#day 4: deities/haunted

[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

[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)

[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.

[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

[yandere-fetish]

October 4th, 2024

Entry 4

Inspired by hidden worlds and ancient jungles, enjoy this wild adventure you’ll never return from…

warnings: mentions of gruesome deaths, cannibalism, mentions of torture

To Worship or To Be Worshipped

What had started out as a simple hunt to discover another ancient tomb ended up in a miscommunication with the locals. And now, they want their god to recognize them…

”No! Alphonse! Saphira! Let them go!” I pleaded through the stone bars as I reached out for them.

That was the very last of the crew I came here with. There were twelve of us at one point, but after falling into these ancient traps that led to this temple completely took us by surprise when we began dropping like flies.

Whether they were decapitated, impaled, or severed in half, their lives all ended up being deceased. I remember their smiles, the laughs we shared just the night before this chaos ensued. They had been such a lively group of comrades and such a joy to adventure with. It was devastating to know that their deaths were so agonizing.

Tears fall from my cheeks as I scream out in protest as the two are dragged towards an altarpiece in the middle of this jungle. It was obvious this place was inhabited long ago and somehow, they sustained life this long. Especially if it was found from a secret passage within a hidden tomb. I had always thought it was planted, and that they found their food source from, but it wasn’t until the second day of being captured where my thoughts had been horribly wrong.

Instead of hunting and eating meat for the whole tribe that second night, they took a fellow researcher first, injuring two of the guards who weren’t tied up. We watched— everyone watched and heard as they carved her skin off to fry in a medieval pan over a burning fire. Several of the tribesmen and women were using scary looking hunting knives. Paget was screaming until her lungs couldn’t hold anymore air. Her screams had gone on for so long, my ears had continued to ring even after her voice was silenced.

Even now, as I’m trying to fight against the bars as the last two of my companions are being wretched from me and used as a food source, my hands tremble on the bars. My sobs come out all choked up as their screams and pleas for help reach my ears. It wasn’t long before I was haunted by their ghosts, seeing them everywhere I looked when I opened my eyes. I saw them in my dreams, begging, crying for me to save them from their destined fates.

When a piece of burnt meat is shoved into my teepee-like cell, I almost gag at the sight.. had it not been for my growling stomach demanding for some sustenance to sustain my broken and terrified life.

As they celebrated that night, they seemed to worship a stone statue. It was of a mighty bird-hybrid creature with many different animalistic features. I had never seen a deity or statue with the type of markings, nor the type of ritual they had going on during this full moon.

It wasn’t until the night I thought my life would end that these sudden fears were suddenly pulverized into nothing.

It was the night I met the deity.

[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 growth // Dick growth // Growth // Suggestion // nsfw

---

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.”

[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

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."

[thanks--for--listening]

divine monstrosity

Chapter 4: Beatrice

yes yes I know it’s late but at least its here! final chapter and its my favorite dynamic so far. 

also on ao3. (chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3)

~~

“I’m almost me again / she’s almost you.”

— almost, hozier

If she’d still had the ability to sleep, Lilith knew the sight would haunt her; as it was, she only saw it when she stopped moving, when her body paused just long enough for her mind to take advantage. 

Keeping busy was easy during the daylight. There was nowhere for ghosts to hide, and there was much to do. Images she didn’t want to see were held at bay, restrained by the sheer amount of energy that went into everything else. 

It was the night that brought complications.

Days had passed since the portal — how many exactly, she wasn’t sure. But the moon hung proudly in the sky, and she could feel the pull as strongly as if she were the tide. 

She always followed, mostly because she knew it belonged to her. The tug. The need to be in that room, even for a few minutes. No deity was influencing her to do their bidding. Not with this.

Her room was dark when she entered, phasing into the corner she knew to be empty. With the moonlight coming through the window, she could just make out the shape of her body asleep on the bed. 

