#both doing it for the needs of someone with more power than them

[siri-ike]

Does he know where we are? Oh my God. He deffinetly knows. He has to. He can probably smell us with his freaky nerd powers. Or hear us breathe with his heightened underachieving hearing. He probably got it from his crazy parents' experiments. Oh, God. Why does he wanna kill us?

Dash was about to stand up, but Paulina stopped him.

Come on, girl. They listen to you. Be a leader. She gave him a brave face, but she couldn't hide the paralyzing fear in her eyes.

The sound of rubber against the ceramic tiles alerted Kuan to catch Phantoms' leg from sliding into view, but it was too late. He picked the hero up, and they all creped as quietly as they could to the end of the hallway where Paulina stopped them. She held her trembling hand to her mouth in a "hush" gesture and, with the other hand, nudged Kuan down one hallway while ushering the rest down the opposite path.

With Kuan taking Phantom away, her, Star, and Dash could lead Danny away. Hopefully, without getting murdered.

They circled back behind Danny and quietly crossed the hall. As expected, he heard them and gave chase. Luckily, they're a trio of popular athletes, and he's a loser with no upper or lower body strength.

They sprinted through corridor after corridor at full speed. They ran so much faster than he did, but somehow, every time Paulina looked back, he was there.

Walking.

They tried to go for the exit, but despite taking the shortest path, they just kept seeing the same things. Something had to be wrong. They know these halls, and they're not supposed to be a maze. Is he doing something?

"Whoever gets out has to get help. Now, Split!" Paulina commanded, and they each when in their own direction.

Paulina was too far from any exits, so she ducked into a classroom. She peered out the window on the door to see if he followed her. The hall was empty. She turned around and-

"~Hello~"

Paulina jumped. His voice was even more soulless than his actions. She tried to open the door, but the handle turned rubbery, and the room spun.

Never had Dash lived up to his name more than now. If only the scouts were watching him. He went straight out to the football field. No turns. This was his time to shine.

Exept

Dash can run the whole length of the football field in under 15 seconds, but he had to have been running for minutes. He stopped. He was in the middle of the field. He tried running to the benches, but the same thing happened. It was like he wasn't the one moving. The ground was.

A distant clapping drew his attention to the bleachers. There was one member in the audience.

Danny.

Dash turned to run the other way. He barely got closer to the other side, but in those bleachers, he saw two Danny's. One on the far left third row, and one in the middle 8th.

He turned again and ran. 4 Danny's. He turned. 8 Danny's.

Star wished she had stayed with someone. She's a people person. The more, the better. She thrives in a group. She stopped running a long time ago. How long ago? It's hard to tell. She's alone. Everything kept getting darker. There were big windows everywhere she went, but it was like no light could get through them. Need someone, anyone. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Or maybe the sound just wasn't reaching her ears. She was definitely saying things.

She felt off balance, like when you get caught up in setting up for a party and forget breakfast. The walls got wiggly or blurry. Both? Oh, wiggly, deffinetly. It looked like worms were trying to crawl out from under the paint. The worms got bigger and wider until they didn't look like worms anymore. Faces. Faces she knew. They looked so familiar. She had to know them, but she couldn't really recognize any of them. One had the same mouth and nose as Brittany, but Tiffany's eyes. Another was a mesh of her grandparents. No one was right. Classmates, cousins, camp friends, kids from elementary school she kept in touch with, mall employees, there were so many. Trying to get out. She turned to run away, but what she saw was another wall.

This one only had one face. Danny's. And he had no trouble getting out.

Running was easy for Kwan. He could even run while carrying a person. Frankly, he could run while carrying three people the size of Phantom. What he could not deal with was the pressure. Kwan was such a follower. It was one of the things he disliked most about himself. He's always been like that. He joined bullied the unpopular kids to stay in the popular crowd. He quit going to his oboe classes because they told him to.

"~Take a left~"

Kwan veered left towards the boiler room.

He even uninvited his cousin to his birthday party because the other jocks insisted that theater geeks would ruin it.

But now he's alone.

"~Go in~"

He tried the door handle, but it was locked. He looked back and hesitantly took a few steps to where Danny could still be.

*creeeeek*

The door to the basement opened up on its own.

Kwan halted and looked back at the door. A cold sweat drips down his forehead.

Just around the corner, he'd come from, Kwan heard footsteps near ever closer. He's not even running. How could he have kept up? Why did he go after them? The whole point of splitting up was that the others were going to lure him away. Why wasn't he lured?!

