#decayed spirit parallel

[syntheticspades]

i’m legally obligated to ask everybody about their ALBW Link, so blorbo blingus form w Parallel?

hhfbfn ravio n zelda take care of him

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 23

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (rough/angry sex to yummy love making, soft dom!dae, oral m&f receiving, spitting, dacryphilia, praise & degradation, piv), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: I just realized Otto was replaced by lyonel strong as hand at some point and... Yeah I don't remember why so I can't be bothered to write that in. Also I invented a Tyrell character ok? This is probably going to be my last smut piece for this, so it's LONG so long that I HAD TO CUT THIS PART UP 😭🤬😅 it's fine derailed plans slay 3 parts left ig 😭

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Viserys sits at the head of his council table, staring at his gloved hands. Lord Lyonel Strong drones about something, something about crops and drought and famine and public unrest, something about how crimes have spiked.

"Just last night, the Gold Cloaks reported to have apprehended 3 men who've broken in and stolen a great amount of flour and meat from three different establishments."

"Three criminals," Otto corrects, nonchalant.

Lyonel turns to him, but the Hand does not even spare him a glance. He clenches his jaw, "men, Lord Hand," he corrects, "who'vee been forced to resort to theft to feed their families."

Otto, who was checking his nails in uninterest, finally looks up. His face is blank, "criminality is criminality and should be met with justice."

Viserys takes one last look at his hand, wondering if what was happening to the kingdom was his fault, thus why his finger was decaying. He sighs, shaking his head, "what measures have we taken to fix this?"

"Thus far, we have banned the export of goods and opened one of the royal storehouses," Lyonel turns to the king, "additionally, the Houses of the Riverlands, mine included, have pledged a portion of their yield to the crown."

"Good, good," nods Viserys, "will it be enough?"

A beat of silence passes.

In truth, it answered the question, but still, Lord Lyonel says, "no, your majesty."

Viserys pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, slumping on his chair. He turns to the vacant one parallel to him, the seat of his brother.

Otto presses hi palm on the table, "Highgarden has been relatively unaffected by the drought. I've reports of how they're thriving from the profits of their heavily marked-up exports."

"Where is Daemon?" Viserys looks around the council.

Otto purses his lips, looking around the table before turning back to the king.

"I heard that it was he who made the arrests last night," says one of the council members.

Viserys furrows his brows, "has he not returned since then?"

"Unlikely," Lord Hand blurts, "when he is not razing the city, he is joined to my daughter's hip. I can confirm that he was not here last night, as I was then able to speak to my daughter about the Tyrell's conditions."

"Conditions?"

"I've sent a raven to Highgarden on behalf of the Crown, asking for two months worth of food."

The king narrows his eyes, "but?"

"But Lord Olivier said he will only see food delivered to King's Landing if a true representative of the Crown comes to Highgarden with the request."

Viserys stills.

Tension thickens in the room the king laughs. He leans back into his chair, muttering, "qogralbar jaosītsos." Fucking puppy.

Otto watches Viserys lean into the table. It was clear, though he did not understand what he said High Valyrian, that he was displeased— offended, just as he knew he'd be.

"Am I a dog you beck and call with a mere whistle?" Viserys asks no one in particular.

The council does not respond as the king laughs dryly; the vein popping on the side of his neck gives away his anger.

A moment passes, and the grandmaester speaks up, "my king. Lord Olivier is wrong to insist upon a show of power during a time of crisis, but the cost of pride is the lives of many common folk."

"I am well-aware, grandmaester," Viserys snaps.

Otto takes the opportunity to speak, "gracing Highgarden with your presence is an honor not befitting such insolence. I would not even recommend sending your lady-wife, Queen Alicent, or even Princess Rhaenyra."

Viserys turn to Otto, brows furrowing in disbelief as he thinks of who's left, "so you mean that I should send Daemon?"

The Lord Hand nearly chokes on his saliva, "I would not send the Rogue Prince for any treaty, your grace."

"Then who?!"

"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.

His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"

Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."

"Daemon talks to me of her conditions," Viserys nods knowingly, "whether you care to admit it or not, your daughter thrives under his care."

He does not.

"That said, I do not think it wise to have her part from him, especially considering how he's keen on keeping her close until they have their own sons and daughters."

"Yes," the Hand snaps, then catches himself. He forces a smile, "I would be overjoyed to welcome another grandchild, especially as I've witnessed the agony of my girl when she was once expecting."

Viserys stiffens at the all-too-vivid recollection of the miscarriage he witnessed first-hand.

"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."

The king's brow quirks.

"That was before she got sick, of course," Otto shook his head, "the innocent musings of a child. I digress. With the Tyrell's partiality to the princess, I do not doubt the reunion would inspire generosity towards the Crown."

"Well," Viserys raises a hand, "I admit I'm rather persuaded."

Otto purses his lips into a victorious smile.

"You mentioned you've spoken to your daughter of this already?"

"Indeed."

"And what does she say?"

"She is your loyal servant. Her gentle heart is easily moved and she wishes to help in any way sh-"

The doors slam open and close with a loud creak and thud. Hasty footsteps follow and a hushed mutter of the word, "brother."

Viserys watches as Daemon comes to his side, nodding to him in regard before taking the vacant seat parallel to him.

"I hope all the dull talk is over with," Daemon sits down, looking for a cup of wine, then a cupbearer. He raises a brow, "no Rhaenyra?"

Viserys raises a brow, "she is too old to be a cupbearer."

"Ah," Daemon grins at his brother, "I'd nearly forgotten when just two days ago, she complained to me about her dresses being the wrong color."

Viserys chuckles, albeit begrudgingly; his brother sniggers, wholly pleased with himself and his jest.

If he could, Otto would stick pins in his eyes.

"You've come at the perfect time, actually," Viserys exhales the remaining chuckle out of him, "we were just speaking of the plans to get more food for King's Landing. The Crown will send a royal emissary to Highgarden."

"Oh," Daemon raises his brows and leans into his chair, "me."

Viserys mimics his brother, leaning back and tilting his head, "not you, child."

The prince laughs, "course not," he looks across the table, "you're all so damn serious," he props his elbows on the table, "so, when is my niece leaving?"

Viserys shakes his head, "not Rhaenyra either, no."

Daemon raises a brow and thinks for a moment. He leans towards his brother, "surely, you cannot mean to send the boy, Aegon, to negotiate?" He raises a hand, "I agree he can do with diplomacy, but you will see your city sooner starve than the boy to learn from the trip."

Viserys is taken aback, as he did not think of Aegon once during this entire meeting, "no, Daemon. I am not sending Aegon off to learn at the expense of my people."

"Well," Daemon looks around the council, "hail Viserys the Wise," then back to him, "do tell me who else is left. I worry if you send Helaena, I would have to join her."

"I am not sending Helaena," Viserys raises a hand.

"Well, good. She would never fly again if you do."

Viserys sighs, "I'm not sending any of my children."

He watches his brother in expectation.

"I am sending your wife."

It does not register with Daemon for a moment. When it does, he laughs. He leans back and motions, "alright, so you are sending me?"

"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."

"What?" Daemon laughs, but less amused. The lightness that he had brought into the council meeting morphs into tension.

"Lord Olivier demands the Crown meet him in Highgarden or starve. I will not grace him with an audience of any of my—"

"But you would gladly offer up my wife!" Daemon snaps, "she is not yours to of-"

"She is. I am her king! And yours."

"And I have done much for my king lately," Daemon rises, "I keep his streets clean and discipline his sons—"

"This isn't about you, Daemon," Viserys decisively interrupts. He sighs at the look of his anger, his betrayal. He raises a hand and speaks softer, hoping to placate him, "this is for the good of the realm."

"Then send your heir!" Daemon snaps, "my wife has nothing to do with the realm."

"Daemon," Viserys slowly tries to stand. He finds he does not have the strength to, thus why he remains seated, "won't you listen to me first?"

"And won't you listen to me?!"

The brothers stare at each other for a prolonged moment. Viserys huffs and motions a hand that he may speak.

Daemon immediately blurts, "she is not fit to travel."

"Olivier Tyrell is a childhood friend of hers. If it is she he meets, he might inclined to give more generosly."

Daemon scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, and you conveniently remember her speaking to you of Olivier fucking Tyrell in passing, have you?"

Viserys points, "her father has spoken of it in-"

"SE PELDIO?!" THE SNAKE?! Daemon snaps, turning to Otto, nearly lunging across the table to choke him. He instead leans on the table, "you toil so tirelessly to steal her from m-"

"Why need I steal mine own daughter?" Otto cuts him off, raising his voice, though his tone is low.