Lilith wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was waiting for. Why she kept coming here. It wasn’t as if she had nothing else to occupy her time — unlike before, she was burdened with knowledge, with foresight and memories that her brain was still struggling to piece together. She had tasks to complete. Voices to ignore. There was no reason for her to stand here, in the dark, watching like—

“You don’t have to keep doing this.”

A weaker person may have been startled. But she had been conditioned to never reveal when she was caught off guard. To never allow someone to know they had the upper hand. To never give it up in the first place. There were only a few people who still managed to surprise her, and she was staring at one of them. 

Beatrice’s eyes remained closed for another moment, before she opened them. There was no judgment in her gaze. No anger, either. Just calm, as if Lilith’s presence was expected. As if it was normal. Not many people looked at her and saw normalcy anymore. 

Lilith stepped slightly out of the shadows. “I know.”

In the silence, she saw it again, a flicker that disappeared as soon as a shadow crossed her face. Beatrice pushed herself up into a sitting position, and although Lilith still towered over her, they felt more on even ground. 

“At least you’re brief,” Beatrice conceded. “Camila won’t stop doting.”

The corners of her lips tugged up, just slightly, before she remembered that Camila hadn’t seen her since her many transformations. Would she still approach her with tenderness when she witnessed the monstrosity she’d become? 

“She asked about you,” Beatrice said, reading her mind for the second time in as many minutes. 

“What did you tell her?”

“That you’re…different, now.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not all of us have wings.”

Lilith shrugged. “Ava took the halo, I had to adapt.”

For a few seconds, Beatrice smiled, and everything was exactly as it used to be. When Beatrice had first arrived at Cat’s Cradle, she’d been drawn to her immediately. Like recognized like, and she was so clearly a kindred spirit. Someone who understood discipline. Another warrior who valued hard work with the same ferocity that she did, who had ambitions that complimented rather than competed with hers. Someone who spoke her language, who could handle her intensity and her icy looks and the empty space where her heart was meant to be. 

The reality of Ava’s absence crept in quickly, snuffing the humor out too soon. For an instant, Lilith came face to face with the very image she’d sought to avoid, before Beatrice schooled her features into compliance. 

Even if she hadn’t slipped, it wouldn’t have mattered. The way she’d stared up at her, standing in front of the vacant Arc, hands empty and words spoken too late, was burned into the back of her eyelids. She felt the heat of it as intensely as she had when Adriel had gifted her Sight. She needed no reminders, no triggers, to see it again.

“Have you…I mean, can you tell if…if she…”

“No, I can’t.”

Beatrice nodded, biting her bottom lip. 

Neither of them spoke. The quiet crept in quickly. Silence unburdened by voices used to unsettle her. Lilith had thought herself weak then, constantly falling victim to derailing glimpses into the past, each one intent on leading her to distraction, to ruin. 

She’d thought it was someone else’s doing. The influence of whatever being she’d come into contact with on the other side. In reality, the absence of direction had simply driven her mind to desperation. It was she — her own wretched brain — who had filled the gaps with memories. He had taught her that. 

It stopped once she’d joined his side, once she’d succumbed completely to the voice in her head, the one that returned after Jillian’s experiment. But now they were warring, the voices and the memories, each fighting for ownership of her limbs and mind, her conscious and unconscious. 

In an effort to hold onto herself, to not become a tool at something else’s disposal, she’d stopped fighting the urge to look back. It had left her burdened with flashes of the life she’d once led, with no way of filtering which moments she witnessed. 

She’d never considered how much suffering she’d endured. She saw her childhood, heard her mothers demands and felt the consequences of her own failures as if she was reliving them. Mary getting dragged under a pile of bodies while she phased away unharmed. Beatrice’s face at the Arc. Ava’s screams as her knife slid into her back. 

They built on top of one another, growing heavy with fear and fury and regret. There were days when Lilith doubted she’d have the strength to carry them all. But the pain helped keep her focus on her past life rather than give in to the future something else wanted from her. It could kill her, so long as she died herself. Not a slave to someone else’s bidding. 

