this place, her soul suffocating beneath the weight of his actions, yet he selfishly believes that even a fragment of her presence is better than nothing at all. The torment of this realization coils around him and he is forced to come to terms with the price of his need to possess what he has already shattered.

Word Count: 4.7k

Aemond Targaryen sat alone in his makeshift chambers, the weight of regret heavy on his shoulders. The room felt emptier without the presence of his lady wife, and the silence echoed the absence of her laughter and warmth that he realized he had begun to take for granted. It had been four days since he had seen her last. 

His thoughts churned with self-reproach, and the memory of their last argument played out in his mind like a haunting refrain. He recognized the cruelty in his words, the callousness with which he had wounded the woman who had chosen to be his companion. She, who had always stood by him, was now misguided by his suggestion that she was a mere consolation prize, someone he settled for because he could not fathom anyone else having him, wanting him. 

He had not seen her since. She refused to let anyone into her chambers, not even Helaena, and she did not take a single meal, each tray outside the door remaining untouched until one of the servants came to replace it with yet another. In fact, the only indicators that she was still alive, were the occasional sounds of things being thrown about, and the scuffle of her feet as she paced endlessly. 

It did not help that the walls were paper thin and Aemond's temporary residence had been set up in the room adjacent to hers. All day, he heard both her screams and her pleas to some unknown deity, and if she got no rest, neither did he. 

Even now in the dead of night, as he tried to occupy himself with the latest book he had picked up from the castle library, he could hear the unsettling cadence of hollow thuds echoing through the walls. At first, he dismissed them as the sounds of a heart heavy with sorrow and frustration, perhaps a physical manifestation of emotional turmoil. 

However, as the rhythm of the banging persisted and grew more pronounced, he found it increasingly difficult to disregard the disconcerting noise. The hollow echoes seemed to reverberate through the corridors like a mournful lament, and his attempts to focus on his reading became futile as the sounds clawed at his conscience.

Then, a sudden escalation in intensity seized his attention, culminating in a terrible crash that shattered the uneasy stillness of the Red Keep.  Without a second thought, he leaped from his seat, the urgency of the moment propelling him toward the source of the noise. 

As he approached Daenys's door, he found one of her guarding knights struggling with the handle in vain. The guard's brow was furrowed in frustration as he hammered against the door.

"What is going on here, it is late, people are trying to rest!" Aemond snapped, impatiently.

"My prince!" the guard greeted his arrival with a nod. "Something has happened to the princess, I fear, but I can't get the door open. Something's blocking it from the inside."

Aemond, anxiety gnawing at him, took a step forward and grasped the handle, determined to overcome whatever obstacle stood between him and his wife. He exerted his strength, pushing against the door with a force born of desperation. To his surprise and frustration, the door remained resolute, as if an invisible barrier defied his attempts to breach it.

He gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. He could feel the strain in his muscles as he pushed against the door, and when the guard joined him, the door yielded under their combined strength, revealing a narrow crack that allowed glimpses into the dimly lit chamber beyond. 

It was his own writing desk that served as a barricade, the heavy wooden furniture having been pushed against the door, forming an impromptu fortress. 

As Aemond surveyed the scene from his vantage point, he could see the aftermath of Daenys's storm etched across his quarters.  He called out her name, the desperate plea hanging in the air, but there was no response, only the haunting silence that seemed to linger like a heavy fog.

With a surge of determination, he threw himself against the door, the impact jarring his frame as he sought to create an opening. The sound of strained wood and the metallic rattle of displaced objects resounded through the corridor, and after several forceful attempts, he managed to create a gap just large enough for him to slip through.

Once inside, he surveyed the chaos that unfolded before him. Shards of broken glass crunched beneath his boots, the remnants of vases and ornaments that had met a violent end. The air was thick with the acrid scent of overturned inkwells and the remnants of scattered parchment. 

The furniture bore the marks of a struggle, with overturned chairs and dishevelled bedding adding to the disarray. Aemond's eye fell upon the writing desk that had served as the barricade, now displaced and toppled. Its contents were scattered, a chaotic collage of spilled ink and crumpled pages.

The concern that gripped Aemond intensified as his gaze fell upon his window. 

His broken window. 

The tattered remnants of curtains hung limply from their posts, and shards of glass still clung precariously to the edges like teeth. 

Like glinting cannibalistic teeth. 

That was when he noticed the pale, bloody fingers desperately clinging to the ledge. A cold chill raced down his spine, and every fibre of his being urged him to rush forward. 

There she was, his Daenys, a fragile silhouette against the darkness of the chamber. One hand, stained with blood and gripping the window, despite the broken glass that dug into her skin, leaving crimson traces along the ledge.

In her other hand, she clutched a makeshift rope fashioned from sheets and torn curtains. The fabric, now stained and dishevelled, dangled precariously from the window. It was a desperate lifeline, a testament to the lengths she had gone to escape. The rope was nowhere long enough to reach the bottom, and the sight of her, teetering on the edge between safety and the abyss, struck Aemond like a blow.

"Seven hells!" his voice cracked with disbelief. "What are you doing?"

She did not respond to him. In fact, it was as though she hadn't even registered his presence yet. Aemond's hands trembled as he carefully reached down, fingers outstretched, to grasp Daenys's wrists, but the moment his touch made contact, her head snapped up, and he found himself staring into bloodshot, glazed-over eyes. Her skin felt unnaturally hot, radiating feverish heat, as if her body was consumed by it.

Below her, one of his chairs lay smashed to smithereens on the stone floor below, the wood splaying out ominously as if daring the precariously dangling girl to meet a similar fate. 

When he tried to pull her up, a sudden resistance met his efforts. Daenys kicked and twisted, her movements desperate with the need to escape. He expected her to scream, but not a sound escaped her chapped lips, and his grip tightened instinctively, fueled by the instinct to prevent her from slipping away. His fingers pressed into her wrists with a bruising force and in a moment of panic, she let go of the sheets she had been clinging to. The sudden release threatened to send her spiralling downward, and Aemond, reacting on pure instinct, made a split-second decision. 

Without hesitation, he abandoned caution. Ignoring the glass remnants that still clung to the window ledge, he forcefully dragged her over. The leather sleeves of his riding habit protected him from the worst of it, but he winced at the sharp edges of broken glass that no doubt bit into his wife's skin, as they tumbled back together. 

Still, a few cuts were better than having her skull crack open in the courtyard. 

The night was far from over, however, and before the one-eyed prince had a chance to catch his breath, his wife was surging back toward the open window. Aemond, his senses heightened by adrenaline, reacted swiftly, his hands reaching out to hook around her waist before she could slip away. 

In a desperate attempt to keep her away from the perilous ledge, his arm wrapped firmly around Daenys's waist, pulling her away, and positioning himself between her and the window. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her, trying to pierce through the haze of her delirium. His voice, a desperate plea tinged with anger, cut through the air as he screamed at her, demanding an explanation.

"What in seven hells is wrong with you? Were you trying to fucking die? You could have died!"

Her response was a fragmented murmur, the words barely audible as she mumbled incoherently. 

"I want to go home," she whispered. "I just want to go home, please."

Still reeling from almost losing her to her own insanity, Aemond dropped his head, forehead coming to rest against Daenys's shoulder. He did it half in relief, half in guilt to avoid meeting her pleading eyes, because he did not have an answer that would satisfy her. To his surprise, she let him, holding very still as he breathed her in. 

Casually, his gaze swept over her, halting in alarm when his attention was drawn to her sleeves that had ridden up in the chaos of their struggle. The pale moonlight streaming in from outside was just enough to reveal a glimpse of red, and an instinctive urgency gripped him, as he yanked her sleeves up, making her wince.

The revelation made him want to retch as he beheld the grisly sight, both her arms marred by a twisted landscape of open wounds, and if he raised them closer to examine, he swore he could make out the occasional sliver of glass embedded in the carmine carnage. They seemed too deliberate, too methodical, too angry to be accidental, the gaping and twisted maws of gore that littered her flesh. 

The revelation was a visceral punch to Aemond's gut, and a sense of helplessness overwhelmed him. 

She would die here. If they kept her here any longer, she would die here. The Red Keep, where she was born, the place she had once filled with the effervescence of her life, would become her grave, and he her executioner. 

He gently cupped her face, searching her dull and unrecognizing eyes for some semblance of clarity, but he found none. 

"Daenys, where did you go?" Aemond pleaded, his voice a raw whisper, echoing through the room. He longed for a flicker of recognition, a spark that would return her to him, even if it meant her disdain, but her eyes remained distant.

"Can I go home now?"

Before he could respond, the guard from earlier returned with a maester in tow, just as Aemond had instructed, both men looking taken aback at the sight that greeted them.

Aemond, annoyance etched across his features at the interruption, eyed the maester with a curt nod. 

"Leave your things and go. I'll take care of her myself," he commanded.

The maester, having tended to the one-eyed prince since he was a boy, was well accustomed to his sullen moods. He nodded silently, placing the medical supplies he had brought with him on a nearby table before discreetly retreating from the room. His eyes, however, betrayed a sense of concern for the troubled couple he left behind, but it was not his place to pry. 

The Lord Hand would, however, receive a full report from him on the morrow. 

The knight, on the other hand, lingered at the threshold, casting a wary glance at them, as if hesitant to leave. 

Aemond, his patience waning, barked his orders again, "Stand guard outside. She needs no further audience for her troubles."

"The princess has been delirious for a few days, I think. She repeatedly calls out for her brother, as if he is still here," the knight's eyes were downcasted as he added, "I know it isn't my place but perhaps it would do her well to go home for a little while."

"Yes, you are right. It isn't your place to concern yourself. I told you to return to your post, and I do not like repeating myself."

He watched the door close but was dismayed to find that Daenys still resisted his attempts to lead her toward the unmade bed. Her gaze remained fixated on the window, as she pointed outside like a forlorn child. 

There was something tender and vulnerable in her eyes, and Aemond felt awfully protective over it. In another world, in another time, he would have offered himself up as her shield to whatever may be thrown toward her. He thought he could spend his whole life preserving her. He would have died a martyr at the feet of her holiness if she let him 

But that was before he killed her. Before he ruined anything good or holy between them. 

With a gentle determination, he scooped her into his arms. She offered little resistance, her body feeling weightless and fragile in his embrace. Carefully placing her on the bed, Aemond knelt before her. Daenys remained limp and unresponsive, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Aemond, wincing in her place every time the rag in his hand came away stained with old blood, began the delicate task of cleaning her ghastly wounds. His hands moved cautiously, each touch an attempt to alleviate her pain, but he could have pushed her arm through one of the cook's meat grinders and she would not have uttered a single word of protest, wounded bird that she was. 