Daemon draws Dark Sister.

"DAEMON!" Viserys screams.

The looming kingsguards draw their swords as well, slowly pressing towards the prince, watching his every move.

"YOUR KING COMMANDS YOU TO HEEL!"

Otto glares at his daughter's husband with all the contempt he'd set aside, "had you been less ill-tempered, perhaps the king would have confidence to send you to Highgarden instead."

"Otto!" Viserys chastises, "silence!"

Daemon laughs. He wants nothing more than to sever his head from his shoulders but he doesn't. He can't, not when you've explicitly begged him not to. Otto knows this, as no semblance of fear is behind his eyes. Daemon thinks he might push him down the stairs when no one is looking.

Viserys watches his brother, calling the guards off before they attempt to apprehend him. He speaks to him in High Valyrian, attempting to again explain the logic in his decision. Daemon does not listen. He sheathes his blade and storms off before he does something irreversible.

Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.

A gasp leaves you when your chamber doors break open. You stand from your desk, eyes wide as you watch Daemon bolt the locks and march over to you. Your mouth falls open and your pulse races as you half-expect him to pounce on you.

He doesn't. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt, his breath and fists trembling. You watch his Adam's apple bob and you cautiously step forward, hands coming to his cheeks. You press firmly into his skin, brushing your fingers back into his scalp, "speak to me."

Daemon's lips quiver and you gasp when he squeezes your hips. You swear you can feel his nails through your skirt.

You shudder, "Dae-"

"Have you spoken to your cunt father lately?" he quips under his breath, knowing if he didn't, it'd come out as a scream.

You knit your brows, thinking for a moment. "Ah..." your expression relaxes, "Highgarden?"

Daemon grits his teeth so hard, it's a wonder they don't break, "so you agreed?!"

Before you could reply, Daemon pulls away and paces around. He reaches the wall, leans on it for a moment, then marches back to you. You flinch in surprise when he takes your hands and places them back on his cheeks. You squeak when he yanks you by the hips and presses himself against your chest.

"You fucking agreed to go to Highgarden?!" he quips again, less of a whisper, more of a groan.

Your expression softens as he heaves. The struggle to keep his peace is evident. You firmly clutch his cheeks and raise your brows, "I told him it is in my intention to help the Crown as much as I can—"

You feel him shake beneath your palm.

"— and I would go only if my husband allow it."

"Well, he fucking does not!" Daemon snarls, pulling at your skirts in anger. He chuckles dryly, "he doesn't."

You squeak when he begins to rock you back and forth erratically.

"Let the fucking peasants starve," he speaks, almost like a threat, "no one else can have you."

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, "Daemon."

"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."

"Daemon," you take his chin.

Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."

You tuck his silver hair behind his ear, "I love y-"

"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"

Your chest begins to tighten. You can feel him tremble in anger. You rub his cheeks, "killing him won't solve anything."

"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.

You sigh and rub his shoulders, simultaneously finding the knots in his muscles and the continuous quivering of his form. You shake your head and lower your gaze, "I would rather count the lives you spared in my name than the ones you took."

Daemon shivers, anger still stoking flames in his blood.

You lift your gaze, your own eyes now watery as you look at him. His brows are furrowed, his forehead curled, and his lips pulled into a frown. You clutch his jaw, muttering his name softly.

He looks away.

You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."

He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."

You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away.

After a long moment, you shift, trying to get Daemon to look at you. "My love."

He reluctantly lifts his gaze.

You take his cheeks and he raises to his height. You pout at him and trace the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss him.

Daemon looks away, taking a step back from you.

You freeze, frowning as he takes a deep breath.

"I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."

Your belly drops. You stare at him for a moment as he slowly turns to you. When your eyes lock, he anticipates your reaction. He squeezes your hips.

You gulp and think about his words a moment longer, hands brushing across his chest.

He begins to shift restlessly in his spot as the silence becomes an unspoken rejection. He's about to say something but then he hears your deep inhale.

You tilt your head back and slowly pull him back in, "kiss me then."

Daemon would be damned not to, but he knows you are too kind to him. The last time he had his way with you, your heart nearly gave out. So long ago it may have been, it was still fresh in his memory. He whimpers and nips your neck, "I am serious, sweetness."

You whimper when you feel him begin to undo your dress.

"I want to see you smothered beneath me."

Your breath hitches, hands finding the band of his trousers. You slowly unfurl his ties, humming softly as you do, "you can smother me," you lick his earlobe and nip it.

Daemon, ignoring his better judgment in lieu of his lust, soon has your dress thrown on the floor, leaving you in your shift. He lets you remove his top and his dress shirt, feeling all the heat of anger in his body boil down to desire as you reverently trace his scars with your fingertips. He grabs your wrists before you can kiss his chest.

You look up at him, searching his face.

Finally, Daemon kisses you, mouth hungry, tongue searching yours. He releases your hands to clutch your jaw and continues to kiss you until both your lips are swollen. When he pulls away, he brings you to your feet, "on your knees."

Daemon hastily rips away from you to grab a pillow from the bed. He drops it on the floor in front of him and you lift your shift up your knees, immediately sinking down before him.

Your prince groans and undoes the make of your hair until it is spilling freely down your back. He gathers your raven locks, twisting it around his palm, "my pretty girl."

You gasp when he tugs your head back, forcing you to look up at him. He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, "open."

You oblige, sticking your tongue out while you're at it.

Daemon sighs heavily, pleased with how well he's trained you. He presses his thumb on your tongue, wetting it with your saliva, "your father doesn't know how easily you submit to my whims."

Your brows furrow at the mention of him. It pulls you out of the moment. You suck on his thumb, hoping to distract him of his thoughts.

It does. He tugs your hair back, making you cease your sucking. Daemon stares at you, "I said open."

You open your mouth again.

He presses on your tongue with more force as he builds spit up in his mouth. He spits on your tongue, and it splutters everywhere, causing you to flinch. You can feel heat sliding down into your throat.

Daemon pulls his thumb out of your mouth, "swallow."

And so you do.

He grabs your jaw, firm but not painful. He gives you a look, "you will obey, won't you?"

You lick your lips and nod, "yes, my love."

"Good girl," he gently brushes the spit off your cheeks with his thumb, "now, be a good slut and suck me off."

Your gaze lands on his trousers, or, to be exact, his visible erection. You tug his pants down and pull his cock free; the heat and scent of him radiates onto you. He hisses when you claw him forward. It takes great effort for him not to just fuck your face.

He enjoys the apprehension, or even fear, that clouds your expression when he has you like this. He enjoys the uncertainty that hides behind your determination to please him. He heaves through an open mouth, "such an exquisite bitch from a cunt so vile."

You look up at him as you take his cock and lick his tip.

Daemon huffs, fist tightening around your hair, "your father hurt you so bad, you'd take anything I give you, wouldn't you?"

You gag when he pushes his entire length into your hot mouth. Your hands grip his thighs, nails clawing into his skin. The sharp sensation only intensifies his pleasure.

He slowly begins to buck into you, "even if it makes you cry?"

You whimper, and on cue, your eyes water at the size of him. You gag again when he tugs your hair. The feeling of your constricting throat drives him wild. His thrusts grow faster and faster at a rate you wished was more gradual.

Your nose knocks into his pelvis, his coarse pubic hair uncomfortably tickling your nose, making you want to sneeze. You momentarily scratch your nose, then you recall a lesson he had taught you once before. You do your best to relax your throat and cup his stones, massaging them.

"Fuck," he pulls your head back, ghosting his other hand by the side of your head, "such a good whore."

You choke on your yelp as he speeds up to the tempo that pleases him most. Unfortunately for your throat, it was fast as a galloping horse, or at least it felt like it. More than his pleasure, your main focus becomes breathing. You're glad he no longer knocks into you all the way. You've thoroughly slobbered all over him at this point, feeling heavy droplets of spit dribble down your chin and his pubic hair.

Daemon's breathing grows ragged as he concentrates on his peak. His heart thunders as you squeeze your eyes shut, watching tears stream down your stuffed cheeks. He huffs, "such a perfect mouth."

He slows down but replaces speed with depth. You gag far too many times for your liking.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke, ñuha prūmia," Daemon encourages, slowing even more. Your beady eyes lock with his predatory gaze and he instantly begins to speed up again, "ao sagon gaomagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." Look at me, my heart. You're doing so good for me.