"Wake up, wake up, wake up." He begged Phantom. How was he supposed to know if he's was OK? He doesn't breathe. He doesn't have a heartbeat. But he moves a bit, sometimes. And he's glowing. Which does not help them hide, especially in the dark boiler room.

Wait! "We never went in."

"~Oh, didn't you?~" the voice was flat and callous. It sounded far away but right next to him at the same time. And there was no mistake. It was Danny's voice.

I wanted more A-lister content.

[vinnyvamppp]

Hii, i wanted to ask for a Death goddess reader, who can never die/wishes to, and some Mark variants who are just obsessed with the smuts that they can have... (No Goggles, Shiesty, Viltrumite, Sinister in special)

It can even be romantic a bit, like she sometimes has to die to be able to live/experience the other day and after her death, she comes back but can't remember so Mark is helping her (in the most twisted way possible because no matter what he does, she always comes back to him).

~🤫

"And Still, You Return."

A/N: See, for some reason… this story had me conflicted. Taking a different approach, I decided to make the variants slightly ooc to match the dark romance feel.

Synopsis: Each time you die, the world begins again. You awaken reborn, stripped of memory but not of sensation. And always, they are waiting for you. Four versions of the same man. Four obsessions. Four lovers who each remember what you’ve forgotten—and will do anything to make your body remember them in return. Warnings: Obsession/Possessive Dynamics, Mutual Power Imbalances, Sexual Addiction, Codependency, Mythological Themes, DubCon, Momemory loss, Smut, and Mild Descriptions of Violence (landscape).

(4) Invincible!Variants x Death Goddess!Reader

Word Count: Sigh... Its a series of characters, ya'll know the routine by now. It's LONG.

They say dying feels like falling asleep. For you, it feels like unraveling silk. There’s no pain—at least not the kind you can name. Just a slow sinking, as if your bones are folding into dust and your skin is being kissed by cold air. Your soul detaches like fabric slipping from a shoulder—gentle, even graceful. Almost arousing, in a way that should terrify you, but never does.

You crave that moment now, more than anything. Envy swells in your chest with each dreadful soul that transcends your domain. Because dying is the only time you feel. The world always dims before you leave it—like someone blowing out candles one by one. And then it happens. The fall. The float. The hush.

And then: light. Heat. Breath.

You wake—always somewhere different. Naked or clothed in ruin. Alone or accompanied by the scent of wine and blood and ash. Your memories are gone, scorched into the ether like burnt pages. But your body is not innocent. It flinches at echoes, trembles under shadows. You’re born again with want trapped in your lungs and bruises you don’t recall earning.

And they find you. Or maybe you find them—drawn like a compass needle to the pulse in the dark that never stops calling you. There are always men. Always him. Versions of a face you almost remember—soft eyes, sharp smiles, hands that tremble with need or violence or both.

And they love you in the only language you still understand. Touch. Their mouths. Their skin. Their hunger. They call you love. Goddess. Mine.  And they remind you how it feels to be wanted. They make you feel real again, if only for the moment you’re beneath them—sweat-slick, gasping, sobbing against lips you do not know but remember somewhere deeper than thought. They say it isn’t love. But you know better. It’s something worse. And something more.

Lenless Mark - You wake on soft sheets. Warmth clings to your bare skin, but you don’t know whose bed this is, or why your thighs ache like you've been opened recently—used, again and again. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, hunched like he’s been there a while. Watching. When he turns, his eyes are red-rimmed. He looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost crawl back into its body.

“Dude, you’re awake,” he breathes, standing slowly. “Fuck… you’re really here.” You flinch as he reaches for you. You don’t know him. But the way your body tightens—anticipation, heat pooling low—it tells you some part of you does.

His hand touches your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. Then his mouth follows, soft, warm, trembling. “You don’t remember me. Shit, you never do,” he whispers. “But I remember everything.” He kisses you like it hurts not to. His lips press harder, his breath hitching as he drags you under him, your legs parting out of instinct.

His hands are shaking. He murmurs apologies as he pushes the blankets away, as he kisses down your neck and over your chest, as he runs his tongue over your nipple and lets out a choked noise like he’s about to cry. But he keeps going. Its unusual. A man who gratified by you using him to your will, its left in such a pitiful state. His deep smile lines now tainted through trembling lips.