She seemed nothing like the dragon his grandsire had warned him about. 

Less a wounded dragon, and more a dead sparrow. 

Her fever was still running high and her skin burned. 

A furnace or a funeral pyre. 

Aemond marvelled at how she managed to keep her eyes open, the flickering flame within them a mere echo of consciousness. She was barely present, a spectre caught between the realms of consciousness and the dark respite of slumber. There were an endless number of bruises to wrap up, and a lifetime of cleaning scrapes and bruises from his own sparring sessions had done nothing to prepare him for such a task. Perhaps he should have let the maester stay after all. 

His memory did him no favours tonight, reminding him of all the times she too had patched him up, her treatments always followed by stern reprimands for his safety. Such instances almost always concluded in fits of laughter, because he never could focus on her words, not when he had been too busy thinking about her lips pursed in concern and all he wanted to do was kiss away her frown. 

The present felt too dark a reality in comparison. 

Finally, when he was finished wrapping her arms with fresh linen, he felt her delicate fingers grab his hand, and he stilled, not wanting to startle her. His gaze locked with hers, and he found her eyes unfocused.

"Aemond," she whispered softly, the sound barely audible. The gentleness in her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps she did recognize him, but there was an uncertainty, a distance in her eyes that hinted at the possibility that she had forgotten, if only for a moment, the weight of their shared history. 

She knew him, but not what he had done. 

"Aemond, I want to go home. Please let me go home. I want to be with my mother." 

Her voice was a hoarse rasp, akin to the scrape of metal against stone.

"Shh, don't speak," Aemond urged gently, avoiding her request completely. 

Leaning up, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and her grip tugged at his arm, urging him to sit next to her. He complied almost instantaneously, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and pulling her close as he guided her head to rest against his chest. 

As Daenys nestled against him, his fingers gently traced soothing patterns on her back. The silence, punctuated only by the distant echoes of the night, enveloped them like a shroud, and it was easy to pretend that he could be her anchor here. It was easier than admitting he was also the storm. 

She would not be allowed to leave; his brother, his grandsire, even his own mother would never allow it, and even if he were to let her go in some burst of compassion, Aemond knew she'd never come back. A selfish part of him wanted to keep her with him forever, even if it meant only getting to hold this empty shell of her for the rest of his life. She was his; she belonged to him.

His dragon. His sparrow. 

From this day, until the end of my days.

He had made vows, under the eyes of the Seven, and the whole kingdom besides. 

He was almost certain that he'd never be able to let her go, even when keeping her meant killing her. It was clearly killing her now. She didn't eat, she barely slept, and she had practically bored holes into herself in her grief. Who knew how much longer she would last like this, but letting her go was not an option. Aemond knew he had started a war with the death of his nephew, but he wondered how much wrath he'd incur from his half-sister if he cost Rhaenyra her firstborn as well. 

He could only hope that she would acquiesce to their terms eventually, if only for the sake of her daughter. If she was no longer a threat, then Daenys would be able to return to her mother, and then perhaps her empty eyes would not haunt him. 

Still, he'd take care of her. He would move back into his chambers, and wouldn't let her out of his sight. He would not let her hurt herself anymore; she could not die. He would not allow it. She belonged to him and no one would be able to take her from him, not even the Stranger. 

Daenys stirred in his arms then, a timid whimper escaping her lips as he shushed her again. It only made her start crying, burying her face in his chest. Aemond tightened his hold on her, bordering on suffocating as he stroked her hair. It reminded him of better times, when she would seek comfort in him, when he was not the source of her pain. He didn't know how long he sat there, cradling her in his lap, wanting to savour each moment because he knew once her fever cleared, she would go back to hating him.

"Aemond."

 "Yes, my love?"

"I really need to go home."

"Daenys..." he warned lightly. "This is your home...with me."

"No," she insisted, "it is important. It will be Luke's name day soon. I must return to Dragonstone. What with all their betrothals as well, there will be so much to do...and Baela...she made me promise that I'd be there...she said she had...oh, I can't quite remember anymore."

After a brief pause, her soft and muddled voice broke the silence again. Aemond waited, his heart heavy with the anticipation of what her words might unveil, what she might remember. He waited for the crying to start anew, but instead, she only frowned in contemplation, as if grappling with elusive thoughts just beyond her reach.

"I don't know what present to get him," she mumbled. "I'm supposed to make him something but we all know how absolutely terrible I am at that. Joffrey's easy to please, all I have to do is give him a ride on Silverwing, but Luke's presents require more effort. Always so picky, that one. Mother coddles him too much...well, I do too, it's hard not to, you know. That was a face formed to topple kingdoms, Father used to say. No one can refuse those eyes, and that rascal uses it to his advantage every time."

Daenys giggled at the end, the melody of her brother's laughter ringing in her ears as if he'd walk through the door that very moment. 

"...if you say so..."

If she noticed the way Aemond's face paled as he croaked out his words, she did not say. 

"And then I need to help Mother prepare for all the weddings. Rhaena wants a spring wedding, and Mother couldn't be happier. You know how they both love the flowers. As for Jacaerys, well, I think he'd put up with being married in a barn if it meant getting to be with Baela. They're sweet that way, don't you think?" 

The seemingly mundane topics hung in the air, almost comedic in their joviality. Aemond, his heart aching, nodded and hummed along, playing along with the fragments of her perceived reality.

His fingertips continued to smooth her hair away, and as she babbled on about her family, Aemond felt the fragility of her state weighing on him. Whether it was the illness talking or a self-imposed delusion, he couldn't discern, but she was not right in the head. 

"So...what do you think?"

Aemond paused, not entirely sure what she was asking of him. 

"That sounds wonderful," he replied gently, his voice a comforting murmur. "A thoughtful gift and helping your mother with the weddings are both splendid ideas." 

His worry only deepened as she continued to mumble, her words meandering through the labyrinth of her consciousness. It was as if she had constructed a façade to shield herself from the harsh realities that threatened to consume her. His fingertips traced her features, as if trying to memorize the planes of her face while he had the chance. 

Eventually, she stopped, and simply looked at him, a sense of wonder flickering in her eyes, a spark that transcended the haze of confusion that had enveloped her earlier. 

"What is is, jorrāeliarzy?"

"You're going to leave aren't you?" 

"Leave? Why would I leave you Daenys? And where would I go?" 

Daenys sighed, as if burdened by a great truth. 

"You...care for your brother, your family, and I love my mother. I have heard what the people whisper about."

"And what does that have to do with me leaving?"

"Well one day you'd have to leave, won't you? It makes me sad. Sometimes I think I start to miss you before you are even gone."

Aemond stilled, threading his fingers through her hair, nails scraping against her skull as he brought her face a hairsbreadth from his. 

"I won't leave. I swear it by the old gods and the new. I will never be the one to leave you," he declared fiercely. 

And I won't let you leave me either.

She smiled slowly, although it didn't reach her eyes. Her gaze held a disturbing resemblance to Aegon's inebriated one, particularly when he had one too many drinks. 

"And be nicer to my brothers. They are only children. They will come to adore you like I do, if you only try a little," she spoke as if she was in a dream. 

Aemond couldn't tell, maybe she really was. 

"If you ask it of me, then I will try," he mumbled, looking away from her guiltily but feeding into her delusion all the same. 

When Daenys brought her hands up to cup his face, his breath caught in his throat. Her fingers gingerly traced the edge of his eyepatch, and then, with slow deliberation, she began to lift it away.

She was remarkably gentle, always mindful of the old injury, but Aemond couldn't help but inhale sharply through his teeth, his head jerking back involuntarily. The echoes of her previous words, the memory of her calling him hideous, lingered in the recesses of his mind. He waited for the sting of those words to be hurled at him once more, bracing himself for the impact of her judgment. He almost dared her to do it, to break the fragile calm that had settled over them. 

A flicker of hurt flashed across her features as she sensed his avoidance. Undeterred, she took his face in her hands, gently turning him to face her once again. For a while, she simply observed, her eyes boring into the midnight depths of his eye that shone with every star of the night sky in the darkness of their chambers. 

Then, her gaze dropped to the sapphire pendant that still adorned the hollow of her throat despite everything that had occurred. 

She hadn't taken it off. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. 

Her lips pulled a little higher, the brightness of her a contrast to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room.

"We match," she said, her voice soft and filled with fascination. Aemond, caught off guard by the unexpected sentiment, felt a lump forming in his throat. It took everything within him not to cry. 

Of course, they matched. They were always meant to. 

He had given it to her on her fifteenth name day. It was a promise of sorts, even if she had not known it at the time. A promise that she would belong to him one day, that she would always be his. 

He swallowed hard, his gaze locking with hers, "Yes, we do."

"It was on purpose you know..."

"What?" he frowned in confusion.

"Me...I...on purpose...I loved you on purpose. It wasn't pity...or-or guilt...or whatever else you think it was. It was a choice. It was my choice. I chose you."

Loved. She used the past tense. 

This time Aemond was unable to prevent the tears from filling his uninjured eye, and when she leaned up to place a feathered kiss on the scarred skin under his sapphire, they trickled down his cheek, his face strange in its asymmetry when only one of his eyes could could truly mourn.  

She kissed away another tear, and his entire world collapsed in on itself, the only feeling that of her lips on his skin. He wished this was real. With everything in his entire being, he wished this was real. He wished he had never gone to negotiate with Lord Borros Baratheon. He wished he hadn't let his rage or resentment consume him. He wished he hadn't ruined them. 

Whether he would lose Daenys to the war he had inevitably begun or to herself and the madness he saw in her eyes, he would lose her all the same. He felt her slipping away from him, like granules of sand on a windy day, so he hugged her closer, unable to stop the sob that he buried in her hair, mourning her loss even as he held her still breathing form in his arms. Even as she stroked his head and murmured more comforting nonsense in his ear while he shuddered in her embrace. 

It wasn't real. None of it was real. 

Her temporary affections felt like a tease from the gods. 

Someone somewhere was laughing at him, sniggering at his naivete. She was a gift he only deserved as a prelude to punishment. A bluff  between goodbye and forever, and Aemond Targaryen had given himself up to the gamble years ago, to the breathlessness that was a hammer on his chest.

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3 Comment to be added to the taglist

[author-a-holmes]

The Lighthouse Cats

So, some of you may have seen my descent into madness this morning, when my Demon Cat woke me from a dead sleep at 4:30am, where I had dreamed up the first verse of a poem.

I don't normally dream, so this was strange enough on it's own, but then I spent the next four hours, almost to the minute (double weird) consumed by the urge to finish it.