You whimper, pushing back at his thighs as he continues to take your mouth. Your jaw begins to hurt.

"Shh, shh," he heaves as he watches you, "you can take it."

You moan in protest, eyes widening and watering further.

Daemon could care less about your weepy face... but he does, he does care. His toes curl as he slows despite himself. You try to push him off you, but he doesn't let up. He wipes your tears with his free hand, "you said you would obey."

You weep at the reminder, helplessly moaning against his cock.

The sensation nearly makes him finish in your mouth. Daemon hushes you and rubs your cheeks, "just a bit more. My wife doesn't want to disappoint, does she?"

You sob and slobber. You close your eyes and slightly shake your head.

"Good girl."

You take a deep breath and slowly suck on him, bobbing your head back and forth on his hard cock.

Daemon groans and lets you take the lead, though he does not deny himself the flick of his hips, "that's it," he groans, "taking me so well. Better than any painted whore."

You continue like this until Daemon can no longer help himself and takes the reins again. He thrusts into your mouth roughly, but thankfully, it doesn't last very long. He soon spurts in you, hot and salty, and you involuntarily swallow some of his seed.

"Issi ao jāre naejot mōzugon ziry mirre bē syt nyke, litse riña?" Are you going to drink it all up for me, pretty girl?

Tears rush down your cheeks as you shake your head. Daemon, still chasing the last bit of his climax, continues to thrust into you until his reason makes him soft, both in his heart and his cock. He huffs, wiping sweat off his forehead before slowly pulling out. With the same gentleness, he releases your hair. He squats down, bunching your shift out in front of you, "spit."

You spit, watching his thick spend plop on your clothes as you cough and slightly gag. You roll your jaw around as you catch your breath, nearly toppling in exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," Daemon reassures, "arms up for me."

You gulp, sinking to your bum as you raise arms.

"Good girl," he praises, pulling your shift off, leaving you in your small clothes. He wipes your mouth and quickly stands, chucking your clothes with the rest, "water or wine?"

You sigh, watching Daemon go to the nightstand, the muscles on his bum tight as he leans on a leg. He grabs a cup as you mumble, "wine."

He chuckles, pouring some for you, "too salty?"

You groan as he walks back then gratefully take your wine from him. You sigh as he sits in front of you, grabbing your hips before unfolding your legs over him. His filled with mirth; a smile now graces his lips. You watch him as you have your drink.

He kisses your neck, rubbing his hands to your waist before he licks a stripe up your breast.

You pull your cup away, placing a hand at the back of his head.

"You did so beautifully for me," Daemon leans in, violet eyes sparkling in adoration.

You sniffle and pout at him, "it hurt."

He sinks into your neck, "mmm... but not too much..." he frowns, "n-not too much, right?"

You torment him by finishing your wine before replying. His nerves get the best of him and he anxiously peppers kisses on your throat, as if it makes up for the abuse it just went through. You whimper and drop your cup when he begins to suck on your pulse.

"Daemon."

He pulls away, guiltily gazing at you, "just slightly much?"

You chuckle, kissing his lips.

Daemon tries to deepen the kiss, eager to taste himself on you, but you do not let him. You push him back with a sigh. His chest grows uneasy.

You notice and shake your head, "I'm accustomed to pain."

Oh, how he despises it when you say this. He grits his teeth, "but I-"

"It was not very bad though," you press a hand on his chest, "if you feel so bad about it, perhaps you'll bring the ewer of wine over here."

Daemon freezes then furrows his brows through a nod, "of course."

He stands and gets the ewer. You take your cup, raising it to him and he immediately fills your cup to the brim. He props the ewer down then resumes his spot in front of you. He stares at your smallclothes, gulping at the wet stain between your legs. He attempts to pull them off, "you should be naked too."

You squeak when he forces your remaining articles of clothing off, causing some of your wine to splash into your chest.

Daemon throws your clothes off, humming at the red liquid that drips down your navel, "I love wine."

He slides on his chest, but instead of licking the wine, he licks your dripping cunt, forcing you to lean back and release your cup of alcohol.

"Da-Daemon, I'm-" you pull at the roots of his hair, "- I'm still thirsty."

He hums, rubbing his nose against your clit, maddened by the wet squelch it produces. He greedily laps and sucks at your weeping entrance, squeezing your thighs around his head, wanting nothing more than to be smothered by your arousal.

"Daemon," you yank at his roots to gain his attention.

"Mmm," he does opposite, pressing his face deeper into you, "dmrinmk umpm, lomvem," as if you could understand his words in his current position.

You had meant to say something, but the feel of his hot mouth evaporated all your thoughts. You fall back on your elbows, knocking down the cup of wine on your side. Your legs twitch behind his ears and your heel digs into his back.

Daemon hums in approval, gripping your thighs tighter as he feasts more eagerly upon the nectar drawn out with his tongue. He pulls his mouth away, sucking roughly on your clit, before nipping your inner thigh, "such a messy girl."

You gasp as he lifts your lower body, pulling you closer into him until the curve of your arse was resting on his shoulders. He pushes your upper body down on the floor, hands clutching and kneading against your tender breasts as he kisses your cunt.

You writhe beneath him, unable to stay still from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your back arches, pelvis rutting into him. You encourage him further into you, fingers tangling into his hair.

"Such a needy thing," Daemon pulls his mouth away, hands brushing down your hips, "so pretty when she's about to come."

You hold on him falterd when he begins to rapidly rub your clit. You feel your belly begin to tighten.

"Do you want to come on my fingers or on my tongue?"

You mewl, raking your fingers up the side of your scalp, "darling... I..." you tighten your thighs around him, "I want both."

"Fuck," he sighs, fixing the pillow beneath you, propping your bum atop it, "what a greedy whore you are."

You whimper when Daemon shifts and pushes your thighs up to your belly.

"Are you a greedy whore, Lady Hightower?" your husband raises a brow, parting your hot, weeping cunt to lick a stripe there.

Your spine twists and your belly trembles, "y-yes."

"Mmm," his tongue licks you up. His mouth and chin is soon shining under the lights of the room. He lifts his head, "what was that? I didn't hear."

You watch him hover over you until he aligned and eye level. Some of the slick on his mouth drips onto you. You heave through your mouth, "I'm a greedy whore, my prince."

Daemon squeezes your jaw open and spits on your tongue again. You swallow without a word. He can feel himself grow hard, "I had no idea you were raised to be such a desperate slut."

You hum, "not raised," you rub his chest, "trained."

He gulps, cock twitching in excitement, "seven fucking hells," he grinds on you, "gaomagon jaelā naejot ossēnagon nyke?" Do you want to kill me?

You pout and meet his hips with the same motion, "jaelagon naejot mazverdagon ao iā kepa." Want to make you a father.

Daemon curses before kissing you. You whine as you kiss him back, legs wrapping around his hips, hands clutching his sticky face. You whine again when he pulls away and sinks down on you, "nooo."

He kisses your breast, "just going to make you peak on my tongue and and fingers."

"No, please, I want you."

He gives a boyish grin, "and what do you want?"

"I want your cock," you try to pull him up, "want you to fill me with your seed."

"Qogralbar, litse riña," he swipes your lips, "gaomagon daor buragon, nyke'll tepagon bona naejot ao hae sȳrī." Fuck, pretty girl. Don't worry, I'll give that to you as well.

You were so worked up at this point, it didn't take very much for him to push you over the edge, not when your words fueled him so. Even if you weren't on the precipice, with the way he sank two fingers knuckle deep into you and flicked his tongue over your clit, you'd end up a mess either way.

The next thing you knew, you were breathlessly shaking and spilling over his face. You whine his name out and grind against him. He moans in approval and makes sure to pull every bit of pleasure out of you.

Once your high had thoroughly washed over, Daemon rises back up and kisses your face, "did so well for me."

You hum, your womanhood throbbing from its recent peak. Still, there was a want inside you as you heaved. You catch him by the mouth, pulling him into you. He is taken off-guard by your heated kiss.

He does his best not to crush you beneath him. Even with his revived hard on, he still had reason and knew to let your breathing even out, lest your heart give in.

You make it incredibly hard for him to listen to reason though. "Need you inside me."

Daemon chuckles incredulously, "my love, there is no rush."

"There is," you shake your head, "I need you now," you kiss him, "will you make me beg? Please."

He laughs again as you pepper him with kisses, muttering the same word over and over again. He gulps when you whisper it against his ear in High Valyrian.