“I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t—fuck, I just need to feel you again. I need to be inside you. You’ll let me right? Doesn’t matter.” He goes down on you like it’s the last time he’ll ever taste you. Moans into your pussy like it’s sacred, like it’s his, and he never forgot the way you sounded when you came. You gasp, thighs twitching, your hips lifting for more—and he takes it. He drags his tongue over your clit, slow at first, then fast and hungry as your gasps rise. He wants you to come fast. He needs to feel it.

“That’s it, babe—god, you still taste the same. I knew you would. You always do.” You come, legs wrapped around his head, and when he finally pulls back, his face is slick and his cock is already out, flushed and leaking, heavy in his fist.

“You don’t remember me,” he says again, voice cracking, lining himself up. “But you’re still wet for me. You still open up the same.”

He slides inside you slowly, thick and aching. His breath catches, forehead pressed to yours, and for a second, it almost feels like love. Like he could stay here, gentle, and pretend this is enough. But then you moan his name—a name you shouldn’t know—and he loses it.

He fucks you deep. Smooth strokes that grow faster, harder, sloppier. His hands dig into your hips like he’s trying to mold you to him. He whispers nonsense—you’re mine, you always come back, dude I missed you so bad—until it becomes a chant. “Dude, you remember. You do. I can feel it.”

You can’t answer. All you can do is arch and cry out, meeting each thrust with mindless need. There’s something inside you—some echo of recognition—rising with every stroke.

He kisses you again when you come around him, clenching so tight he gasps into your mouth. And when he follows, emptying himself inside you with a hoarse sob and a choked chuckle, he doesn’t pull out. He just holds you. “You’ll forget again,” he murmurs. “But your body never does. It always brings you back to me.”

Hooded Mark – You’re in a hallway now—dim, narrow, red light seeping from under the door at the end. You don’t remember how you got here. But the scent—leather, smoke, expensive cologne—hits you like déjà vu.

You knock once. The door swings open. He’s already smiling. That same cocky tilt of the lips that says I knew you'd come back.  The hood's down this time. He wants you to see him. “There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

He steps aside, letting you in like it’s your place. And maybe it is. The room feels... familiar. The way his gaze crawls over you definitely does. “You don’t remember me yet, do you?” he asks, voice low as he circles you. “Good. I like it better this way.”

His fingers hook your waistband, tugging you back against him. You feel the hard press of him, already thick and aching through his slacks. His hand slides under your shirt—palm warm, thumb brushing over a nipple that stiffens immediately. “But your body remembers,” he murmurs against your ear. “It always does.”

He kisses your neck slowly, with practiced precision. Nips the skin. Sucks until you gasp. He knows exactly where to bite to make you moan. Then he spins you around, pins you to the door, and kisses you full on the mouth—wet, deep, tongue fucking you until your knees nearly give.

“Say you want me,” he whispers. You hate that you do. But your hands are already in his hair. Your hips grinding against his thigh. He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

He strips you fast—rough fingers, greedy grip. He doesn’t just undress you; he takes the clothes from you. Then he drops to his knees and buries his face between your thighs.

His mouth is ruthless. He licks you in long, hungry strokes, tongue flicking your clit just right, moaning like you’re the one devouring him.He fucks you with his mouth until your thighs shake, until you're grabbing his hood for balance. “Every. Single. Time,” he murmurs against your cunt. “I make you come before I even fuck you.”

And when you do—loud, gasping, face flushed against the door—he rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulls you onto his lap on the couch. He unzips, thick cock springing free. You barely get your bearings before he sinks you down onto him.

“Just like that. You remember now, don’t you?” You ride him hard, fast—his hands gripping your hips, guiding every thrust. You feel your climax building again, tight and hot and desperate. “Look at you,” he pants, eyes dark with lust. “You come back, you forget, and I still fuck you the same. You’ll never want anyone else. You can’t. I don’t want anyone else, no, not after this.”

You come around him a second time, your walls fluttering so tight it drags a strangled curse from his throat. He holds you there, buried deep, shuddering as he spills inside you. “Every time you forget me,” he says, panting, “I’ll make you remember this. I’ll make your body choose me. Every fucking time.”

He doesn’t kiss you after. He just pulls your head to his chest, and lets the silence settle.

Viltrumite Mark - You wake to rubble. The air is thick with smoke, ozone, and something deeper—metallic, hot.  You're lying in the wreckage of something that must’ve been a home once. You don’t know who you were here. But the ache in your body is wanting… perhaps familiar as you feel a familiar pull. Your body is humming, twitching with the aftershock of want.