And finish it I did.

I went back to bed, to let the poem (and my poor brain) rest, but I kind of really like the end result so I'm sharing it Lol.

Keep in mind I feel like I can't take full credit for the first verse. I'm pretty sure, at this point, this is a vision from some ancient deity, or spirit, that just wanted this story told somehow, but. Here you go.

The Lighthouse Cats

Whispercat's a thistle cat, she's very hard to please. Whispercat's a little cat, but very tall and lean. Whispercat, oh Whispercat, do not go up the stairs, Whispercat, Whispercat … there is nobody there. Gingersnap's a dark red cat, with paws white as a ghost. Gingersnap's a diligent cat, and never leaves his post. Gingersnap, oh Gingersnap, why guard the Lighthouse door? Gingersnap, Gingersnap… it's haunted, nothing more. Pitterpat's a dusty cat, who's always passing through, Pitterpat's a kitten-cat, the youngest of the crew Pitterpat, oh Pitterpat, your meow clings to these walls, Pitterpat, Pitterpat… the darkest midnight squalls. Lighthouse Cats, when nights get cold, your fur stands on its ends. Whispercat, porch step to hold, her growls serve as portends. Pitterpat, you pitter-pat, up through the Lighthouse, yet Gingersnap's, Gingersnap's, a pacing silhouette. Lighthouse Cats, when dawn rolls in, you calm like settling storms. Gingersnap, as day begins, retracts his bristling thorns. Pitterpat does pitter-pat, down through the lighthouse stairs, Whispercat, Whispercat, does settle, sit, and stare. Lighthouse cats, with eyes so mad, what visions can't you speak? Lighthouse cats, with hearts so sad, what secrets must you keep? Lighthouse cats, oh lighthouse cats, the spirits rose and fell, Lighthouse cats, lighthouse cats… you guard the Lighthouse well. -- Copyright 2025 Arista Holmes

[anosrepasi]

1-5 Tag Game for AO3

Tagged by the wonderful @ongreenergrasses and may I just say I am psyched for this game, it looks like fun??

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words (feel free to interpret however you would like; if not on AO3, can be on Tumblr or FFNET!)

The fic with the most hits: For me is, unsurprisingly, Lingua Franca at a whooping 39,124. For anyone not familiar it is an AU of The Old Guard where Nicolo ended up in the coffin instead of Quynh. I then played with the premise and characters like dolls.

The fic with the second most kudos: Is Soil and Ashes, an incomplete but much beloved AU of The Hobbit where all the characters are deities and this follows a very very loose Hades/Persephone plotline. I adore this fic for all the world building around the characters and what they are deities *of* and really am just missing the last arc of the story so I should go finish that... The fic with the third most comments: is Prima Lingua, the prequal/side coda to Lingua Franca where we followed the plot from Nicolo's POV and my beloved fic of the series. I adore this fic so much, I loved getting into Nicolo's head after a whole fic with him haunting the story as a mostly removed character and then getting to turn that around to what he experienced. I loved how much this fic challenged me and I hope one day it gets as much love as Lingua Franca.

The fic with the fourth most bookmarks is: also Prima Lingua!

The fic with the fifth most words: is i primi e secondi a delightful drop into the world of dragon age to flesh out my OC, Echo, and the world of northern Thedas cause like. The writing in the game gave us so many little hooks to catch ourselves on and I wanted more. I'm not sure I'll ever finish this fic, I'm notorious for struggling with video game fics (hello Kintsukuroi, my old friend) but I like using it as a space to play around with the world and the characters. I'm particularly fond of the second chapter.

The fic with the least amount of words: is Brother, at currently 502 words. I had a plan for it to be three chapters at one point but cannot remember if i made notes on what those other chapters would be and it holds it's own as a one-shot. It's about Nick and Dima from Fallout 4 and I am still fond of it after all these years. <3

I would love to tag @lobstermatriarch, @avelera, @green-nbean, @ainulindaelynn, @aevallare, and @aeide, if this hasn't crossed your dash yet. Also anyone else who wants to play and writes! I always forget someone!! Tag me if you do this so I can make sure and tag you on the next one :D

[ostrichmonkey-games]

First draft of the little practice micro-region Riverlands hexcrawl! The goal with this exercise was literally just to practice making and keying hexes. Thinking about the "level design" of it all, so to speak. No intention of using any of this for the final versions, but bits and pieces could pop up again!

I think I'll polish it up a little bit and toss it into the downloads of the current Riverlands zine, as a little bonus freebie.

And here's the transcription:

Prototype Hex-set

Region overive

Encounter table

Minor settlement

Biomes: tangle and minor waterway

Immediate landmarks

Fogswood: slightly haunted village

Abandoned Shrine: overgrown and untended

Marshfields: dense tangle, hard to navigate in anything but small crafts

The Trudge: slow moving waterway, clogged with plant growth, fish, and freshwater crustaceans

F1

Terrain: Marshland and minor waterway

The Trudge: Minor waterway. A slow moving, sluggish stream that meanders through the dense marshes. Overgrown reeds and other vegetation make travel by anything except small boats take twice as long. [F1, F2, F4, F5]

Trudge Encountres

Noxious algae bloom. Poisons the water the next 1/4 day stretch. May be carefully harvested and prepared for medicinal properties.

Wishmonger set up on an anchored flat-bottomed punt.

Angry swarm of marsh bees.

Riverside shrine to a local god of: 1. Rain. 2. Herons. 3. Travel. 4. Fishing. 5. Brew. 6. Floods.

Traderfolk clearly from foreign lands, their boat is entangled in a rotten mat of vegetation.

Hitchhiker covered in talismans and good luck charms. Secretly a traveling spy for the Kingfigher's Court.

Note: all of the above is in addition to the Marsh/Tangle encounters.

F1

Hidden: Overgrown wreck of a barge. Skeletal remains burried in silt and reeds. Sealed sarcophagus with talismans plastered across the top.

What's inside? This deadfall god-wood hewn coffin is miraculously sealed and watertight. Braking the seals requires a talented breaker or enough foolish drive. It is difficult, but not impossible.

F2: Fogswood

A small community built on the banks of the Trudge. Sleepy and unbothered.

Rice paddies

Ancient standing stone: Inscrutable megalith at the center of town. Surrounded by guttered candles and small offerings. Said to have been dragged here from deep within the Forest over 1,000 years ago.

Stoneside Inn: Within a stone's toss of the megalith. Small, ramshackle, but cozy enough for a night.

Spear fishers: Gather daily in the early hours before venturing into the Trudge for their catch. Can be hired as guides and have a confident knowledge of the surrounding terrain. Won't venture more than four hexes from home.

Wishmonger's Lodge: Small hut occupied by the local wishmonger. Specializes in woven-reed charms. 4/6 chance they are in residence, otherwise they are out peddling their wares.

Market. Most bustling at midweek, but never empty. Mix of local craftsmen and traveling merchants from up and down the Trudge.

Note: Include a short list of significant NPCs - name and minimal description.

F3: Abandoned Shrine -> Hidden

An old shrine dedicated to a local deity, their domains long forgotten. Nearly completely overgrown and fallen into disrepair. A scant few locals attempt to keep it clear, but fight a losing battle or a scant few locals remember the shrine, but are too elderly to manage the upkeep or No one remembers it at all.

The deity, while sluggish and dormant, has grown resentful of the locals for forgetting about it.

F3: Biome

A dense overgrown marshland cut off from the Trudge.

Rumored to be used as a hideout for pirates.

Giant mosquitos.

F4

Hidden: Band of "highwaymen" that try to extort travelers on a particularly lazy turn of the Trudge. Mostly harmless, made up of youths unhappy with the slower pace of life in the area. Led by a slightly older, charismatic asshole.

Have a stash of some coin and worthless "treasures".

Jump at exciting opportunities.

F5

Hidden: Kingfisher's Pool, a small pond nearly impossible to see from the bands of the Trudge. The calls of kingfishers ring out.

Secret: On nights of the dead moon, glimpses of the Kingfisher's Throne can be seen reflected in the pool.

2/6 chance of a Kingfisher cultist meeting at the pool at night.

[sundove88]

Livi’s Countdown to Halloween Art Challenge:

Here’s my art challenge when it comes to Halloween! Every day in October, there will be a new drawing!

1. Laios (Delicious in Dungeon) (Knight)

2. Celestia Ludenberg (Danganronpa) (Vampire Queen)

3. Idia Shroud (Twisted Wonderland) (Twisted Wonderland)

4. Ortho Shroud (Twisted Wonderland) (Robot)

5. Count Bleck (Super Paper Mario) (Vampire King)

6. Onion Cookie (Cookie Run) (Ghost)

7. Scary Godmother (Scary Godmother) (Witch)

8. Darkrai (Pokemon) (Phantom)

9. Kwazii (Octonauts) (Pirate)

10. Frieza (DBZ) (Alien)

11. Cleo De Nile (Monster High) (Mummy)

12. Jett Adara (@jettthespeeddemon) (Demon)

13. Mortis (Brawl Stars) (Undead Trio)

14. Battamonda (Hirogaru Sky Precure) (Rockstar)

15. SkullMan (Mega Man) (Skeleton)

16. Narinder/The One Who Waits (Cult of The Lamb) (Occult)

17. Arachnus (Yo-Kai Watch) (Spider)

18. Moondrop (FNaF Security Breach) (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

19. Barnaby (Billie Bust Up) (Death)

20. Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) (Sin)

21. Navirou (Monster Hunter Stories) (Wilderness)

22. Constance Hatchaway (Haunted Mansion) (Disney)

23. Snatcher (A Hat in Time) (Contract)

24. Queen Chrysalis (MLP) (Infestation)

25. Corbeau (Magia Record) (Ravens)

26. King Boo (Super Mario) (Luigi’s Mansion)

27. Fierce Deity Link (The Legend of Zelda) (Majora’s Mask)

28. Nitori Kawashiro (TouHou) (Yokai)

29. Elza Forte (Aikatsu Stars) (Siren)

30. Lance (Balan Wonderworld) (Theatre)

31. Sally Grange and Pumpkin (Cookie Run Sugar Linkage) (Linker)

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 3

David realizes he may have overestimated his ability to handle the newly adopted deity in his head. In trying to figure out how to direct an unlimited supply of body transforming chaos magic, he discovers the power of words, leading to some interesting developments at the bar and in Lee's lab.