"I don't think I will last long if I fuck you like this."

Before you can speak, Daemon flips you over and rubs your hips.

"Ride your dragon, princess."

And so you do.

He knew you had terrible stamina, so he could prolong the session enough to work you up again that you might reach your climax together. You a vision as you mount his cock and lean into his chest. The wet and heavy slap of your hips drive him maddddd.

As expected, it didn't take long for your thighs to ache and your bucking to slow. You whine out his name.

He hums and clutches your neck, "you can do it, my ferocious dragon." He lifts his head and kisses your arm, "don't you want to feel me spill in you? Don't you want to be heavy with my babe?"

You whimper coming to a halt, "yes, but—"

He cuts you off with a thrust. Your flesh spills between his fingers as he squeezes your thighs, "take it. Take what you need from me."

Your face contorts as he bucks into you, his cock poking the delicous tenderness in you that makes your lungs tighten and your toes curl.

Soon, your husband sits up and wraps his arms around you. He brushes the hair sticking on your skin and licks the sweat off your neck, marking you just behind your jaw.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and soon find yourself moving along with him.

"That's it," he hums in approval.

You yelp at the sudden slap of your arse.

"Take it like the slut you are."

You bite your lip and furrow your brows in concentration.

Daemon groans, feeling his peak draw near. He rubs furious circles on your clit, making you groan into his shoulder and bite him. He sighs, wrapping an arm around you, "don't stop, my queen. You're going to ride me until I come inside your tight cunny."

You whine and throw your head back, gasping as you grip his shoulders, maneuvering up and down on him harder.

Yet again, your legs begin to give in and he can feel you tremble in exertion. He kisses the frustrated tear that begins to roll down your cheek as you call out his name. "Shhh. Is it too much for you, sweetheart?"

You sniffle and nod.

"Alright," he holds you still by your hips, making you come to a halt.

You whine defeatedly, cunt throbbing in need as you lean into him, "my love, please."

"I'm here," he kisses your head, slowly pushing you back on the floor, pillow finding your bum again. He pushes your legs into your chest and hooks your feet behind his ear, "did such a good job for me."

You helplessly moan as he begins to thrust sharply into you, each movement creating an obscene wet noise that makes your belly tighten and the rest of you melt. Your back arches in anticipation.

"I'm going to take good care of you," he mutters kissing your ankle, "make your belly swell," he kneads your breasts, "your tits heavy with milk."

You gulp, "please."

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?"

You nod frantically.

"Take it, lover, take it like a dirty slut."

"I'm so close."

"Yeah," he grits his teeth, "can feel you squeezing me so tight."

Daemon leans into you, pressing your legs down with his weight. The moment his lips take yours for a kiss, you break into a mind fogging peak and an unholy sound rips out your throat.

To your husband, it was the holiest of holies. He pushes his hands into the back of your knees and goes wild, slapping roughly into you as he chases the high that had been building up his loins the moment your molten heat wrapped around him.

As your climax reach its highest intensity, your husband finally reaches his, and you feel him throb inside you as his frenzied thrusts grow fast and irregular.

You feel winded, but not at all in the usual suffocating way. Your body melts into him as he fucks out the last of his orgasm into you, milking his cock for all its worth, making sure every drop was pushed deep inside you.

You brush his sweaty hair back, mouth finding his textured shoulder, suckling on it as he slowly relaxes atop you. You bite him once then whisper against his ear, "I love you so much."

Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

*it's literally just. an assumption. based on "we know she's possessing golden freddy in the logbook" and "andrew in fazbear frights maaaaybe parallel???" and yet the entire fanbase is like "this is canon tho. angry little girls are epic" (which. true, but)

EDIT: on the mike one meant to say "three weeks for body to skeletize" so how the hell is this man still walkin. does he have just some super sweet glue and is a walkin skeleton or

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fiction Free-for-All Book Bracket Tournament: Round 2A

Book summaries below:

Shades of Magic series (A Darker Shade of Magic, A Gathering of Shadows, A Conjuring of Light) by V.E. Schwab

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black.

Kell was raised in Arnes—Red London—and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see.

Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they'll never see. It's a defiant hobby with dangerous consequences, which Kell is now seeing firsthand.

After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure.

Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

Fantasy, multiverse, series, adult

The Burning Kingdoms series (The Jasmine Throne, The Oleander Sword, The Lotus Empire) by Tasha Suri

Author of Empire of Sand and Realm of Ash Tasha Suri’s The Jasmine Throne, beginning a new trilogy set in a world inspired by the history and epics of India, in which a captive princess and a maidservant in possession of forbidden magic become unlikely allies on a dark journey to save their empire from the princess’s traitor brother.

Imprisoned by her dictator brother, Malini spends her days in isolation in the Hirana: an ancient temple that was once the source of the powerful, magical deathless waters — but is now little more than a decaying ruin.

Priya is a maidservant, one among several who make the treacherous journey to the top of the Hirana every night to clean Malini’s chambers. She is happy to be an anonymous drudge, so long as it keeps anyone from guessing the dangerous secret she hides.

But when Malini accidentally bears witness to Priya’s true nature, their destinies become irrevocably tangled. One is a vengeful princess seeking to depose her brother from his throne. The other is a priestess seeking to find her family. Together, they will change the fate of an empire.

Fantasy, epic fantasy, politics, secondary world, series, adult

[rentumblsstuff]

Back to the NPMD x Monster High AU, a couple more things:

I would like to rescind my Werecat Brenda in favor of Nighthawk Harpy Brenda. Yes, I know I made Kyle a werewolf to parallel Brenda being a werecat but I also have a better offer for Kyle too: Yeti, which is why he still holds a grudge against Max for wrecking his dad’s ski-doo.

I have so many thoughts on Vampire Grace. She was born a normie and is a recently turned vampire (maybe even a vampire hunter that failed on an outing and was turned by her prey). She’s having trouble coping with her religion now that she’s a monster and constantly wears turtlenecks like the one she wears in Perky’s Buds to cover up her bite marks. She tried still wearing her cross necklace as a show of rejecting this new form, trying to embrace the pain of having the cross so close because she thought that loving Jesus even when she’s a form of half-demon would make herself better than other Christians, but it hurt way too badly for her to handle so now she just says she wears it underneath her sweater. Jason was born a vampire and wants to help her through her dysphoria but Grace won’t accept anyone treating her like she’s a vampire (even though she is). She does like the part about eating flesh and drinking blood- it’s what Jesus says to do with himself, so in a way, she’s making everyone she eats a little more Christ-like. That’s her thought process, at least. She also still pretends to be human around her parents and normie best friend Gabe. Gabe may or may not know that she’s a vampire though and wants to seduce her so she can turn him too.

In High School is Killing Me, the lyric is now changed to “Fuck you, biteology.”

Max’s Jekyll form is human (Max), but his Hyde form looks like his ghost (The Jagerman).

Stachie is soooo canon because Richie loves swimming but as a werecat Stacy refuses to get in the water and they feel like their romance is especially forbidden because of it. If Richie didn’t love the water so much, he’d wish he was a werecat too because he also wants to be a pretty little kitty meow meow

Ethan, Lex, and Hannah also went there obviously and Ethan was a ghost á la Jonny Spirit and Lex and Hannah are both spider people. You know tf why lol

Ruth is a lot like Frankie Stein in that she flirts with a lot of people but they Do. Not. Flirt. Back. Rather than solid stripes, her sweater looks more like lightning bolts and the mushroom design is a little creepier than just an Amanita.

A lot of the smoke club are also nighthawk harpies (because they like eating the weed) (including Deb) and so a lot of people assume Brenda is also in the smoke club. She isn’t. Monster high typical speciesism mixed with Hatchetfield High typical bullying regardless of social hierarchy.

The Woodwards are flytraps and that’s why Alice doesn’t smoke- plants don’t do that to other plants. This is often a point of contention between Deb and Alice even though they try to pretend it isn’t an issue

Steph’s secretly embarrassed about her decay so she always makes sure her wraps are FRESH, but the rest of her outfit is always her jagged hand-cut crop tops and ripped jeans. Her decay spread to her scalp and forehead and everyone knows better than to say something about the wraps on her forehead or how she always wears a beanie but Pete accidentally tells her he thinks it makes her look even cooler. Swooning ensues because nobody dares address her flaws, much less say she’s cooler for having them.