You sit up—and there he is. He lands hard on the scorched earth, his boots cracking stone. He’s still panting, shirt torn down the middle, arms dusted with ash and a trail of crimson that’s not his. His gaze is heavy, but reminiscent of sorrow. “You came back.” He says it like an accusation. Like you owe him for the pain of waiting.

He’s in front of you in seconds, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You flinch—but your body doesn’t pull away. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he growls. “Then let me remind you.” He kisses you with teeth. With tongue. With fury. You gasp as his hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat.

“You left me again,” he snarls. “You died. Do you know what that does to me?” He lifts you like you weigh nothing, tosses you against the half-collapsed wall, and strips you with a violence that shouldn’t be arousing—but is.

Your nipples harden in the cold air. Your pussy clenches, slick and ready, as if your body knew this was coming. Maybe it did. Maybe it always does. He tears your panties off and drops to his knees, shoving your legs apart like you’re his prize. “Mine,” he mutters, voice shaking. “You’re mine. You were made for me.”

He doesn’t tease. Tongue dragging through your folds, lips sealing over your clit, sucking until your hips jerk, until you scream, until you grind against his face like you’re chasing your own destruction. He doesn’t stop. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs shake. He pins them down and keeps going, licking you until you’re crying his name—his real one, the one you shouldn’t know.

“That’s it,” he grunts, standing up, cock already in his hand, throbbing, flushed. “That’s you. You remember.” He slams into you without warning, it’s deep and brutal. Your back hits the wall, legs locked around him as he fucks you like he’s fighting God. Every thrust is punishment and a plea. He fucks you so hard your breath leaves your lungs. So hard the wall behind you cracks. “This is what brings you back. Not the memories. Not the words. This. My cock inside you. Me making you scream.”

You want to deny it. But your pussy clenches around him. Your body knows. It gives you away.

He doesn’t slow down. His grip bruises. His breath is hot against your ear as he growls every filthy thought he’s had during your absence. “I fucked my hand thinking about you. I wrecked worlds because of you. I killed with your name in my mouth. Just why do you keep leaving me?”

You come hard. The kind of orgasm that shatters you. You scream until your throat goes raw, until your nails rake down his back. And still, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Then he finishes deep, thick spurts filling you as he throws his head back and cries.

When it’s over, he stays buried inside you.

He kisses your temple—shockingly soft—and breathes against your skin like he’s trying to calm himself. “You forget me every time,” he murmurs. “But I’ll fuck myself into your bones. I’ll live there. And you won’t ever get me out.” Sinister Mark -

This time, you wake in luxury. The bed is massive. The sheets are black silk, cool against your naked skin. The scent in the air is intoxicating—roses and spice and something darker, sharper, like a hint of blood in wine.

You sit up slowly. You’re not alone. He’s already waiting, lounging in a velvet chair by the hearth, wineglass in one hand, watching you like a predator watches prey that’s already been caught. “There she is,” he says smoothly, rising with the grace of a practiced host. He approaches with purpose, his voice low, warm, practiced—each word sliding into your ears like velvet over skin. “You’re beautiful when you forget me,” he says, setting the glass aside. “But I admit, I enjoy the moment when your body begins to remember more.”

He sits beside you, so close, but doesn’t touch you yet. Instead, he studies your face. Your lips. Your throat. “Do you feel it yet? That ache? That empty space I usually fill?” His hand moves then—slow, gloved fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Then your collarbone. Then lower. The gloves come off, one finger at a time.

“I remember the way you came last time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “How wet you got when I said your name. You screamed for me. You bit me. I’ve practiced… over and over on how to make you feel good for when you return.” He removes the rest of your clothes with elegant hands, peeling the silk from your body like he’s unveiling art. Then he lays you back. And worships you.

His tongue moves over your skin in soft, maddening circles. He kisses the insides of your thighs, trailing slow, hot breath until your hips lift and your hands reach for him. He grins. “Still impatient,” he says, voice like satin over steel. “Good.”

He spreads your legs wider, lowers his mouth, and drinks from you like a god accepting sacrifice. He doesn’t rush. He teases. Licks. Circles your clit with slow, wet passes until your thighs tremble, until you beg, until you gasp his name and he stops.