1 | 2 (Previous) | 4 (Next)

MaleTF // Ass Expansion // Dick Growth // Growth // Suggestion // nsfw

5688 words

---

A Tuesday night during Winter Break was not the liveliest time at our usual haunt, the Cockatrice, but Lee and I weren’t complaining. We could gossip and scheme in peace in our back corner booth, a spot we so consistently occupied that the bartender, Jaime, jokes that our butt prints are permanently in the seats–which, in light of recent events, is probably true. As Lee had pointed out to my chagrin, the hemispheres of my ass had successfully carved out a noticeable dip in the cushion that would set a normal man off balance. Yet another reason the back corner booth was consistently ours to occupy. With the semester having ended and most of our colleagues having fled town as soon as grades were submitted, it was especially sparse, except of course, for the new regular to our little booth chats, Blake.

I had given just the essential details to the class about the extra dimensional reality warper that was seemingly auditing for most of the term, winning their silence with automatic As, no term paper, and any reference or letter of rec for any reason. I made myself available as a resident expert if they wanted to learn more about this exciting new research opportunity tied to my being through the astral realm. And of course, if they needed guidance on any unintended side effects, from wardrobe malfunctions to unwanted attention. Noah, for one, had developed a similar level of insatiability as my own and was tearing through every available hung top in the city, but had also developed a knack for coming across progressively bigger and bigger dicks; a pattern that was verging on unrealistic. I made a note to investigate further, but encouraged him to just slow down before we had an epidemic of dicks just as unwieldy as my superhung fuckbuddy sitting across from me.

The rest of the semester was relatively uneventful after I explained the situation. I decided I might as well use it as a teaching tool, one of the more extreme examples of what one might encounter in this line of work. I didn’t name Logan, though, for the risk of him drawing the ire of his colleagues. However, after some initial discomfort and surprising ambivalence, they were mostly okay with the changes, even appreciative, though they may not admit it directly. But golden boy park ranger Blake was especially enthusiastic, not to mention deeply interested in all these magical happenings. To the point where his own disproportionately meaty butt was leaving its own comical imprint in the booth next to my own. 

Blake became a fixture of our weeknight scene, eager for the latest updates from Lee’s lab, which had begun to research the power of my new mental roommate. Trying to understand the unfathomable deity living in my head was slow going, but I had figured out that while they don’t have a name for themself, or really a concept of naming that makes sense to us, they deigned to experiment with some sort of grammar of identification, a small part of which is interpretable in our dimension as Synt. Blake was usually in the field during the day, so would join us after hours to get caught up, even going so far as to jot down notes and ask questions we hadn’t even thought of. He was a de facto research assistant, and at the very least this whole ordeal had gotten someone actually interested in our little corner of the world. Apparently, he’d also been chatting with Logan about some mystical archival work (I really should pay more attention to what Logan actually does). But this evening he was getting excited about his own neck of woods (pun intended) with something brewing in a local forest reserve.

“It’s one of the old ones that got absorbed into the current system when they modernized it,” said Blake, leaning forward slightly with an air of playful conspiracy, his dense biceps straining against the cuffs of his sleeves. “Not entirely public property, but not really owned by anyone anymore either. We basically have de facto jurisdiction,” a phrase he pronounced with uncertainty, “over the Marshlands.”

I wasn’t familiar with this place–admittedly I didn’t get out enough–but I dissociated as a vague image popped up on my mental map of the region, carrying a resonance that felt like a string being plucked. As I sat with this, I was aware that Blake and Lee were carrying on a conversation without me but sound and light went slightly opaque as I tried to focus on this image of…a forest clearing? And some figures that looked suspiciously like–

“Palmer!” I was brought fully back to reality by a forceful slap on the shoulder from our park ranger friend sitting next to me. Blake quickly had an apologetic look on his face that said he hadn’t quite figured out his own strength. 

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Zoned out. What’d I miss? The forest?”

“Nah, we moved on to the BBL allegations,” said Lee, with a smirk.

“I’m just sayin’ my leg days are legendary these days,” said Blake, hands splayed in mock humility. “I don’t blame ‘em for thinking something’s up. You know it’s real because I keep maxing out machines at the gym and having to scrounge up more and more plates. It’s starting to draw attention,” he chuckled.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know about the changes that Synt caused,” I offered, mentally putting on my researcher hat.

“Is still causing,” interjected Lee.

“Yes, still,” I said, suddenly feeling very self conscious. When I invited Synt to give Logan a break and join forces with me, I may have overestimated my ability to keep them reined in, and it was becoming a full time project just to keep their power from leaking out into this world at a reasonable trickle. Most of the time, I could relieve little bits of pressure here and there, resulting in acquaintances and strangers getting a little boost in passing; something to fill their pants a little more that they wouldn’t complain about. This got tricky when it comes to people I was not only intimate with, but vulnerable with. Hence why Lee’s lithe, muscular form not only filled the other side of the booth but looked downright ethereal. And yet another reason Blake enjoyed spending happy hours parked right next to me. He was, after all, enthusiastic about the situation.

“Not that I’m complaining,” said Blake. He leaned towards me slightly with a smile that was verging from friendly to flirtatious. “I look better than I ever have. Better than I thought was even possible, all thanks to our mutual friend.” He gave me (and Synt) a wink, allowing his ripped forearm to brush lightly against mine before pulling back at the static shock that visibly–and possibly audibly–jumped the centimeter between us.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no problem’,” he said, getting up and turning to the bar. “Y’all want anything?”

“I’m already at my limit,” I said, “but thanks.”

“Two-drink Tuesday,” added Lee, holding up his index and middle finger, as if that wasn’t something he had just made up. Nevertheless, I appreciated the support. Getting shlammered is no longer an option when you have immediate access to an unbelievable reservoir of chaos magic. Something Lee was constantly reminded of by the trouser snake bulging down the length of his left pant leg. 

What didn’t help the situation was that Blake was really taking his time in getting to the bar, swishing his hips back and forth as he moseyed over to Jaime. The park ranger uniforms are a flattering, relaxed fit, but Blake was bursting out of his. The khakis were stretched tight across his bubble butt and quads and the button up couldn’t be buttoned all the way against the mass of his pecs and shoulders. He was a wall of dense muscle, body so sculpted from the realm of fantasy that it was almost a crime for him to even try to wear clothes in the first pl–

I knew what he was doing. He, obviously, knew what he was doing. And most importantly, the reality-altering minor god that had tied themself to me knew full well what he was doing.

We can’t keep doing this, I said to my mental roommate. He’s getting hooked.

Hooked? came a voice like tectonic plates sliding against each other.

Like, he’s enjoying these changes too much. He keeps trying to grow more and more, I worry he might go too far.

Too far? It had become clear that they had no conceptualization of what this meant, but they were starting to figure out what one might call moderation. I felt a small nudge of encouragement as if right behind my shoulder blades, but a small nudge from Synt was like a cruise ship lightly tapping against a wooden pier.

Okay, but just a little, I thought. It’s about finesse, just like we practiced.

Synt was a powerhouse to say the least, and I wasn’t so much tapping into their reservoir of chaos magic as I was slightly loosening a small pressure valve. My fingertips sparked lightly as I felt the peculiar taste of raw possibility in my mouth, like a battery on the back of my tongue that crackled down around my vocal chords. I was focusing on Blakes’s broad shoulders and muscular backside at the bar. His overdeveloped glutes defied gravity, perched like two globes above his hamstrings. 

“Those could really do some damage,” I muttered under my breath. I imagined him at the gym, maxing out the machines as a warmup, having to stack weight after weight just to get a good pump. The blood rushing to his strained muscles as they repaired themselves supernaturally fast, swelling against the overstressed fabric until it couldn’t take anymore. At the bar, Blake was adjusting his waistband surreptitiously, his massive butt seeming to grow in real time to match my slapped together tipsy fantasy until finally his work pants began to give way, splitting open in a few spots to hint at a pair of bright green bikini briefs fighting for its life over his round cheeks. Much to his chagrin–but eventually to his delight–whoever he was chatting it up with failed to take notice of his sudden growth. His hand had left Blake’s hip to adjust his own crotch, which was displaying a surprising, and apparently uncomfortable, bulge.

I maybe shouldn't have done this two drinks in. I was going for more juicy pump and less wardrobe malfunction. And I didn’t even predict the spillover effect in this new beau who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe I wasn’t being focused enough, maybe it was some sort of daisy chain from their erotic connection, maybe Blake was figuring out how to re-route the chaos magic with which I had touched him. But as he apparently took notice, he played it off, turning his fat ass to squish against the bar as he faced out, glancing my way with an appreciative wink.

“He can’t keep getting away with this,” said Lee, an amused tone entering his voice. Lee had caught on to Blake’s little trick early on and found it more funny than concerning. “He pulled a fast one on you again!” he laughed.

“He’s kind of doing me a favor,” I reasoned. At least I had a willing participant to let some of the pressure off while honing this new ability. “But he could just ask me directly.”

“Well where’s the fun in that?” asked Lee, his eyes dreamily following Blake’s ass as his new friend let him into the cool winter evening, presumably to explore their respective new assets at one of their places. His eyes flicked back to me as he danced across the word fun, and I tried to evade losing myself in the chocolate brown depths of his irises, captivated by a gaze that had become hypnotic. I didn’t get very far as I began to trace the curvature of his plump lips, the rightmost third of the bottom one lost behind a row of playfully biting teeth.

This was a game we had begun to play and one I would inevitably lose. He knew what he was doing. He knew I knew that he knew what he was doing. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that a side effect of the changes in Lee was that he was beginning to have a draw on people that was hard to resist. It hadn’t taken Lee long to realize that whenever I released Synt’s erotic power into the world, I needed to in turn release my own. Hot and bothered would be an understatement, the recent double whammy in tandem with the pheromones coming from my friend across the booth were sending me into overdrive. And judging by the way Lee kept shifting in his seat, he was in a similar state of excitement.  

Apparently Two-drink Tuesday also gets its name from the fact that we can’t make it to a third round without fucking each other’s brains out. Soon enough, I’m plopping my fat ass onto a table in a half forgotten supply closet that makes for a decent hookup space if you’re cool enough with Jaime. It was one of the plastic folding ones that are always already old and whose supports were groaning under my weight. The ambient light from the bar that made it down the hallway framed Lee’s expansive form as he lumbered in behind me, round shoulders rising just past the level of the door frame as he ducked in. God he was massive. As he pushed the door closed behind him, sliding us into complete darkness, I could still feel his outline moving toward me, as if he produced his own luminescence just outside of the visible spectrum. 