Like clockwork, treasured moments of relief came just as she feared she was reaching her limit. Days spent in Cat’s Cradle with Beatrice, Mary, and Shannon. Nights as a child creeping out of bed, finding glimpses of joy away from watchful eyes. Training with Mother Superion and beating the shit out of a newly haloed Ava. Camila at the piano. 

So many of her thoughts led her back here. Like a shadow she couldn’t shake, Cat’s Cradle was where her mind went when it had nowhere else to go. There was a reason it was where she’d phased to upon reentry. A reason she’d come back after her first massacre. 

Despite the blood that soaked through to her skin, the wound that refused to flake away, and her failure at apprehending Vincent, her first instinct had brought her here. She’d materialized into the courtyard, unconcerned with appearances or judgment — she’d just wanted to go home. 

The place had been clearly abandoned. She’d walked the halls frantically, finding no evidence of what happened, no indication of where survivors — if there were survivors — may have gone. Camila. Mother Superion. The other sisters. They’d vanished. 

Panic threatened to set in, but an odd sense of calm had washed over her. She couldn’t find them until she fixed her shoulder, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own had whispered. Better to handle one problem before moving onto the next. 

Something had felt wrong, though. She didn’t want to be fixed — she wanted to feel safe. So she’d tried again, another version of home, and part of her knew she wouldn’t find the feeling there, but the desperation was hard to resist. She’d spent a lifetime searching for it in those walls, trying to earn it with awards and accolades. That desire wasn’t something she could simply turn off. 

When she’d stormed out, when the rage had run its course and forged another new path in her heart, the voice beckoned again. Despite the fact that it sounded less like her and more like a stranger, she complied. Went to Jillian. Received the message from the others soon after. But by that point, the fearlessness and desperation that had led her to Cat’s Cradle had dissipated. In its place, she’d found a fierce determination: when she saw them again, she would be coming to their aid. They needed her to answer the call. To protect them from whatever had sent her team running. And when she did, she refused to be broken. 

The portal changed everything. Even now, her memories of it were brief. Long hours under an unforgiving sun. Faces that flashed by too quickly for her mind to hold onto them. Voices coming from somewhere she could not see, making decisions she had no input in. Decisions about her.

Everything got fuzzier once she came back. For months, she had longed for the sound of someone offering a command, a direction to take. When the voice returned, beckoning her to his side, she relented. In truth, she reveled in it. It had not led her astray before — if it needed her at his side, then that was exactly where she’d go. 

The cost of listening was greater than she’d ever have anticipated. 

“Where has your mind gone?” Beatrice‘s voice broke through the reverie. Lilith blinked a few times, until the bedroom and her friend's face came back into focus.

“Nowhere.”

“I know what you look like when you’re lost in thought. All that silver can’t hide you from me.”

Denying anything was fruitless. Beatrice would see right through her, as she already had. 

“I keep going back to one moment,” she told her, inching closer to delicate territory. The more she spoke, the more likely it would lead to conversations she wasn’t sure she was prepared to have. And yet, she kept talking. Not through another’s will being imposed on her, but because she chose to. It was easier to speak when she knew the words no longer belonged to someone else. 

“I wonder,” Lilith continued, “whether it may have changed everything, had it gone differently. Had I…”

“I know what you mean.” Her face remained steady, her tone unwavering, but Lilith could feel the shift, the emotion that most would never notice. “I keep imagining what might have happened,” Beatrice continued, “if we’d only walked away when he showed up. If he’d still be alive if we had. If she’d still be here.”

It took her a second to draw the connection. The Salvius boy. He’d been largely irrelevant to her, a blip in her radar. An obstacle to be removed. 

She didn’t remember pulling his heart out of his body. She knew she’d done it, but it was as if she was watching it through a haze, puppet master pulling the strings so completely that the motions themselves didn’t feel like they belonged to her at all. 