“There. That’s it,” he says, eye twitching as if to fight tears. “You’re remembering, finally. One moan at a time.” He climbs over you then, and the sheer weight of him makes you gasp. His cock is long, thick, flushed at the tip and he knows it drives you crazy. He drags it slowly through your folds, teasing your entrance until you're whimpering, clawing at his back. “Tell me you want me,” he demands. “Even if you don’t remember why. Even if it’s a lie.” You say it. He slides in, inch by inch, and your back arches, mouth falling open as he fills you perfectly. Painfully slow. He kisses your throat as he moves, hips rolling in smooth, deep strokes, like he’s dancing with your body. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You belong to me,” he whispers. “Even if you forget every word, every touch—I’ll make your body remember. I will etch myself into you.”

You come with his name on your tongue, a trembling, shattered cry. And he watches you the entire time, eyes locked on yours, like he’s memorizing your face. Only then does he let himself go. Moaning softly, biting your shoulder as he pulses inside you, warm and slow and deliberate.

After, he stays inside you. Lets the silence stretch. Then he kisses your temple and strokes your hair like a lover, not a captor. “Sleep,” he whispers. “Tomorrow, we begin again.”

…

You walk across the room naked, unashamed. You move like you’ve done this before. Because you have. A dozen times. A hundred. More. You return and they wait because they need you.

It's not always in the same place. Not always with the same face. But always them. Or some version of them. Always you—soft and open, forgetting everything they did to you... and letting them do it all again.

You feel them under your skin. In the way your nipples harden at a voice you don’t recognize. In the way your pussy clenches when the air shifts. In the way your heart stutters at the sound of a door opening behind you.

You try to tell yourself it’s not real. That none of this matters if you don’t remember. But something inside you is waking. A flicker. No—more. A fire. Why do they all need to fuck me to prove they knew me? Why does it work?

You fall back into the bed with a sigh and close your eyes. The world is quiet. But you know it won’t be for long. You’ll die again. You always do. But now… now you wonder if you’re dying to feel, or if you’re dying just to see them again.

If this is a curse… Why does it keep making you come?

Note: This is my first time indulging in a more dom leaning Mark, my entire world crumbled and rebuilt while writing this. Its painful to see sub Mark leave but damn I loved how creative this request was. Please let me know if I interpreted this incorrectly, I’ll have it fixed!

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[stevn-rgers]

Just finished S1 of The Wheel of Time

First of all.. this is the plot of this fucking show so far:

Moiraine: *saves the town, rands dad, the whole group multiple times, Mat, literally everyone multiple times (getting injured & almost dying) - goes to her death to stand w Rand against the dark one, stays patient with them despite the continuous disrespect and causing problems*

Them: (mostly Nynaeve and Rand) : “shE CANT BE TRUSTED, SHE IS EVIL, DONT LISTEN TO HER, WE CAN HANDLE ALL OF THIS OURSELVES! EVERYTHING IS HER FAULT”

Anyway, on with my thoughts, some of it will prolly be controversial lol

I really expected to grow to like Nynaeve but fuck if she isn’t pissing me off every other episode if not every single one, like bro shut up and listen

Moiraine & Lan stay my favorites & I am obsessed with the relationship between Aes Sedai and their Warder(s)!! I wish there was more focus on it, it’s the most interesting plot point to me

On that, I LOVE watching fight scenes with the Aes Sedai & their warder(s)! The way they move in sync around each other, for example the town fight in ep1 w Lan & Moiraine + the battle in the woods when Alanna and her warders are fighting! As she went to do a huge explosion they both took slight cover just in time - knowing her moves as she did them

Egwene is prob my favorite of the group of 5, she actually listens to reason & doesn’t just jump to conclusions/throw a tantrum. And her little backstory about the fever when she was a kid? Amazing, it gives such a look into her strength

^ like I said I like her a lot but ARE YOU KIDDING? She didn’t kill child psycho when she had a chance??

Wolves are one of my fave animals so I’m loving this situation w Perrin

THOM???!!!! I loved him??

I called the dragon literally from the beginning but I like that I was right, it fits well and I like the way they came out with it.

I hate Liandrin with a passion, like I wanted someone to just throw a single punch. And ik she gets worse.

Also Mat needs to stop being such a problem like listen my guy, find some chill. Also do I ship him and Rand? Yes tf I do, fight me

So I find the dynamic of Moiraine & Lan with the Lan/Nynaeve interesting. Like as her wander she is more to him than any other relationship — but he’s falling in love with Nynaeve. So I wonder about that, I’m sure that later in the show he’ll have to choose at some point between helping/saving one of them. And with how much Nynaeve dislikes and is rude to Moiraine rn….