The bass of his voice filled the room as he chuckled, coming in for a deep kiss and sliding his fingers under the waistband of my leggings as our tongues danced. He was hungry. He pushed me back onto the table as he pulled my thighs toward him. The radiant heat coming off of his crotch became all the more enticing in the chill of the back room, tingles of pleasure echoing from my hole in anticipation. I arched my back as his fingers from one hand traced along my spine, the other tenderly beginning to peel the waistband of my leggings down the curves of my hips. His hands, at this point, were the size of dinner plates but moved with surprising grace. I could feel him resisting the urge to tear the fabric clean off as he struggled to get it over my colossal cakes and tree trunk thighs. A performance of agonizing slowness that had become part of our usual foreplay.

With my hole finally exposed, he slid in one finger, then two, opting for nimbleness and dexterity in light of the brute force that I knew was coming. He worked with a light touch, loosening me up as he undid his pants and slowly slid them off, bending slightly to finagle his prodigious cock free. I regretted not having hit the lights. The slow reveal of his member was a sight to behold, even in the weak fluorescence of the store room. With a grunt, I heard his pants fall to the floor, followed by a thwack against the underside of the cheap plastic table. I briefly fantasized about Lee’s gargantuan cock lifting the entire table with me on it, entertaining the notion that I really could make that happen if I wanted to.

Don’t you? Came a deep rumble from my psyche, the familiar crescendo of energy as Synt’s attention was piqued.

Don’t you start, I warned, still thinking of Blake and his now very well endowed friend. Finesse, subtlety, I added, knowing full well Synt cared nothing for the concept.

But didn’t I? In the haze of lust, I couldn’t shake the hypothetical of Lee with a truly impossible monster cock, and a corresponding body that shattered doorways rather than ducking through them. Was it Synt’s idea or my own? Was there a difference?

I was brought back to the present by a sudden absence. My hole ached with need as Lee’s meaty fingers were withdrawn, moving to caress my torso as he maneuvered his unwieldy dick into place, stroking up and down he pumped out a steady stream of slick precum. He was already starting to moan softly as he slowly worked inch after inch after inch of his schlong inside of me. Ever the scientist, he had last measured his growth at 15.25 inches, but personal experience told me it had definitely grown a little more since then. He settled into a steady pace, holding my body gingerly with his strong arms, leaning in periodically to nuzzle against my lips.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Harder,” I muttered, the pleasure from his cock stretching my walls only leading to a deeper and deeper need.

“Like this?” he said, picking up the pace, letting more of his strength come through as he thrust into me.

“Harder,” I breathed, feeling the familiar taste of power, the crackle across my throat.

“Mmhm,” said Lee, audibly putting in some effort as he pounded into me, his gigantic hands digging into the globes of my ass cheeks, giving them a hard slap periodically.

“Harder,” I grunted, feeling some sort of release as I had the acute image of Lee’s pelvis corded with muscle, his hips and glutes flexing with vascularity as he pumped with inhuman power.

He made a sound that was some cross between confusion and pleasure, losing control as he jackhammered into me with animalistic lust. He dug his hands in under my thighs and lifted me up bodily, impaling me on his dick as his hips went into overdrive. He roared as both of us reached climax, shooting ropes of cum as his hips continued to buck involuntarily. After the last shudders of orgasmic release, he slowly came back to his senses, pulling his softening dick out of my hole.

“Was that…you?” he asked, his hands exploring a slightly more developed muscularity than what had been the reality earlier that night.

“...I think so.”

 —

I found myself in Lee’s lab early the next morning reflecting on what exactly had developed last night. Of course I was used to dipping into Synt’s power to change people, but this was different. More direct in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.

Lee was bouncing around with some extra pep in his step, his usual lumbering movements now imbued with much more grace and poise. One would find it hard to believe that just 12 hours previous he was rearranging my guts with wild abandon. His bubble butt filled out his form fitting khakis, glute and hip muscles becoming all the more apparent every time he squatted down to look at something more closely with his co-PI, Armand. At 5’6”, Armand was almost two feet shorter than the literal giant with whom he ran the paranormal research lab in the basement of the Center. I sat patiently, coffee in hand, watching them navigate the space and prep things for that morning’s procedures. 

Lee and Armand had taken it upon themselves to help me study how Synt’s power worked and what kinds of research implications it might have. Lee was  wildly enthusiastic about the possibilities presented by the deity in my head whose capabilities were seemingly only limited by the imagination of the host. Armand, if a little annoyed by being there earlier than the start of their usual workday, was more interested in how this development, if presented the right way, could secure some more reliable long-term research funding for the entire institute.

After all, the lab could use a makeover. It was kind of a drab, slapdash mix of alchemical and traditional scientific instruments, slowly cluttering into a maze of in-progress and semi-forgotten projects and experiments. One wall was an entire blackboard covered in a collage of equations, mathematical proofs, ancient grammars, bits of poetry, and a running list of takeout places that after many late night deliveries knew Lee and Armand by name. It at least drew the eye away from the rest of the color scheme, which consisted of specific shades of blue and sherbet-beige that one might see at a hospital or some sort of mystical DMV. But it was Lee’s high voltage magic lab. A cleanroom as he calls it.

I was crammed into an office chair at the center of a circle whose circumference featured sigils across multiple human and inhuman languages, each one glowing and fading lightly in slow sequence. I know a protective ward when I see one, and this formed an invisible, magically impermeable sphere. I sat in the middle of the snow globe, wondering what might get knocked loose were someone to come along and shake it, as Lee and Armand set about their final preparatory tasks. Lee was adjusting the angles of what looked like modified environmental sensors, following the wires back to his desktop to check that they were working. A cluster of wires ran not along the floor, but up to the ceiling and above the circle, dropping down and hooking into a brain scan helmet that sat lightly on my head. Armand was fiddling with what was certainly a decades-old fax machine, outputting a slow but continuous stream of paper while chittering softly to itself and occasionally jotting down little dots and symbols. According to Armand, it’s a device that “picks up magical grammars in ambient space and translates them into textual data for further analysis,” but I still think it just looks like a fax machine. He was not amused by this.

Our routine many mornings was me in the evil snow globe, relaying messages between Lee, Armand, and Synt as they tried to experiment with ways to activate, measure, or at least gather data on the texture of Synt’s magic. Bursts of erotic, body morphing energy were beyond impressive, but wildly unpredictable, and the research team wanted to start small and controlled.  We had made little to no progress. It’s not exactly a thing that I can just turn on and off and Synt doesn’t particularly care or even see the point of all this. These little science experiments are a blip on their radar and we probably seem like anxious primates hitting things with sticks. Which to a certain extent is true.

This morning was no different than the others. After enough failed attempts and false positives, Lee sighed, shaking his head at the monitor perched on his modified standing desk.

“I need some caffeine,” he yawned, loping off toward the exit and, I assumed, the coffee shop on the ground floor upstairs.

I was left with Armand, standing hands on hips, staring intently at his fax machine as if, with enough silent pleading, it may just start speaking English. It continued its indecipherable chittering, spitting out snippets of static on the page.

“Did you get a fax?” I asked. “From the cosmos?” widening my eyes for emphasis.

“It’s not–we’re getting basically background radiation and ambient noise. Nothing that really tells us anything,” he said, turning to glance at Lee’s computer. Armand awkwardly adjusted his lab partner’s standing desk, waiting impatiently for it to lower to his height. Eventually, he relented and grabbed a step stool just so he could read the data, shooting me an annoyed glance at having to have an audience for what seemed like a daily ordeal between them.

“So you didn’t feel anything this whole session? No surges of otherworldly power?” he asked.

“I felt hungry,” I responded. “Haven’t heard much from Synt.”

“But Lee said yesterday evening you did it without even trying,” said Armand, scratching the scruff on his chin in thought. 

My heart skipped a beat as I imagined Lee informing Armand about how he got his new power thrust pelvis as if it were anecdotal data, before I realized, “Oh, you mean Blake!”

“Yeah, that was his name. The park ranger guy. He’s been emailing me about some abandoned site out in the forest, I need to look into it. But you changed him just by what? Thinking about it?”

“Thinking isn’t really an apt descriptor of what Synt does,” I thought out loud. Armand had settled into a flat footed squat in front of the cosmic fax machine, on the edge of the ring of sigils. He was staring not quite at me, but at the space around me, as if Synt might materialize from my aura. “Sometimes it feels like the way their mind works is itself a sort of manipulation of space and time. Maybe the way all of our minds work, when you think about it.” The fax sputtered something out, but I couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or dissension. Armand’s eyes glanced at the printout then back at me.

“But you channeled that manipulation deliberately, right? Not just specifically to Blake, but specifically to his glutes.”

“Not just that, but yeah. I sort of focused the energy and…released.”

“And what did that feel like?”

“Like…singing?” The familiar feeling danced around my vocal chords. Synt perked up in anticipation.

“Singing. Ok.” Armand began to bounce slightly in his deep squat, which I’d come to realize meant he was on to something. As he mulled over this new bit of information, his eyes traced one of the sigils on the floor. Mine, however, were locked on to the bulge made more prominent by his stance. I could always tell Armand was packing something, and under ‘normal’ circumstances his bulge would be the focus of anyone’s attention, but it was an afterthought with Lee carrying around an unmistakable pipe in his pants.

“Have you done any work on metaphysical harmonics?” he asked.

“I’ve taught the basics, but it’s not something I deal with a lot in my research,” I said. “Bouncing different planes and dimensions off of each other by fiddling with the right frequencies and resonances, that sort of thing.”

“I’ll have to dust it off, but I think we do have the equipment for it,” said Armand. “Maybe instead of brute force reality shifting, Synt is actually doing something much more subtle and graceful, like moving through the pages of a higher dimensional flipbook. Which would explain why Lee, for one, is so good at carrying such big…changes.”

I don’t know why I said what I said next. I had that taste of possibility on my tongue and you know who was pushing at the back of my consciousness, dangling a small invitation to play with the warp of the universe, compelling me to blurt out “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got him beat.” With a wink no less.

A few things happened. One, I did manage to catch the feeling of that spark of power in my throat being released in a very specific direction, straight to the crotch which I had been trying to not look at in my early morning haze. Two, the fax machine printed out what looked like a poem of some mix of text, symbols, and glyphs before proceeding to rewind the spool of paper on its own and carry on printing blanks like nothing happened.

And three, while Armand was watching his precious sensor apparatus misbehave yet again, the bulge in his slacks began to bulge even more. Like, really bulge, unspooling down his leg. To the naked eye, it looked like he was somehow oblivious to the fact that his dick was expanding in real time to over twice the amount of space it had just been taking up in his chinos, the mushroom head becoming distinct against the fabric and his balls alone putting catastrophic pressure on the stitching along the seam. Except, if one would look closer–though that would be rude–they might notice the seam continuously adjusting on its own.