Part of her felt the need to apologize, but how could she explain her callousness? Her disregard for him even now, when she felt grounded in herself? He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t matter. And he was always going to die.

At least, that’s what she’d been told. The voice had called him a problem. A threat. It was only after, when the portal had closed, that she’d questioned who it was that he was a danger to.

“What about you? Which moment won’t let you rest?”

Before, she would have rather someone killed her than admit to any weakness; now that she had actually experienced death, she knew there were worse things than vulnerability. 

“I kept expecting one of you to come looking for me,” Lilith confessed. “At the lab. At Adriel’s. I’d find myself staring at the door, waiting for someone to bust it open and demand I return.” 

Beatrice’s face tightened, the pain present in every line. It was a bit of an unfair ask. She’d known something had happened, something catastrophic enough to send them into hiding, but she’d still thought that perhaps she was valuable enough to warrant a rescue attempt. An asset worth fighting for, if not a sister worth protecting. 

“When nobody did,” she continued, “it felt easier to stay. Harder to fight against the pull that I knew, deep down, didn’t belong to me.” She hoped her words sounded more like a justification than an excuse, although she hardly intended them as either. It was simply the truth. “I’m not sure who I’d be now if I hadn’t gone down that path.”

“We tried. After we regrouped, we tracked you to Jillian’s. Camila was furious that she’d let you leave when you were…not yourself. Made quite the scene on your behalf.”

The image of Camila scolding Doctor Salvius made the corners of her lips inch up, just slightly, before she remembered where she’d gone next. “And after that?”

“After that, things got…complicated. I think we all just figured wherever you were, you could handle it.”

The ache of incompetence crept in, doubt not far behind. Was it trust they’d had in her, or disregard? Had she failed them, or had they failed her?

“I’m sorry, Lilith.” She looked up, and for the first time all night, Lilith didn’t have to search to find what she was feeling. The guilt and sorrow were presented openly, blatantly, obviously. “We should have done more. We should have seen…I should have seen that you needed us. I was distracted, and I let you down.”

It was what she’d longed to hear. That she was right. That they’d left her, abandoned her at her greatest moment of need. That it was not her fault she’d turned into a creature so unearthly that all her years in service of god had been reduced to ash.

But now, hearing the words, seeing the regret on Beatrice’s face, she didn’t feel the triumphant sense of vindication. She felt exactly the same as that moment at the Arc, when she’d watched Beatrice flinch away, unsure if Lilith was friend or foe: ashamed. 

All she’d wanted to do was fulfill her duty and help her friends. She’d died for it. She’d spent months lamenting on the inequity of it all, the lack of fairness in her sacrifice being for naught, consumed by fear and anger that she pretended weren’t there. And what had she received in return? Where had it led her?

In a way, she felt as though she’d ended up exactly where she’d started a few months ago. Her feelings still felt too heavy to handle, her mind constantly slipping away. She had no home. No sisterhood. And yet she knew, deep in her core, that she had changed yet again. And while it couldn’t be worse than who she’d been at his side, she wasn’t sure if it could ever make up for all the damage she’d left in her wake.

She’d given herself completely to the man who’d killed Mary. Lilith may have deserved an apology, but she was beginning to believe she owed one as well.

“You were in love,” She finally responded. “As far as distractions go, I suppose that’s a worthy one.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I wasn’t—that’s not—“

“You can lie to yourself and everyone else if you’d like, but you can’t lie to me.”

It was as if her words set something in motion, because the tears in Beatrice’s eyes appeared instantly. The sight was rare, though growing more common with each passing day, something else Lilith knew she could take ownership of. 

The helplessness returned. Her strongest friend was falling apart, and Lilith had no idea how to piece her back together. All she had to offer was herself, and it was not enough.