Steph secretly wishes Pete had a corporeal form because her love language is physical touch and she’s sad she’ll never be able to hold him. (Kind of like how Cleo is sad she’ll never get to look Deuce in the eyes).

Sophia/Spitfire as a background character fire elemental is a MUST.

The janitor is a crazy man who lives in the catacombs under the school and is possessed by what the student body can only assume is a goat demon and Peter Geist feels weirdly like he knows him.

Rosary as Claire Rosary as Claire Rosary as Claire-

Pete has also died recently as one of The Jagerman’s attacks when he was out of control, and he’s new to the school along with Grace. He’s stuck in this dorky outfit he wore so he wouldn’t get bullied and can never change clothes, but at least he’s impossible to punch unless if another spirit tried to attack him. As opposed to Grace in life, he was very interested in the supernatural (one of his special interests) so he knows quite a bit about monster types but is always hungry to learn more about the new world he found himself un-living in

[quirkwizard]

So, what did you think of Decay being a Quirk transferred by AFO, instead of Tomura's birth Quirk? I felt like it took a lot of weight off, that Hori just wanted to give AFO more villain points, but it seemed so unnecessary...

In one of your posts you claim that AFO didn't force Tenko to kill his family. But he did by giving him "Decay" and hindering his ability to control the quirk by putting Kotaro against him.

How does "Decay" influence Tomura's personality?

When I mentioned Tomura killing his family in that post, I meant it more that All For One didn't have a direct hand in it and didn't orchestrate it all down to the last minute. That was more of a product of the comments people were making at the time when it had just been revealed.

I understand this to a degree. Yes, I too am frustrated with the story's tendency to tie everything back to All For One. Of course, with how big All For One is in and out of the story, he should be playing a big role in the world. To me, it only shrinks the rest of the world by relating every other bad thing that happens back to him. However, the reveal of him giving Tomura "Decay" is not one of those cases for me. All For One was already playing a large part in Tomura's story and turning Tenko into Tomura. All this does is show the sheer extent to which this happened. Heck, Hori was setting this up all the way back during Tomura's flashback chapters. A full five years before the reveal happened. So I don't think this is something that Hori did on a whim.

I think All For One giving Tomura "Decay" is meant to tie back into the core ideas of the series. The idea of vessels and passing on ideas between people. Specifically with how it parallels Deku's and All Might's story. Izuku got "One For All" by sheer luck, showing his worthiness by his own heroic spirit and willingness to help others. Tomura came about through meticulous crafting of his life, having a core part of himself removed in favor of a rotten, destructive core. And I'm not saying that "Decay" affected his personality at all. Something like that, I think, would hurt the character. That boils down so much of his backstory down to getting the power and becoming evil. I'm saying more in what these are trying to convey in the narrative. 

Even if you disregard all of that, the most important aspect to me is that this doesn't ruin anything about the story or characters by existing. Because as much as everyone played up All For One's role in Tomura's life, he's not the evil puppet master controlling every step at this point. The things that hurt Tenko and turned him against the world aren't things that All For One controls. The main cruxes of it are how much he's been hurt by the world of heroes. Whether it be how the heroism hurt him and his family, the bystander effect keeping him from being helped, or how he wasn't saved in spite of how much he desperately needed to be. All For One isn't responsible for that. The most he was giving Tomura the means to express that frustration.

[the-odd-laundromat]

On Miquella, St. Trina, and Spirits

Warning, this is a fairly long post. Best buckle up.

I've started to let my imagination wander of late about Miquella, St. Trina, and spirit ashes within the lore of Elden Ring and its DLC. I made this for fun and I don't intend it in serious spirit. If this doesn't line up with your own theories or headcanons, that's cool. There are billions of people on the planet, and some of us are bound to disagree. Let's all be civil about it, please. (Do note this is just my personal blog, not dedicated exclusively to ER).

My theory is this: Apart from sleep (through St. Trina), Unalloyed Gold and the Haligtree, Miquella holds dominion over spirits; specifically Torrent, Spirit Ashes and spirit bosses you fight.

Miquella fits, if abstractly, into Elden Ring's mythological basis. He parallels the god Baldr from Norse myth, already an influence on Elden Ring (e.g., The Erdtree = Yggdrasil) in some ways: Baldr was associated with light and all good things, and was specifically noted to be beloved by all. Baldr's death (though that's Godwyn in ER) triggers Ragnarok. Baldr is among the gods who survive and return to a renewed, clean-slate world (Miquella wants to create a new world order with the Haligtree).

Now, I'll go out on a limb and propose that he also parallels Apollo of Greek myth. Apollo wasn't specifically beloved by all (I don't think), but he was significantly venerated, comparably to big-shots like Zeus, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hermes. He's also associated with light (one of his most common epithets is Phoebus Apollo, meaning Shining or Radiant Apollo), and is a twin (granted, Apollo and Artemis are rather different to Miq and Malenia). In the DLC trailer, Miquella glows, and the camera cuts immediately to a bright light bathing the strangler-fig tree (nature unknown) from behind.

Now comes the fun part: The connection between music, death, and sleep. Apollo is also famously a god of music, and in Elden Ring, spirits are also associated with it. You summon spirits in combat with the Spirit-Calling Bell, and Melina gives you the Spectral Steed Whistle to summon Torrent (who some speculate Miquella is the "original master" of, as supported by promotional art for the DLC). Curiously, Miquella's alter ego St. Trina is also associated with music: One of their titles is Saint Trina of the Cradlesong, and as mentioned in a cut quest, Miquella, as St. Trina, supposedly sang a lullaby to the Frenzied Flame Merchants to ease their suffering. To my knowledge, no other figure has such an association to music.

Fittingly for a game constantly trying to kill you, Elden Ring is in no shortage of death gods and suchlike figures. Maliketh and Godwyn may be considered death gods through their relation to Deathroot/the Rune of Death, you have the Deathbirds/Twinbird and the Gloam-Eyed Queen and the Ancestor Spirit, Ghostflame and Blackflame and the Frenzied Flame - heck, Malenia/the Scarlet Rot God could even qualify, as a harbinger of decay and apocalypse. My proposition is that Miquella is or will become another death god, but of merciful death, of deathlike sleep and the peaceful dream of oblivion - hence his connection to the Shadow Realm. And potentially the first spirit tuner - Hewg tutors Roderika because he's "indebted to a spirit tuner [he] met long ago". After all, in Greek mythology, Sleep (Hypnos) is brother to Death (Thanatos).

Are there holes in this? Yeah, probably. Will the DLC canon crush this theory under Messmer's open-toed cowboy boots? Most definitely. That's okay. Part of the fun of speculation is seeing just how crazy you can get with it. Sorry this is so long-winded. I hope you enjoyed this deranged romp through the mythology of this super cool video game.

[billsanscipher888]

(1/15)

History of my Bill Sans Cipher AU

History of AU Under dimension merveilles

And Bill Sans Cipher

( 1 ) Name AU is Under dimension merveilles

What form is the universe in?

If you're wondering

what version it is?

Bill Cipher possesses Sans

or Bill Cipher It's already Sans

The answer is Bill is already Sans

But I don't mean that. I mean

Not Bill transforms into Sans

Or gradually becoming Sans

Or die and be reborn as Sans

It's not like that.

but means parallel universe of

Gravity falls version Undertale

Because if it was Bill Cipher Possession of Sans is difficult.

And it's impossible.

Because Bill Cipher is dead.

His body turned to stone.

And Bill Cipher was killed.

In this way

Uncle Stanford shoots Uncle Stanley's head with a memory-erasing gun.

and was also punched by Uncle Stanley in the middle of Bill Cipher's body.

and spirit Bill Cipher

broken into pieces

decay and disappear

It's completely destroyed.

When Bill Cipher enters Stanley's mind

or enter the world of the mind

But Bill Cipher didn't die immediately.

He had just slipped out of Uncle Stanley's mind.

And Bill Cipher floats in the universe or space.

And he met an Axolotl.

Bill Cipher pretended to be at fault for his actions.

So Axolotl gave him another chance, which was

Axolotl helped revive him.

Still, Bill Cipher still can't go outside the dimension. For some reason

And Bill Cipher was sent to some place.

to receive psychotherapy

So he couldn't possess Sans

and is a character from Gravity falls

And characters from other universes or worlds should not be brought in. distort the story Or, shouldn't those characters be used to make some strange history unreasonable

and is the copyright of

Alexander Robert Hirsch

And what is in doubt is

Bill Cipher Why

To have to go into possession, Sans

Why was he possession

Sans What reason?