I watched his package inflate as he seemingly didn’t register the changes at all. But through the other sight of Synt’s perspective, it was as if the area around his crotch, and to a lesser extent the area around his body was pixelating, shifting, and falling back into place piece by piece over and over again, resulting in a visibly larger and larger bulge until…what?

You’ve got him beat, said Synt, quoting my earlier comment with what felt like a sly smile. I had been through enough by now to know that the next move was not to investigate the prodigious member in front of me but instead reflect on the timeline–New? Altered? Unclear–that I now found myself in. 

“I guess you’re right,” said Armand, “but Lee still wears it better.”

I guess I had gotten relatively used to it because we were co-workers, but Armand has by far one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen. Not that I had ever actually seen it, but the bulge snaking down his leg was obscene on his small frame. Even with what I assume were tailored pants, it was unavoidable and unwieldy, drawing stares and even comments in public, much to introverted Armand’s annoyance. I kind of felt bad for the guy. Rumor has it that when fully erect it’s a whopping 16 inches, somehow just slightly bigger than Lee’s schlong, which though impossible to miss, still blended in better on a frame that was two feet taller.

If what Armand had surmised was true, and Synt had let their hands play across a multidimensional keyboard, then we had been moving through proximal dimensions in which Armand wasn’t actually growing, but simply had a bigger and bigger dick for whatever reason, following the path of least resistance until he arrived at a size that beat Lee’s, and my offhand comment proved true. I loosely wondered when Noah would get his hands on him, if he hadn’t already.

Armand rose out of his squat to head to the board and add the metaphysical harmonics angle to the parking lot of working hypotheses. His gait was wider and a little awkward, but he wasn’t adjusting to his new size so much as he had already been used to it for years. Had I progressed to what Synt had been doing in my class this past semester? Moving beyond brute force changes and reworking the time stream itself? What else had I inadvertently changed about Armand’s life? What other elements of his social, romantic, or work lives had been altered in unpredictable ways by his inexplicably massive cock?

I needed more caffeine. As Lee came strolling back into the lab, I rushed past him, bounding up the side stairwell to the ground floor and the conveniently placed coffee shop. This wasn’t the most high traffic part of campus, so even during the morning rush, the baristas were bleary eyed and underwhelmed, snapping awake as I lumbered up to the counter.

“Oh, hi, what can I, uh, get started for you?” asked a barista across the counter who was not one of the usuals, made obvious by the fact that he clearly did not expect to be staring up at a man in leggings and a plaid skirt who loomed a full head taller than him.

“Just a dirty chai, and can you throw in an extra espresso shot…Jamal?” I asked, leaning awkwardly to read his nametag.

“Gotcha!”

I still felt disoriented, standing in a sleepy coffee shop having just manipulated space and time through the power of horniness. We may have finally cracked the code for at least a piece of the mechanism of what Logan had been doing originally on accident. The implications were staggering for our understandings of physics, metaphysics, reality itself. I had no idea how far the possibilities went and it sent a chill down to spine to think of what could happen on accident, let alone on purpose, but to be honest I felt powerful. And incredibly horny.

The familiar aftershock of arousal finally hit me, a deep, tingly, insatiable hunger that I quickly realized I would need to find some way to take care of this morning. Lee was right downstairs and this wouldn’t be the first time we fucked in some back corner of the basement. I wondered if Armand might want to prove the rumors true and hit a spot even his lab partner couldn’t reach. I shivered at the thought of almost a foot and a half of rock hard cock jutting off his slim, twinkish body, a completely absurd image of it bobbed in the air as he walked towards me.

“Um, excuse me?” Jamal, with an intonation that implied that hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to get my attention in the past 30 seconds, and he didn’t much care but a line was starting to form. “Can I get a name for that?”

“Oh! Um, sorry. David,” I said. “The only giant in the coffee shop. Can’t miss me,” I added with an awkward laugh.

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised. There was just a guy in here who had to be like seven and a half feet, I don’t even know. Like freak show tall,” eyes widened and hands splayed out.

“Not nearly as tall as you, right?” I responded without missing a beat. “You’ve got what, a foot and a half on him?” 

In my defense I was horny. And in an experimental mood. And a little annoyed at the quip about my friend. And in retrospect, starting to get drunk on power.

But Synt got the message loud and clear, and I watched the fabric of spacetime pixelating and refocusing around Jamal as I craned my neck up and up and up to his wire rimmed glasses catching the reflection of mid morning light.

A blush across his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, with a slight smile and a roll of his eyes. “That chai will be right up.”

[lilacwriter07]

Adamsapple Halloween Week 2024

adamsapple halloween week theme : Monsterfucking Everyday will be a different monster, prompts will be know on friday ! these are the monsters ! Day 1: Vampire Day 2: Banshee Day 3: Chimera Day 4: Demon (I know but be creative doesn't have to be canon HH okay :) ) Day 5: Deity Day 6: Ghost for Ghost you can go with cursed ghost or a haunting one, not Casper kind bc he is a cutie and the ghost has to bit more scary Day 7: Choice ! You can get your own monster or write part 2 of any from these, mix them up if you want too ! Any genre is welcome, any rate is welcome, Top Adam, Top Lucifer or have them switch is also okay, any languages as well, fanfics, fanarts, whatever you come up with, we respect an others work, and have fun with this alright ! Any questions please ask prompts be out on friday

Date : 25/10 - 31/10

#AdamsappleHalloweenWeek2024

[buntress]

[IDs in alt text courtesy of this post (link)]

Naturedeity 🌳

🌳 Naturegod

Naturegoddess 🌳

[PT: Naturedeity, Naturegod, Naturegoddess]

Genders part of the Genderdeity [link] system.

Naturedeity

A gender related to nature and being a deity, a nature deity, a deity of nature, etc

Naturegod

A gender related to nature and being a god, a nature god, a god of nature, etc

Naturegoddess

A gender related to nature and being a godess, a nature godess, a godess of nature, etc

[PT: Genders part of the Genderdeity [link] system.

Naturedeity

A gender related to nature and being a deity, a nature deity, a deity of nature, etc

Naturegod

A gender related to nature and being a god, a nature god, a god of nature, etc

Naturegoddess

A gender related to nature and being a godess, a nature godess, a godess of nature, etc

End PT]

For :: My Birthday Coining Event [link]!

Day 4 :: Godly // Earthly

Possible Pronouns + Titles Under The Cut

If you enjoy what I create, consider leaving a tip on Ko-Fi (link)! /nf

Tagging :: @radiomogai @variant-archive @faunagender @floragender @hypnosiacon @hisreturn @whitepicmin-stims @haunted-thing @mogai-transcriber @electrosaccharine @jiiamp @keyringmogai

Possible Pronouns:

Ae/Aem

Div/Divine

Ea/Earth

God/Gods

He/Herb

Hy/Hymn

Leaf/Leaves

Mo/Moss

See/Seeds

Vine/Vines

😇/😇s

🌱/🌱s

🌿/🌿s

🍃/🍃s

🌼/🌼s

Possible Titles:

Protector Of The Natural Order, Hy Who Makes Blossoms Grow, Divine Covered In Moss, Vine Covered God/Goddess/Deity, It Who Is One With The Earth, Ae Who Is The Rustle Of Leaves, She Who Loves Nature, He Who Walks The Woods, The Forest Dweller, The Sprouting God/Goddess/Deity

All pronouns can be replaced with your preferred pronouns!

[disneymarina]

For a sexy Mexican fantasy theme in a haunted attraction, Marina could be one of the following scare actresses:1. A vengeful Aztec princess, her skintight bodice covered in fake blood, obsidian jewelry glinting in the dim light.

2. A sultry bruja (witch) stirring a bubbling cauldron, her black dress and dark magic swirling around her.

3. A seductive lalembruja (day of the dead skeleton) in a skimpy sugar skull costume, her bony frame and painted-on flesh a jarring contrast.

4. A fiery diabla (female devil) in a red dress with horns and a tail, tempting souls to the underworld.

5. A mysterious xilonenh (underworld spirit) in a flowing white gown, her haunting song luring victims deeper.If Alejandro Vargas saw Marina in one of these costumes, he might:1. Approach her slowly, his intense gaze devouring her curves and costume details while he tries to place her from beneath the sugar skull makeup.

2. Give her a possessive once-over before pulling her into a dark alcove for a scorching kiss, his hands roaming over her uncovered skin.

3. Attempt to "exorcise" the

If Marina were to be a scare actress in a haunted attraction with a Mexican fantasy theme, Alejandro Vargas would likely be enthralled by her various character options and lores:1. Aztec Goddess: Marina could portray a fierce, seductive goddess like Coatlicue or Coatézcuani, with intricate gold and turquoise adornments, flowing robes, and a regal bearing. Alejandro would be captivated by her commanding presence and the allure of ancient mysticism.

2. Day of the Dead Spirit: Dressed in vibrant, colorful attire adorned with papier-mâché skulls and marigolds, Marina could embody the vibrant energy of the Day of the Dead celebrations. Alejandro would find himself drawn to her infectious enthusiasm and the romantic, macabre allure of the holiday.

3. Cihuacóatl, the Feathered Serpent: In a slinky, emerald-green costume with feathered accents, Marina would channel the legendary Aztec deity. Alejandro would be mesmerized by her fluid movements and the air of mystical power that surrounds her.

4. Xóchiquetzal, the Precious Hummingbird: As the goddess of beauty, marriage, and flowers, Xóchiquetzal would be a stunning character for Marina.

[idv-ask-the-showman]

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and ghouls, Welcome one and all to tonight show~ I am your friendly neighbour Showman, Phineas. oh, just what a truly haunting pleasure it is to see all your spirited faces gathered here tonight!! I stand before you to celebrate, announce, and embrace the arrival of the spine-tingling month of October!!”

“And we all knows what that means~ the air is crisp, the leaves are falling, and the pumpkin spice is flowing. It's that time of year when the mischievous spirits come out to play and Halloween lurks just around the cobweb-covered corner. Yes, honey, it's time to release your inner witch, wizard, vampire, or even a gloriously goofy ghost!”

“In this magical month of October, the world transforms into a whimsical wonderland of frightful delights. It's the time when the veil between realms becomes as thin as spider silk, granting us a chance to embrace our wildest imaginations.”

“And we are here tonight to make sure that during this frightful and spooOOOOooky~ month, you would have the most fun you could have ever dream of!! Heheh~”

╬╬═════════════╬╬

//okay I made a small drawings ideas list for you all to use for fun during this month, is not long or a lot but is the best I could do tbh. You do not have to do them in order or as fast as possible, you can just pick what fit your fancy and have fun!!