If Ava were here, she’d kill her for putting that look on Beatrice’s face, and then let her heal so she could do it all over again. She’d yell and swear and embarrass herself all in the name of bringing a smile back to Beatrice’s face. And her effort wouldn’t even matter, because the simple act of being by her side would fix what Lilith helped to destroy. Mary had been right all along — she could train and study her entire life, and it wouldn’t change the fact that Ava had heart. Lilith did not. After her trip to the other side, Lilith suspected she never would. 

“I miss her,” Beatrice whispered, her voice raw and fragile, another anomaly to add to the list.

In an instant, she was back at the Arc, Ava disappearing to the other side. The side only she knew about. Beatrice had looked up at her, eyes begging for any kind of relief, and Lilith had nothing to give. 

It wasn’t just the desperation in her gaze that had left her haunted by that moment — it was the fact that, as soon as the portal closed, she’d felt the words echo in the back of her mind, in a voice that was not her own: well done. 

All the pain she’d caused. All the damage she’d done. The heartbreak on her face, and Lilith couldn’t say with confidence that she knew why it had to happen. Whose orders she was operating under. Her eyes may have been enlightened, but in all the ways that mattered, she’d been blind. 

“She’ll come back.” Lilith said. Her words were calm, her voice emotionless to anyone who didn’t know her. But Beatrice had always heard what she could not say.

“How do you know?”

“Because she has to.”

If she found any fault in the logic, she didn’t speak on it. 

The dreaded silence returned, except it wasn’t exactly quiet. If there was anything she’d learned in the past few months, it was that the world was still alive at night, still very much in motion. It was just harder to hear. The insects communicated in hushed tones. A handful of birds still spoke, undeterred by the late hour. The wind created all sorts of sounds, from the rustling of leaves to the rattling of windows. Like an orchestra, each element came together to form something cohesive. Something beautiful.

She glanced to her right, noticed the slight gap above the windowsill. Just enough room for sound to sneak in. Lilith didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it earlier, couldn’t be sure whether it was for her sake or Beatrice’s, but either way, it served as a balm to the harsh reality of their individual sorrows. 

She turned her attention back toward the bed in time to catch Beatrice’s failed attempt at holding back a yawn. Her eyes were drooping, shoulders sagging. Despite her best efforts, exhaustion could only be delayed, not denied.

Lilith was the only enemy it seemed to lose to. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was the exception. The night may be awake, but most people were not meant to hear its symphony. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Lilith said, preparing herself to go anywhere else. “I should let you sleep.”

“I can’t.” The words came quickly, like a secret that snuck out before its time. Lilith looked at her, watched as she closed her eyes and took a break before continuing.

“In Switzerland,” she explained, “we shared everything. An employer. An apartment. A bed.” At the sight of her eyebrow rising, Beatrice added, “I balked at the thought of it initially. The…impropriety. But Ava refused to let me sleep on the couch.” 

She fought off the smirk. Ava was smoother than she’d given her credit for.

“I worried that it would be uncomfortable, or awkward. But Ava has a way of finding joy in everything, in making the most mundane prospects seem like thrilling adventures.” Beatrice chuckled as she added, “She said it would be like a sleepover every night.”

“Of course she did.”

It didn’t take long before her smile faded and her eyes shifted out of focus. “The bed feels too lonely now. Too big. Every night I dread the sight of the sun setting. Every morning I turn to my right, expecting to see her sprawled out next to me. All I ever find are cold and empty sheets. The wrongness of it all is….” She shook her head. “You apologized for waking me. But the reason I knew of your visits is because I can’t sleep without her. Two months, and my body no longer remembers a lifetime of solitude.”

The anguish is palpable. It’s suffocating. More than that, it’s familiar. 

Mary had always been the protector of their group. It was one of the things she’d admired and envied most about her. Lilith knew the feeling, but her instinct had never looked right, had always come through in disguise, so as not to reveal whom she valued enough to save. All this time on her own had left that feeling mangled, caught up in the twisted efforts of him and whoever had brought her to his side. She’d thought she was protecting them by following commands. All she’d done was cause more pain.