If Bill Cipher

Successfully possessed Sans

So what's the benefit?

And why did Bill do it?

Because of what?

What is the motive?

Will use Sans' body.

And then return to the original universe to take revenge

Stanford and the Pines family?

There's absolutely no way that will happen.

Afraid that there will be problems distorting the original story.

Because it doesn't make sense.

To prevent these conflicts

So I created a new story.

Another type

Create a new one, which is

Create this new universe

Let it be another parallel universe.

or parallel universe of Bill Cipher

or Bill Cipher

One more person

that is Another person

or another identity

that has Living in another universe

which is a parallel world

of Gravity falls version Undertale AU

will be the best

But this Bill Sans Cipher universe will not have a Triangular Bill Cipher floating around

Because Bill Sans this universe Didn't get possessed by Bill Cipher in any way.

but It's Bill Cipher's parallel universe.

or Bill Cipher is another person in a parallel dimension who is another person.

And it's not a triangle, it's Sans

In a parallel universe dimension

of the Multiverse, another location

- - -

AU of Bill Sans Cipher

That has been around for

a very long time.

Before Undertale Happened

Under dimension merveilles AU

originates from two universes.

combined from the parallel

multiverse power is

Gravity falls + Undertale

or version Parallel of the two

universes

Bill's AU

caused by the power of time

of the past and future

and the power of the universe Multiverse

The two join together in another timeline.

Parallel between dimensions

Even though it happened before

Sans UT

Yet, they come from a different time in a parallel dimension. of time

Therefore, it can be explained why

Bill Sans Cipher has a lot of age.

millions and millions of years old.

- - -

Because each time and place

It's different

If still in doubt and confused

Will explain to make it easier to understand. For example :

objects moving at speed

Beyond the light, time stretches out.

and things that move slowly

will perceive time differently.

compare like time

of something near a black hole

and things far from black holes

There will be a delay in time.

and speed That's very different.

Explain further For example :

Undertale AU of some universes

Still in existence in AD

1800 - 1900

While Sans UT

lived during the year

AD 19XX - 2015

that we know and are familiar with

Each AU has a similar time.

and different times

Depends on the time of each

In that era

If you've ever seen it, it's like that.

Like time in Europe.

and the Asian side

The time will be different.

- - -

and Bill Sans Cipher

was able to live and live

with a long time

Millions and millions of years

and wait for the main universe UT occur and other UT AU

universes many more

Including the universe and

Other Multiverse as well

other than UT AU

Therefore making someone

and some AU universes

aware of the existence of

Bill Sans Cipher

But it's not like anyone will find

Bill easily.

Because Bill is person. puzzle

strangely mysterious

wonder miraculous and

strange incredibly

and terrifying secrets

Makes meeting Bill very difficult.

And Bill has been waiting a long time.

Waited for a long time

many eras

until it existed to this point

of current time

Bill Therefore it is many millions of years old.

- - -

(Explain further expand meaning)

What is before time and after time?

(before time) is exist and occur

During the period when there was

no time

Or was born before the Big Bang

During that time Dimension 3

Dimension 4 Dimension 5

or other dimensions

still happened and followed later

or born before the main UT universe

And it's the same time. Where Bill Cipher was born and Bill Sans Cipher

also happened during that time

or occur simultaneously but live

In a parallel dimensional world

of other universes or in the multiverse

One in a distant place

between parallel dimensions

and the Bill Sans Cipher takes place in the 3rd dimension and can perceive 4th dimension, 5th dimension, or more.

Unlike Bill Cipher who was born in the 2nd dimension.

But Bill Cipher can sense 3D just like Bill Sans Cipher.

(the part after this time) is

Main UT universe It will happen anyway.

But it will happen. In the long future

In the period from now

Many millions of years more

thus drawing on the power of

past and future

and the two universes are

UT. Undertale and GF. Gravity falls

and the power of the time

or time dimension

combined into a universe

Under dimension merveilles

- - -

(explain further)

Bill Sans and Bill Sans Cipher

Not the same person

Different person

History, stories and AU universe

It's not the same thing.

Not the same and

Not the same universe

(Bill Sans) belong to hwamyeong

and hwamyeong

is the owner of the creator

Version

Bill Cipher possesses Sans

Or is it just Sans in an art drawing by design between Sans and Bill Cipher

Or just Sans is not possessed by Bill Cipher

Doesn't have its own AU

or not having a universe of its own

(Bill Sans Cipher)

belong to Magic InfinityVerse

is Parallel universe version

of Gravity falls That is in the form of a cosmic version. Undertale

Or another version of Bill Cipher who is another person.

that took the form of Sans' skeleton

and not triangular shape

or Bill Cipher AU In a parallel universe

Or live in a multiverse, a parallel dimension.

A simple summary for you to understand is

Gravity falls AU Undertale AU

Or parallel universes of the two AUs.

[mandareeboo]

Mmm, can you do a LMK thing where the hostess is staring at her reflection, adjusting to the feeling of being in control? Maybe paralleling that one fic you did where LBD was figuring out how to cry like a little girl?

(drabble mentioned)

The first steps are always clumsy. She makes it about two before her legs give out on her entirely.

"Uh," says the dark monkey, eloquently. "You okay?"

Bai He reaches up to touch her face. There's no whispers of the dammed. There's not even a smile. For the first time in ages, she's finally just herself.

Just Bai He.

She tries to chuckle but managed a wet gasp before curling in on herself, touching her face and shoulders and the clothes on her body. No spiders. There's no spiders. Even their spirits are gone, torn asunder like a cardboard box in a fire pit.

"It's me," she whispers. "I'm me."

And she cries-- out of joy, this time. Even with the putrid reek of decay clinging to her nostrils. Even with the very confused monkey man trying to awkwardly scoot around her. Even with the crushed rubble beneath her feet.

It's over.

[dafuq-i-did-not-sign-up-for-this]

I might be wrong, but (lmao)

With the new information we have on Nasiens, and looking back on how his character was introduced, I think it's safe to say he'll be the next Fairy King. Or at least a Saint of the Fountain like Elaine.

The situation we meet Nasiens in is sort of similar to Kings in NNT, when he returned to the Forest after abandoning it for seven hundred years. He's trying to protect the gorge with everything he's got, searches for an antidote and finally uses it, despite the fairies shunning him because they think he's responsible for the decay in the first place. He takes their insults, and some stones to the head, and it's only after Percival yells at them that Nasiens explains the situation. He protects the forest and his family, even with almost everyone against him, sort of paralleling King defending the new FK Forest from the Albion. Then of course there's his magic that basically screams walking-fountain-of-youth.

Apparently Sixtus can use a Spirit Spear, so being Fairy King doesn't seem to be a requirement for that, so maybe that goes vice versa, or maybe Nasiens will get a Spirit Spear later on. I'm super hyped to see where all of this is headed. For all I keep bitching about this manga and its author, the foreshadowing is fucking sublime. Nakaba knows how to weave a story.

[adracat]

Esoteric and Divine Composite: Prospera

It's time for everyone's favorite gaslighting mommy. As with her daughter and Miorine, I see a number of interesting inspirations and homages for her character. They range from the esoteric Magician from tarot to divine figures, Mimir, Loki, Hades, and Hecate

Magician

I've already covered this parallel in my As Above So Below post. But let me expand on this briefly. With her manipulation and intentional twisting of communication, you can see how she embodies the card itself. It's compouded by Suletta telling us multiple times; Prospera is a magician as her namesake is in The Tempest. But this magician is a hermetic scholar, and so is Prospera.

The Schwarzette's design, a gundam she's overseen the development of is coded with Baphomet imagery, is proof of this. As Above So Below. And just like any good hermetic alchemist, she pursues eternal life in the form of QZ. The Philosopher's stone or Panacea. She helped create a miracle already in the form of Homuculi, heavily hinted at being aided by Notrette.

But her time as the Red King is done, the crown given to her daughter, and with the absence of her White Queen another miracle is impossible. All of this is symbolized with her hair and face. Her sun has burned out and all that is left is decay.

There's another magician beside Prospero she harks to. Merlin, the one whose contest grants Arthur his first sword. Like Merlin, she gives Suletta a sword, lampshaded in Cradle Planet. And as with him, she is eventually 'imprisoned' by a Lady of the Lake (Miorine, who bestows Suletta Calibarn) after imparting wisdom. She's lucky Mio entrapped her as an in-law and not in a tree like Merlin.