{DRAW YOUR OCs}

Getting ready for Halloween

Carving a pumpkin

Going to a simple Halloween party

Going/giving trick or treating

Splash art for their costume (like in genshin)

Scary movies night

Playing a horror game

Waking up from a nightmare

Halloween masquerade ball

Dressing up as their favourite horror movie character

Let them sing their favourite children rhythm but in a more of a scary tone.

Dancing underneath the blood moon

Got cursed by a witch (your choice what the curse is)

Exploring a real hunted house

Day of the dead

Dress as their friend/family member

Doing one of those 3am scary challenges (Bloody Mary, ouija)

Be a menace to society and watch or already set the Christmas decorations and movies mid October >:3

Visit a graveyard, why not?

Doing a devilish ritual to summon an ancient evil deity… with the besties!!

Getting drunk in a party

Hiding a DEAD BODY.

╬╬═════════════╬╬

{OCs Asks}

1. If your OC had to choose between being a vampire, werewolf, or witch,etc. which one would they pick and why?

2. What would be your OC's favorite Halloween candy or treat? Would they have any unusual cravings?

3. Does your OC have any unique Halloween traditions or rituals that they follow each year?

4. If your OC hosted a Halloween party, what would be the theme and how would they decorate the venue?

5. What is your OC's opinion on scary movies? Do they love them or avoid them at all costs?

6. If your OC were to go trick-or-treating, who would they go with?

7. Has your OC ever encountered a real ghost, monster, or other supernatural entity during Halloween? What happened?

8. Describe a memorable Halloween adventure or misadventure that your OC has had in the past.

9. Is your OC the type to play pranks on Halloween night, or do they prefer a more peaceful approach to the holiday?

10. How would your OC react if Halloween forever been cancelled?

11. Does your OC believe in the existence of creatures like witches, vampires, or werewolves? Why or why not?

12. How does your OC feel about carving pumpkins? Do they enjoy the process or do they find it messy and tedious?

13. If your OC were to create a spell for a Halloween potion, what kind of magical effects would it have?

14. Has your OC ever attended a Halloween masquerade ball? If so, what kind of costume did they wear and how did they feel about the event?

15. What kind of supernatural abilities or powers does your OC possess, and how do they utilize them during the Halloween season?

16. How was your OC first Halloween like? And if they didn’t celebrate it in the past as a kid, tell us why?

17. Dose your OC like the month of October?

18. What type of person your OC is during Halloween?

19. How likely that your OC would befriend Jack Skellington?

20. Would your OC be the type to older a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks just because is October even tho they may not like it?

╬╬═════════════╬╬

[themidnightguardian]

Naruto Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Race Against the Clock | Panic Attack -- Kakashi & Team 7

The rooftop fell silent, but Kakashi could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, smelled the lingering singe of lightning, and he suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—his lungs wouldn’t work, too heavy, weighed down, like they were being crushed--

Day 2: Trust Issues -- Naruto & Team 7

“Are you going to try to kill me, too?” Naruto asked, blunt enough that it actually made Hatake rear back.

Day 3: Set Up for Failure -- Tobirama (Madara/Tobirama)

A number of things suddenly clicked into place. Most importantly: Tobirama had been sent—exhausted, drained, with limited supplies and no backup—through Uchiha land. On purpose. Because he was expendable.

Day 4: Hallucinations | "You're still alive in my head." -- Kakashi (Kakashi/Obito)

Kakashi had dreamt of him frequently in the months after the Kannabi Bridge incident, but it wasn’t until Rin’s death that Obito seemed to escape from Kakashi’s dreams, haunting him in the waking world as well.

Day 5: Sunburn -- Sakura (pre-Sakura/Sasori)

Day 6: Not Realizing They're Injured | Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood." -- Tobirama (pre-Madara/Tobirama)

Day 7: Unconventional Weapon -- Sakura (ft. Itachi)

Day 8: Sleep Deprivation | "Leave the lights on." -- Sasuke (ft. Orochimaru)

“You will adapt, or you won’t,” Orochimaru had said, his smile sharp and empty and every bit as cold as the air in the lab. “But remember, you are only useful to me if you succeed.”

Day 9: Bruises -- Kakashi & Team 7

Something was wrong with his kids. That much, he knew for certain. Naruto was quieter than usual. Sasuke looked like he hadn't been sleeping. And last, but certainly not least, was Sakura. Kakashi’s unexpected problem child.

Day 10: Blow to the Head | Slurred Words -- Iruka (developing Iruka/Kakashi)

Day 11: Loneliness | "Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist." -- Sakura (a Sakura/Sasuke breakup fic)

The house was empty when Sakura came home, not that she’d really expected anything different. Three years of sporadic visits—sometimes with months in between—had taught her better than to hope Sasuke would be waiting for her.

Day 12: Starvation -- Naruto & Team 7

Day 13: Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees -- Itachi (ft. Sasuke, Shisui, Uchiha Clan, and Kisame/Itachi)

You are condemned to destroy all that you love, the curse promised. And Itachi loved Sasuke the most.

Day 14: Left for Dead -- Sakura (pre-Sakura/Itachi)

Day 15: Childhood Trauma | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?" -- Naruto (Naruto/Sasuke)

Day 16: Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything." -- Sakura (Sakura/Shikamaru)

Day 17: Nowhere Else to Go -- Madara/Tobirama (ft. Deity Tobirama)

Day 18: "I see what is mine and take it." -- Madara/Tobirama

Day 19: Blood Trail | Abandoned Cabin -- Kakashi (Kakashi/Zabuza)

Day 20: Emotional Angst | Shoulder to Cry On | "It's not your fault." -- Sakura & Hinata (pre-Sakura/Hinata)

Day 21: Body Horror -- Shikamaru (Shikamaru/Naruto)

Day 22: Bleeding Through Bandages | Reopened Wounds | "Oh, that's not good." -- Kakashi & Team 7

Day 23: Forced Choice | "I'm doing this for you." -- Tobirama & Hashirama (pre-Madara/Tobirama)

“If there’s ever to be peace, this is the cost—” “I’m not doing this for peace,” Tobirama spat. “I’m doing this for you. Because you are my brother, and you could ask for anything and I would give it. Even if it kills me.”

Day 24: Collapsed Building -- Sakura & Ino (pre-Sakura/Ino)

Day 25: "It's for your own good." -- Sakura & Sasori (hints of Sakura/Sasori)

Day 26: Nightmares -- Madara (established Madara/Tobirama)

Day 27: Muzzled -- Kakashi & Obito (fucked up Kakashi/Obito)

Day 28: Denial -- Naruto (ft. Iruka)

Day 29: Fatigue | Burnout -- Kakashi (soft Kakashi/Gai)

His vision blurred again, and this time, instead of fighting it, Kakashi let the dark creep in. He fell into nothingness, and he did not feel where he landed.

Day 30: Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears -- Sakura & Kakashi-sensei (ft. hints of Team 7)

Sakura didn’t like the fuzzy, numb, cold feeling that the drugs gave her, but she wasn’t eager to feel the pain either. She’d already cried over just the anticipation of it. Or maybe that was the shock of finding out she’d lost an arm and an eye. Maybe it was the anger and the grief and the fear coming out all at once.

Day 31: Asking for Help -- Naruto/Sasuke

“There’s a problem. A really, really, really big problem.” Sasuke narrowed his eyes. With Naruto, a really big problem could be anything from Irchiraku Ramen changing their operating hours to an international diplomatic snafu that was about to launch them into another world war. He gave it about 60-40 odds, favoring the former.

[just-a-local-dreamer]

The Sea Behind Your Eyes

a WIP intro

Hospitalized after a mysterious accident, Sebastian navigates his life through a haze of missing time and memories. As the people around him grow more and more concerned, he feels something dark take a hold of him. There just might be something lurking behind his eyes.

GENRE: YA supernatural mystery

STATUS: 2nd draft

POV: 3rd person, 4 MCs (read more below)

SETTING: Tarandi, a fictional town in Estonia

THEMES: loneliness, mental health, first relationships, responsibility

AESTHETIC: Seagulls screeching at the bays, dark autumn nights under hazy streetlights, long glances, misty Saturday mornings, cold and worn-down apartment buildings, seaside towns during the off-season, mending estranged relationships, studying alone at night and feeling something else in the room with you, moving on after traumatic events and feeling them haunt you, eyes glinting in the dark

TWs: (verbally) abusive parents, slight gore, character death (both on and off-screen)

TAGS: #wip: fv #wip: the sea behind your eyes

EXCERPTS:

"Does it hurt a lot?" Like father like son

A bit about the characters:

Although much of the "external" focus is on the mystery, ancient curses and deities, the central theme of loneliness is explored through the 4 main characters.

SEBASTIAN is an invisible child, a constant disappointment to his parents who aren't willing to deal with his undiagnosed ADHD. He has no one to confide in and feels as if his parents don't care about him at all. At one point he asks himself, would they even notice if I disappeared? and the entire book is a resounding answer, no, as he slips away and no one bats an eye until it's too late.

In a family with workaholic parents, LAUREN was raised by her older sister. When her sister suddenly moved away to go to a college in another city, 11-year-old Lauren had to learn to rely only on herself. Now that she keeps everyone at an arm's length due to her ingrained I don't need anybody mindset, she doesn't know how to let people close even if she wants to.

NATHANIEL is an abnormality and he knows it. He's the only person who can see and hear things he does, things that shouldn't be possible, like cries from the sea and ghosts wandering on shorelines. Nobody understands really what it's like for him, and his only friend Lauren is not much of a listener. Feeling isolated from his peers, he spends a lot of time in his own head.

After his alcoholic father died, KULDAR's mother was deep in depression, and he made it his life mission to be her rock. He's always bottling his feelings inside, trying to live a perfect life so that the lives of her mother and little sister could be easier. Unwilling to ask for help, he deals with every problem himself, and tries to carry the weight of the world alone.

QUOTES

"Unusual things herd together. Where there is one, there's usually a few more to follow."

"She always laughed like that – like she had a finite amount of happiness and only dared to use a little at a time, fearing that one day it would run out as everything always eventually did."

[hadit93]

Hi, thanks for answering my ask.

I have been practicing for 3-4 years and mostly worked with planetary forces and the angels associated with them. This was my first Evocation. I don't have any previous experiences with any kind of spirits. In fact, there have been instances when people around me felt some kind of presence (while exploring haunted houses or graveyards) but I have always been completely oblivious.