She had never known how to fix herself. How to heal wounds she could feel but not see. Not before her death and certainly not after. But if she could just help her friends, if she could rid them of the feeling she knew all too well, then perhaps her own pain would have a purpose. If she could protect Beatrice from the betrayal of her heart, it may make up for the absence of her own.

The answer was clear: she needed to find a way to bring Ava back, and to prepare the world for the battle she’ll be walking into. That was how she fixed it. But right now, a simpler, more temporary solution would have to suffice.

“Scooch over,” Lilith sighed as she slowly stepped forward. She spoke it as a command, but part of her still waited for the recoil. The revulsion. 

It never came. Instead, Beatrice just nodded and shifted to her left. 

She quickly removed her shoes before lifting the covers and laying down next to her. The bed didn’t offer a ton of space, just the smallest sliver keeping their arms apart, but she found comfort in it regardless. 

The phenomenon shouldn’t have been new to her. She spent her entire childhood attending private catholic boarding schools. Bed sharing was a long-standing ritual that many of the other girls had partaken in, despite the rules against it. But she’d never been invited to join. Never trusted anyone enough to allow them into her most vulnerable, private space. 

Lilith finally understood the appeal. Lying side by side, facing the dark of night alongside her, it was so much easier to dismiss the thoughts that argued she’d be locked in loneliness forever. There was evidence she could point to with the simple turn of her head to show that, at least for now, she was not alone. 

“Can I ask you something?” They were both still staring at the ceiling when Beatrice broke the silence. 

“Of course.”

“You always come in the middle of the night, but you never stay. Not even in your own room. Why?”

From the moment she first spoke tonight, Lilith suspected this question was coming. Answering was easier in this position, when she could confess without having to face scrutiny. 

“I can’t anymore. Sleep. Rest. My body doesn’t remember how, either.”

Beatrice took no more than a beat to process the words. Lilith wondered if she’s already figured them out. If her answer was merely confirmation. She’d always had a way of seeing through her, of catching what she thought was hidden in plain sight. It was another reason they’d worked so well together — she saw what Lilith never would. 

“I’m sorry this has happened to you,” Beatrice responded. Lilith felt her body turn, but she kept her eyes glued to the ceiling. “I’m not sure if I ever said that.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult. I hate to watch you suffer. I hate not knowing how to help. Neither our scripture nor our history prepared us for something like this.”

“You mean they don’t warn about scales and wings in the story of Jesus’s resurrection?”

“They fail to mention that part, no.”

“Well then, I will be filing a complaint with the church for false advertising.”

Beatrice chuckled, and Lilith wondered if it wouldn’t be too hard to make room in her newfound plan, to add regularly hearing that sound to her long lists of tasks to accomplish.

Something else has to come first, though. She knew what she was meant to do, but the words still seized up, getting stuck in her throat until she nearly choked on them. Part of her wanted to bury the sentiment and their shame forever, but if Beatrice could admit to her shortcomings and give her an apology, the least she could do was return the favor. 

Lilith took a breath. “For what it’s worth—“

“I know.”

She finally turned, leaning back slightly so she could see her face. “You know?”

“You don’t have to say it. It’s okay.”

It was not. Okay only existed in her memories, in moments she could look back on. Atonement was what she had now, and it started with words she’d never liked to say. Words she knew were owed.

“I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done. And for what I may still have to do.”

Beatrice broke the threshold between them, grabbing her hand without hesitation. If she feared the claws that hid beneath, she didn’t show it. “Just promise me that whatever comes next, we end up on the same side.”

“I can’t—“

“No. I don’t care about your ominous warnings. You are still my sister, Lilith. I will not fight against you. So promise me that you will not fight against me. We face the future together.”

If she were a stronger person, she would tell her that she may not have the luxury of picking a side. That the warring inside her head, the voices arguing over her fate on the other side, may once again prove to be more than she can handle. It was why she had to lay the groundwork now, travel in the shadows and cross lines without hesitation. Unlike the war that awaited them, her fight would not be holy.