Mimir and Loki

If Mio is Odin then it's Prospera who plays the wisdom granting Mimir. As with Odin, Mio is forced to make a painful sacrifice in order to drink from Mimir's well and gain insight. Take note of Prospera's visor, since it's the first in a series of subtle mythological references. Mimir is eventually beheaded and kept at Odin's side as an embalmed head that provides counsel.

Loki isn't hard to extrapolate even if you have a passing knowledge of the trickster. It's interesting to note both Odin and Loki are associated with different aspects of Hermes/Mercury. And since GWitch's Hel and Fenrir are her children, she must be Loki. It is Prospera who begins the events of gwitch ragnarok by sending Suletta, as Baldr Guel's mistletoe and slayer of the Nemean Lion, to Asticassia.

But why the father and not the mother? Because Angrboda is a giant who isn't very relevant in norse other than simply being the mother of monsters. What is intriguing is that you can make a valid comparison for Earthians=Giants in norse myth. Both are contesting against the Aesir/Spacians. So who is an Earthian geneticist who could have uploaded Eri's biometric code and crafted replichildren? Anesidora/Notrette is Prospera's Angrboda. It's wild how they hint at Notrette being Prospera's counterpart in multiple ways. Makes you wonder, is there more to be uncovered? She is explicitly Anesidora, 3 chthonic goddesses who deal in hidden knowledge.

Hecate and Hades

I mentioned it briefly in the Mio analysis, but it goes deeper than simply stealing Persephone and defiling her spirit. Like Hades, she has a Cerberus (Eri) and a helmet that aids her to speak with the dead.

It might not turn her invisible, but she always seems to slip away until its ripped from her head by a bullet.

Another divine figure who I think Prospera is meant to invoke is Hecate. She is associated with witchcraft, the moon, keys, dogs, and thresholds. Specifically the threshold between the living and the dead. It's easy to relate the dog coded Suletta and QZ as the underworld.

It was explicitly mentioned when Suletta is called a Key, and we know she's the twelfth, correlating to the philosopher's stone. It simultaneously relates back to esoteric and mythology.

Hecate is known to wear a mask and to be decaying. When you dig deep, this may be the most on the nose homage honestly. Goddess of witches indeed. Hecate is also inexorably linked to the Eleusinian mysteries along with Demeter and Persephone. The three are often interpreted to be the phases of womanhood: maiden, mother, crone. Considering Hecate's triplicity and the three prominent eyes on Prospera's mask, her design is very interesting. An additional design note, red mullets are Hecate's sacred fish. Prospera/Elnora's hair imo, is a visual pun.

**Tangentially related to the red king point, Helios god of the sun is referred to as Hecate's spear in a Sophocles play. It is a spear, Gungnir, that Odin pierces himself with when hanging in sacrifice. (And Mio throwing herself into Prospera's clutches for her red king could be interpreted as this.) Could be a coincidence, but it works too well I think!

[p5x-theories]

You know thinking about it more in regards to the "Claude Duval is Ikenami's Persona" theory, I am personally starting to come round to it myself on the idea of his possible theme.

I like to think that maybe his whole theme is chivalry and being something of a romantic.

Like I assumed that perhaps his thing to do with reading and that his codename is short for Encoder (which is still possible also!), but now I'm starting to reconsider. With the codename itself being of Encore instead.

Think of it in how Haru's deal is that she has noble intentions despite how she and others would deem her actions being "unladylike" So Ikenami similarly might try to fight for something out of integrity but be labelled as "uncivil" by others.

And maybe for his Thief outfit/rebellious spirit in can be of an knight-errant, while obviously not a traditional scoundrel or thief per-say, the romanticized takes do act out of their own accord which does technically fit with other rebel types we've seen.

Heh, yeah, that's definitely one way that I could imagine them taking his character, if they are giving him Claude Duval as a Persona! And it would point towards him being the Haru parallel of the team, which has been theorized in the past, since he seems likely to be joining after Polter.

Though I'm not sure he'll be a knight-errant, just because I think Cherish might be going in that direction already, heh. Of course, I could be wrong about my guess for Cherish, in which case, that aesthetic would totally still be on the table for Enco! If not, though, I really could imagine a highwayman theme (like Claude Duval himself) working with your ideas here still, considering Duval "came from a family of decayed nobility" and "abhorred violence, showing courtesy to his victims and chivalry to their womenfolk, thus spawning the myth of the romantic highwayman".

[anarkissm]

in ancient japan, onmyōji (literally: yin-and-yang master) were one of the official positions belonging to the Bureau of Onmyō of the Ministry of the Center under the ritsuryō system during the middle ages, and was assigned as a technical officer in charge of divination, geomorphology and spiritism based on the theory of the yin-and-yang five phases. in the 21st century, the onmyōji does not officially exist within japan's government. however, the Bureau of Onmyō (BOO) is "unofficially" an active agency within the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology (MEXT) in a joint program with the Japan Ministry of Defense (JMOD). the bureau was earnestly revived and modernized during the cold war, prompted by the serious research into mind-control, parapsychology and extrasensory psionic perceptions by the CIA's Gateway Process, MKUltra, Project STARGATE, and the DIA's Project SUN STREAK. when arella returned to japan with rachel, BOO was made fully aware of her existence as an interdimensional hybrid, an offspring of the multidimensional overlord trigon, and her role as a living portal (interdimensional nexus) from trigon's universe(s) to earth. she has a classified file within BOO's database of highly dangerous metahumans, para-natural entities, and omnidimensional beings. other intelligence agencies such as the CIA, MI6, and china's MSS are also incentivized to monitor her history and current activities, given the destructive nature of her existence. when she was karasuno rin, at the behest of her mother, an official onmyōji from BOO was assigned to train her in yin-and-yang mastery, as well as various other techniques in parapsychology, psionic warfare, and western occultism. reinforced by the onmyōji's taoist teachings, zen buddhism played a vital role in maintaining control of mera-trogun-hem, and protecting herself against psychic soldiers from various government agencies ("ghosts," "spooks"), aetheric revenants, and psychic pirates; from earth's reality and the multiple realities parallel to it within the aetheric field.

rachel's yin-and-yang training began at 8 years of age, physically took place in the temple of eternal peace in fujuku, japan, and lasted 6 years, meditating and studying for thousands of hours. but it also took place within the aetheric field, or akasha, in an immaterial dimension of pure thought that may be likened to dreaming. through deep meditation (and even in her sleep), she trained with an onmyōdō master for several "centuries" in a paracosm projected by her soul-self, as linear time and material decay were not natural phenomenons within the mindstream. after trigon's cult operatives attacked her home, rachel fled japan to tibet, where she spent the next ten years of her life. then europe, and, finally, north america. travel expenses were primarily funded by the u.s. federal agency known as Advanced Research Group Uniting Superhumans (ARGUS). ARGUS classifies rachel as a "supernatural doomsday device," and she is neither the first or the last within this class of metahumans: powerful psychics whom were deified as gods, goddesses and divinely-ordained rulers in humanity's ancient past. however, in the 21st century, ruled by modernity and western sciences, a living deity is considered a "psychic bomb" and extremely dangerous. fortunately for ARGUS, rachel is fully aware that all of life in the universe is in constant danger of trigon's wrath, because of her. this is apparent in her desperation, allowing herself to work with the u.s. government, which was incentivized to "protect" rachel in an effort to prevent trigon from entering their reality and conquering everything. love and hate. joy and suffering. pleasure and violence. all a part of this transient illusion called life. that was what her teachers had taught her. everything on earth is temporary, impermanent. acknowledge it. accept it. let it go. rachel respectfully disagreed. the calming platitudes of monks could not negate her own reality, and the reality of billions of innocent lives. she was the living gateway to a personified evil the likes of which their universe can only imagine. her desperation to prevent trigon's arrival forced her to seek aid from amanda waller's ARGUS agency and various allied "superhero" organizations. relying on the western empire's motivations to protect their interests, capital and world-dominating power on earth. she trusted that their stubborn, power-hungry individualism would actually be a match against trigon's bloodthirst. fight fire with fire. through the Justice League of America (JLA), she was assigned to the titans. her "destiny" remained classified. her code name, the raven, was given to her by ascended mystics who visited her telepathically during her stay in tibet. this is because her "soul-self," completely separate from mera-trogun-hem and comprised of pure intuition, is often revealed in the form of a dark, massive bird resembling a raven. known as the "subtle body" in buddhism and the "astral body" in new age spiritism, raven's soul-self is the driving force of her humanity, capable of traveling through realms that exist between realities and outside of space-time. rachel's body and soul are not always in the same place, existing in a state of psionic superposition, simultaneously on earth and the "spirit worlds" or parallel realities connected to their material world.