I did not follow the proper Goetic method. I fasted for 6-7 hours, bathed, and did the purifying breathing exercise in Jason Miller's Consorting with spirits. I gave offerings to Jove and Hermes on my altar and prayed for the Evocation to be successful. I drew 3 circles and set up offerings (incense, candle, water, and caramel icecream) for Bune. I started with an orison from The Book of Oberon, consecrated the dagger and wand, drew the circle using the script from Consorting with Spirits and called the four kings. Then I read a prayer of receptivity, drew the sigils of Bune while chanting Bune's enn. I read the conjuration script from The Sorcerer's Secrets thrice while walking around the circle and then read the two conjurations from Modern Magick. I then welcomed the spirit, tried to communicate with a scrying mirror (I am really bad at any kind of divination) and after a while told them what i wanted. I bid them farewell, closed the circle, thanked the 4 kings, and ended with the QC. I didn't feel anything the entire time, the only proof that something happened is that my chronic backpain got better immediately which I've been struggling with since January.

Fyi: I never said I command thee. I said I ask thee instead. And I smoked a blunt before the ritual to alter my mind.

It is not the worst method, there are things I wouldn’t do or do differently, but our practices are all going to look different. My advice is always to follow the original method as closely as possible and you are comfortable with first prior to making changes. I also don’t command spirits unless I need to- and that has been a rarity.

I would say that results matter more than psychic theatre- you have gotten what you wanted so it counts as a result. You didn’t experience bells and whistles, but that doesn’t matter. You may just need to develop your psychic senses which is work you can dedicate a small amount of time to each day. I’ve heard Psychic Witch by Mat Auryn is good in this regard. I myself utilised Christopher Penczak’s Inner Temple of Witchcraft back in the day and things really opened up for me when I began astral work as part of the AA system. Hermes should be able to help in this regard too.

The one thing I would avoid is the use of Enns. Perhaps I am a little too avoidant of the demonaltry crowd because their work is normally ridiculous and they half of them are neonazis. But I just feel they simplify things too much and aren’t really adding anything useful. A blunt statement, but it is what I believe to be true.

If you are working with the Graeco-Roman deities already you may want to look into working with Hekate as an intermediary force for the spirits. I believe Jason has a section on this in consorting with spirits and the late Jake Stratton-Kent also wrote about this.

But as I say it sounds like the spirit turned up and has helped already. So it has been successful. Perhaps try working on getting those senses a little more open and an ability to tune in to the planes beyond the mundane.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for September 7

Morning

“My God shall supply all your need.”

Mark 8:1-9

Mark 7:1-3

Some spiritual teachers think it beneath them to devise anything for the temporal good of their hearers, but our Lord was intensely human and humane. He could not look on hunger and faintness without pity.

Mark 7:4 , Mark 7:5

That is the question How much ability have you? To calculate how much agency would be necessary to evangelize the thousands, may be mere speculation: to resolve each one of us to do our own share of the work is sound sense.

Mark 7:8

Those hands which multiplied the food were surely those of the world’s Creator. Who can doubt the Godhead of Jesus? Lord, prove thy Deity by making the labours of thy poor church to be a rich blessing to millions.

Matthew 15:39 , Matthew 16:1-12

Matthew 16:1

How trying it must have been to his holy and ardent soul to be haunted by these spies! Yet he never fell into their snares. His holy wisdom is an example for us. We too are watched.

Matthew 16:2 , Matthew 16:3

The signs of coming judgment were clear enough. None are so blind as those who will not see.

Matthew 16:6

Meaning their sour, hypocritical, carping spirit, and erroneous teaching.

Matthew 16:12

What mere children the disciples were, yet Jesus bore with them very kindly, and so will he do with us.

Canst thou, then, without compassion,

Me thy faint disciple see,

Hungering after thy salvation,

Perishing for want of thee?

Dying, till the grace is given,

Only for thy life I pine;

Feed me, Lord, with bread from heaven.

Fill my soul with love divine.

Evening

“The Lord openeth the eyes of the blind.”

Mark 8:22-38

Mark 8:22

Our Lord was never long without a case of sickness or infirmity to deal with, and if we are wise we shall each one keep him well employed by taking our own infirmities and sins to him. One touch of that dear hand will make us whole.

Mark 8:24

He saw indistinctly, as some of us do now in spiritual things; but when our Lord begins a cure he makes a perfect work of it. Meanwhile it is a great mercy to see at all.

Mark 8:30

Then he desired to avoid notoriety, and had wise reasons for commanding silence, but now we may publish his fame as much as we please; yea, the more we sound abroad his praises the better will he be pleased.

Mark 8:31 , Mark 8:32

In his great love he could not bear to hear his Lord talk of suffering even unto death; but still his affection did not excuse his gross presumption.

Mark 8:33

Satan or thou adversary

Mark 8:33

It was great impudence on Peter’s part to chide his Lord, nor could the Master endure that his servant should put a stumbling-block in his way by urging him to forego suffering and death. He counted even his best friend to be an adversary when he stood in the way of his work of love. Lord, thou wast angry with Peter because thou wast too fond of us to spare thyself

Mark 8:34 , Mark 8:35

Not only must Jesus make a sacrifice of himself, but the spirit of selfishness must be driven out of all who will be saved by him, and they also must be willing to die for the gospel’s sake. Nor need they be ashamed to do so, for in the end he will prove to have acted wisely who gave up all earthly things to gain the heavenly treasure.

Mark 8:36-38

Solemn words. Let us not go forth from this room till we have asked for grace, never to be ashamed of the name, people, doctrine, ordinances, or commands of Jesus.

Jesus! and shall it ever be?

A mortal man ashamed of thee!

Ashamed of thee, whom angels praise,

Whose glories shine through endless days.

Ashamed of Jesus! that dear Friend

On whom my hopes of heaven depend!

No; when I blush, be this my shame,

That I no more revere his name.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[em0tionl0rd]

I think my mind just melted..

(personal nonsense below the cut)

Only recently did I realize that Daemon, my character, was probably inspired by Mulgarath from my favorite childhood book series; The Spiderwick chronicles.

Warning! Spoilers ahead for a show you may never watch:

_ _ _

My ex made me watch ALL of Mr. Robot, because for Some reason, he thought it would help me understand him better. But I ended up relating to the main character more than he did.

Elliot, in the show Mr. Robot, has an imaginary friend called "Mr. Robot". Mr. Robot is also shown to be an alternative personality of Elliot.

In the episode titled "da3m0ns", it is revealed that; besides being a literal interpretation of a "daemon" in coding language -

"In multitasking computer operating systems, a daemon is a computer program that runs as a background process, rather than being under the direct control of an interactive user."

Mr. Robot is also like a "daemon" in mythology -

"Daimons are lesser divinities or spirits, often personifications of abstract concepts, beings of the same nature as both mortals and deities, similar to ghosts, chthonic heroes, spirit guides, forces of nature, or the deities themselves"

(I recognize my character as the latter, because that is how they presented themselves to me) .

Now, I have issues with my father, and my past. Thankfully, I don't share Elliot's specific trauma related to his father.. But I did have a serious falling-out with my dad, where I ran away and refused to see him again. (our relationship is still pretty rocky now that I'm an adult)

Some time later I created a friend and paternal figure in my head. One that I tried very hard to 'imagine' into reality, by one means or another, all because I felt very alone.

This is where I struggled heavily with dissociation from reality, and plunged myself deep into my own fantasies and dreams as a form of escapism from my day-to-day life. A coping mechanism for depression that inevitably had dire mental health consequences. Another reason I can relate to Elliot's character.

I see myself 'slipping' into this other character sometimes. They appear in my dreams. I feel myself become them, in my dreams. We share a body. And this is still something I have a very complicated relationship with to this day.

At one point I was dealing with some pretty serious nightmares that were somewhat a result of this mild psychosis, but they have since been worked through and I don't really have them anymore.

I am, however, haunted by ideas of my father (specifically) and actively have to fight them off.

I made the mistake (out of necessity due to circumstances) of letting him back into my life 4-5 years ago, and have been miserable dealing with his utterly insufferable and obnoxious behavior ever since.

Part of me still really wishes Daemon were real and could (I beg him to) take me away so I can actually be happy and heal and not have to deal with this garbage nonsense anymore.

Before Daemon I had similar imaginations of The Doctor but that's besides the point.

Fantasy boy with a magic box (or muscle car) please whisk me away..

I feel like my life will be better soon enough though. I won't have to deal with my dad anymore, and I will finally be able to live my life and have peace of mind.. (I might add to this in another post)

_ _ _

In the Spiderwick Chronicles, there is a scene where Mulgarath turns into the children's father and tries to deceive them in order to acquire the field guide. It's a trippy sequence.

I have, for the life of me, never been able to understand why I have this distinct fear of things "becoming" like my father. Not that my mom's constant comparing me to him didn't help, because she couldn't face her ex and take responsibility, ever.. But because his behavior literally haunts me and hangs over me wherever I go. Like a hex.

For years, after I ran away as a kid, I would have dreams about being trapped at his house and having to tolerate his behavior and emotional manipulation/abuse. I ended up in an abusive relationship (ironically?) in order to escape him, again, as an adult.

I try to talk to him, now that I am so close to being independent, and he still refuses to understand that he was in the wrong. It's like he's terrified of letting go, desperately clinging on to his own make-believe ideas of reality; Of family, and of his kid(s). Everything he says to me, about me, just feels manipulative, and it's extremely annoying.

_ _ _

There is such a things as subliminal influences, whether we believe in them or not, whether we can see them or not, whether we're even aware of them, or not. No matter how hard we try to fight them, they will still have power over us, somehow, in some way.

I have a tendency to pick up things, forget about them, and somehow they later translate into my work. Especially characters from my childhood that I've mostly forgotten about.

I'm a staunch hater of when people's behavior so obviously directly reflects their influence(s), but it's like even I can't escape that recurrence. And I don't want to be a copy, or a clone. No matter how hard they want me to be like them. No matter how hard they pushed me and bullied me and groomed me to be like them. It's just not fucking fair.

Maybe this is why I relate so much with the villain(s).

_ _ _

In 'The Spiderwick Chronicles' (2024) Christian Slater plays the role of Mulgarath.

It All Comes Full Circle . . .

_ _ _

Anyways, Mathew Lillard's "Steve Ragland" (William Afton in the Five Nights At Freddy's Movie) drawn in street clothes and a ball cap reminds me of Christian Slater as Mr. Robot.

Also Rami Malek, yet again playing a character dealing with severe mental health issues; His role as Joshua in Until Dawn and his interactions with Dr. Hill were like a precursor to the events in Mr. Robot. Another, seemingly 'imagined' personality living in Rami's character's head.. As their mind slips to the brink.

My brain has been deleted. Good night.