But Beatrice called her sister. She saw every depraved part of her, and still wanted her by her side. That, more than any ability she may have developed, was truly, biblically, miraculous.

“Okay,” she said. “Together.” She silently prayed — to whom exactly, she was unsure — that it was not a lie.

Beatrice exhaled, before turning onto her back. From this position, she could practically hear her heartbeat. The sound calmed her, eased her mind in a way she hadn’t felt since before her rebirth. Everything that was coming, everything that had to be done, it could all wait a few hours. She was in charge of her mind and body, at least for now. 

It didn’t take long for Beatrice’s breathing to even out. She knew she wouldn’t drift off, couldn’t give in to unconsciousness, but she closed her eyes anyway. Lilith may not have been able to sleep, but perhaps she hadn’t yet lost the ability to dream.

[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.

[blueofthesun]

i have time to spare and love to talk as if i know something about music, so here's some album opener thoughts<3 i'm very curious as to what everyone's personal favs are, since each dir album has such a distinct vibe and i feel like their opening tracks really nicely set the tone every time. my top 5 (technically 6) is under the cut:

5. deity (macabre) / sa bir (uroboros)

tied because i feel similarly about both of them. both are the opening tracks of an album quite different from the one before, clearly indicating a step towards a direction that is significantly more ambitious and experimental. sonically i find these two have a few similarities as well. (in many ways i like to think of uroboros as their macabre 2.0 but that is its own post i think)

i just love the eerie atmosphere of both of these songs. the tension, the vocal teasers, the way they grow and morph and pull you in. both songs have a circular, hypnotic feel to them. both of these album openers say "you better start taking us seriously". and upon hearing them, i think that's exactly what you do.

4. schadenfreude (phalaris)

when i say i was in tears hearing the intro for the first time i am not exaggerating. what a beautiful way to lead in an album. and listen, i might not have understood and gotten the full vision with this whole song at first, but once i did, i really did.

the way this song is structured really gives you a good idea of all the different shades the rest of the album is to offer. it also ties nicely into the previous album era. i also really love the way this album is sandwiched by two 9-minute songs on each end, like two detailed, beautifully crafted bookends.

3. conceived sorrow (the marrow of a bone)

i just think making conceived sorrow the opener for tmoab was so genius. i remember many people feeling thrown off by it back when the album came out, but the more you listen to the full work, the more perfect sense it makes for this one to be the first track. it really highlights the undercurrent of grief and sorrow this entire album has beneath the aggressive exterior. it sort of acts as the perfect prologue for the rest of the album.

tmoab in general has some of the best ballads they've ever written, and i think it's brilliant the way they stand out against the gritty, gravelly framework of the rest of the album.

2. kyoukotsu no nari (dum spiro spero)

i love an instrumental album intro more than anything, and genuinely, kyoukotsu no nari is one of the most impressive and effective album openers i've ever heard. it achieves so much by doing relatively little, and every sound, every note has its purpose. you just know you're about to listen to their most ambitious and artistic piece of work to date when you start dss and hear that first chord drop.

the soundscape is so haunting and gut wrenching, gives me full body chills. that creeping organ (?) melody haunts my dreams. a masterclass on how to really make a lasting first impression, truly. i love their instrumental stuff so much.

1. audience killer loop (vulgar)

my beloved. all of this album's intensity and emotion is perfectly condensed into that little hook melody and the instrumental bridge, it's so good. the chorus is so powerful and memorable, the way the song loops (heh) back into that aggressive intro riff in the outro is just. absolutely iconic. to this day, this song works perfectly as a live set opener as well.

this song does what a good album opener does and makes you immediately excited to hear the rest of the album. i've called vulgar their most dynamic album before (and i'll do it again); this intro raises the energy from the get-go, and the rest of the album does a fantastic job at building momentum and keeping you in it up until the very last track.

[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.