[wsjyuyuyuau]

Brook (One Piece)

Name: Brook

Series: One Piece

Gender: Male

Status: Alive

Family: The Straw Hats (Nakama)

Flower Motif: Aztec Marigold (Tagetes erecta)

Flower Meaning: Moving On

Weapon of Choice: Guitar

Associated With: Interdimensional Hero Club

Hero Form Appearance: A combination of an eerie yet elegant performer’s outfit and YuYuYu’s Hero Form outfits. The undersuit of the outfit is a jet black so it can make the brighter colors shine through- those brighter colors being orange that fades to yellow when you reach the lower half of the sleeves, the lower half of the pants, and the tailcoat. Accent colors of black, white, gray, silver, gold, blue, and green all add to the palette- and the boots, gloves, and tie all have patterns of marigolds on em. The only other accessory is a marigold brooch that serves as Brook’s tie clasp, and the flower’s petal shape can be seen in the tailcoat and collar.

Full Bloom Gauge Location: Stomach

Guardian: Cegua (Based on La Cegua)

Favorite Food: Do Spare Ribs count? (That pun was intended)

Parallel To: None

Bio: Brook is the crew's musician. He ate the Revive-Revive Fruit (Yomi Yomi no Mi), which enabled his spirit to reanimate his corpse after he died. Unfortunately, after his death, his spirit got lost for an entire year before finding his body, and it had decayed into a skeleton. He later developed the ability to control his own soul. Deprived of his shadow by the Warlord of the Sea, Gecko Moria, he was adrift within the gloomy Florian Triangle until he met the Straw Hats by chance. Despite some bad manners, such as asking girls to show him their underwear and impatiently waiting for food, Brook is friendly, cheerful, not always serious, sociable, straightforward, compassionate, loyal, keeping promises (even if the promise was made decades ago). He is also polite and refers to others adding a respectful suffix "- san". According to Zoro, Brook is a man of honor, willing to do anything for his friends. Like Sanji, he protects women.

[nitrosodiumfmp]

Behold, a First Look at Nharro

For being a pretty key character in Sinister's story (without him being asleep, the story would not happen), I haven't touched on Nharro much. This is my first piece of concept art for the Spirit King himself. I actually put a lot of thought into his design - much like the rest of Sinister, it doesn't look weird to look weird, it all has a purpose. Firstly, notice his pose, left hand raised upwards. (Left hand is noted because the word sinister means left-handed in Latin). This pose has been used, in some capacity, in Hinduism art, especially of the god Shiva.

Note the lower right (Shiva's right, at least) facing palm-outward to the viewer. Shiva is regarded as a god of both creation and destruction within Hinduism, and this parallels Nharro as the ruler of limbo, a realm between life and death. I've thought about this a lot and incorporated it into his design - not only is Nharro very symmetrical, but most things in his design are in groups of two, five and ten. I was thinking about how to represent the soul without connecting it to any specific religion (even my look into Hinduism was surface-level). What makes the human being different from any other animal (assuming animals do not have souls)? Our intelligence? But animals like dolphins are just as smart. Our genes? Perhaps, but we share nearly 99% of that with pigs and apes. I would like to point to the thing that has let us survive as a species: hands, specifically, five digits and opposable thumbs to allow us to master the tool. We have two hands, five digits on each, and ten across both. Look closer at Nharro's design if you haven't already - each curling line, each pattern of dots, practically everything comes back to that theme of two, five and ten.

You may have also noticed the pocketwatch tied to Nharro's ring finger by a chain. This is so he can count the lifetimes of the many souls entering his domain, but it also represents the mechanical aspects of Nharro's realm, the gears and moving parts. To him, the cycle of life and death is the perfect machine, multiple components (decay, growth, et cetera) working together. However, as Nharro's mind spirals into unconsciousness, so does the underworld. The immaculate order is gone, warped; gears now spin independent of any drive shafts or machinery, no longer obeying laws of friction nor thermodynamics. Warehouses of perfectly-ordered containers are now strewn in absurd patterns, stacked to the ceilings for no logical reason. The rusted hulks of boats pile up in the harbor, the carcasses of a once-orderly fleet of limbo-faring ferries. No wonder the Shipwright went mad.

Now let's look at Nharro's subordinates, the skeletons at his sides. They are dressed in cloaks; an idealistic artistic representation of a Grave Digger's garb, no longer torn apart by the ravages of time. The leftmost (our left this time, confusing I know) skeleton is carrying a spade, indicating that this one would fill the role of Grave Digger. Nharro has his hand rested on its skull; an act of affirmation to who are essentially his children. The other skeleton is carrying a large tome, and while it is not visible in the image, some messages in Latin are written.

Nharro spiritus est rex terram inter vitam et mortem.

Dominus maris in quem omnia flumina influunt.

Manes ad milites, sepulchra ad sutores, cryptas ad urbes.

Mortis in visione vitae.

I chose Latin because, beyond it being the go-to language for writing interesting messages without creating a conlang, it also contains the root of the word Sinister, as previously mentioned. The messages translate roughly to:

Nharro is the spirit king of the land between life and death.

Lord of the ocean into which all rivers flow.

Ghosts unto soldiers, tombstones unto cobbles, crypts unto cities.

Death in the visage of life.

Beyond being a nice bit of purple prose to fill the artwork, it describes my idea of Nharro and the wider afterlife quite well. The "ocean into which all rivers flow" is a metaphor I've wanted to use for a while in conjunction with Sinister - the afterlife's geography is very ocean-heavy, and the sea has always been a source of mysticism, from sirens and sea monsters to the supernatural implications of Davy Jones' Locker, and the various disappearances of ships throughout the ages. Plus, if you think back to the idea of Nharro loving the perfect cycles of life and death, look at the water cycle. Water begins in rivers and flows to the ocean, where it is "reincarnated" via evaporation. Sinister has you die over and over, and where do you evaporate, or respawn from, each time? The harbor. The ocean. My plan for traveling between levels has you on a boat - you're on your own water cycle in that sense. And what of "tombstones unto cobbles, crypts unto cities"?. Obviously this is a resting place functionally, but look at the level architecture. Everything is built out of gigantic pieces of stone, as if the afterlife was literally built out of ancient tomb remnants.

The artwork on the book is also related; though it's basically incomprehensible in the image I took. The first one is an ornate skull at the bottom of the first page, which doesn't have any meaning, but it's in line with the rest of the art design for the drawing. The next one represents a group of skeletons in a boat, crossing a stormy sea. This obviously relates to souls entering the afterlife by boat; the imagery originally comes from Charon and his ferry in Greek mythology, but it's also how souls canonically arrive to Nharro's realm in-game. The third image shows four buildings, standing tall. However, the remains of four skeletons are entombed within, making the skyscrapers appear more like sarcophagi. This relates to that line "crypts unto cities", on a more metaphorical level.

On Nharro's actual physical shape, I borrowed a lot from Moon Lord from Terraria.

The irregular head shape with multiple eyes, visible ribcage, and torso that tapers off is a very striking design, and something I have tried to mirror with Nharro. Obviously, his emaciated look comes from him being the god of death; of course he looks like a wizened corpse. Nharro's head was the first thing I designed of his character actually; I couldn't tell you what it properly represents, but it does somewhat resemble a coffin. If you look closely, a leering skull is visible in the centre, and this pattern is mirrored if you look at it upside-down, once more bringing things back to the themes of two, five and ten. In retrospect, it also looks very phallic, but given that sex is a key part of the life-death cycle (leading into birth obviously), it does still relate. Truthfully, it was an interestingly curved symmetrical pattern I could easily draw. Maybe it's different for everyone who looks at it. That is the key part of the project, after all. One thing can appear to be one outcome, and end up being another entirely. Nothing is as it seems. I think the Spirit King emulates that quite well.

(I am also aware that the name "Spirit King" is used by various characters, but it isn't Nharro's official title anyway).

I plan to have this drawing as a texture on a massive wall in the second level of Sinister, perhaps in some sort of church so I can lean into the more Gothic and fantastical elements of the art style. I could even make it transparent somehow and put it on a stained-glass window; now that would be cool. I have put masses of thought into this design, and so I really want to implement it somehow. I'd hate for all this effort to go to a character you don't even see.