Loial is PRECIOUS TO ME. Love and adore him, I screamed when he was stabbed fuck this noise

I need Nynaeve to stop pissing me tf off please and thank you. I want to like her, esp if she’s gonna be with my mans. So she needs to fucking stop her bullshit. Stop making poor Moiraine’s life a million times more difficult than it already is while you’re at it. Like she wants so bad to be the wisest and the most powerful.. her pride is so dangerous.

I feel like every other episode Rand is pissing me off so bad but then I like him but then I want to knock him tf off. I’m hoping he will also stop being so damn frustrating in s2

The way Moiraine thought she’d die so she shut Lan out so he couldn’t follow her to his death - and she sent him to his fam & essentially pushed him toward Nynaeve bc she feels he deserves better and more than a life of protecting her.. I’m not okay

So pissed off with that ending ya’ll, esp when Moiraine losing her connection/powers

“To be a woman is to be always alone, and never alone.” CHILLS. Every single time

If I dislike a character you like, don’t come at me, I’m on ep1 of s2 right now, I’m sure my opinions will change many times as I continue.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello hello and happy Wednesday!! I hope your week has been good and continues to get better! I’ve been reading through your ao3 page and was wondering if you have anything for “all your cracks I’ll paint gold”? It’s one of my favorites! If not then consider this a free space to write whatever you want! Sfw/nsfw I don’t mind either! What’s something that made you smile today? Mine was my dog being cute while I brushed her she does a BIG stretch everytime I get to her back legs!

It has been a long week? like I don't even know its just been one of those weeks. the only thing getting me through it is writing? so at least there is that ^_^ and Nightshade who ensures I get plenty of cuddles and exercise.

Say stopped a bakery and got me taro and red bean buns which was really sweet of them and made me smile! and Nightshade got so upset that I left him at home today that we had to sit together on the ground because he kept knocking us both off of furniture with upset zoomies... in my lap lol. that sounds adorable, I love stretchy-paws

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

all your cracks I'll paint gold

Alec’s place in the shadowworld is no longer certain and he knows that, yet despite how he should feel adrift, he feels nothing but certainty. 

Alec belongs to Magnus, in a way beyond the ties of Alec’s once-oaths to the Clave or even his tether to Raziel.  If Alec has a place in the shadowworld, then it’s simply to be and exist at Magnus’ side.

Alec is more than a husband, a lover or even a consort to Magnus.

He is Magnus’ devotee and his adoration for Magnus is what now ties Alec to the lifeblood of this realm and the power that binds it together.

Still, there’s no actual name for what Alec is now, or the place that he currently fills in Magnus’ life.

In fact Alec is pretty sure that the only reason they’re not going with just ‘consort’ is because Magnus didn’t feel that it was elevated enough.  And considering it’s his magic and power and the demonic runes of his bloodline that keep Alec whole and hale, then Alec is fine with him creating a fancy title or whatever Magnus wants to do.

As long as Alec has veto powers.

Alec is not going to let Magnus get away with making a pun that they’ll both have to live with for the very long rest of their lives.  Alec is only just beginning to enjoy living again and looking forward to the future, he doesn’t want anything to threaten that.

Especially not Ragnor’s naming sense and Magnus’ love for puns.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like it will come down to Alec needing to use his veto. Magnus returns from whatever library he threw himself into four hours before and there is so much delight in his face that Alec knows whatever Magnus has picked will be what he accepts.

Even if it is something terrible or a pun.

How could he not? When Magnus looks so breathlessly happy and utterly thrilled.

—

Of course his Alexander is on the roof.

Magnus wonders why he even bothers to think otherwise or look elsewhere and summons a portal accordingly.  His feet feel as though he’s walking on the breeze.  The mood boosting him and buoying every step the closer he gets to his sweet Alexander.

It took a rather long time and Magnus had to go through the archives of what titles had been lost to time, left unused, could be recrafted or just what he could use that would be sure to give Alexander a place of honor.

A title to bear with the same pride — if not more — than he did his title of bloodied shadowhunter and runed Commander.

All doubt flees the moment he sees Alexander’s gaze.

It’s soft and indulgent and so loving that Magnus knows he’s won without even trying.  Perhaps it would be a sad victory for someone else, but the fact that Magnus has won what he wants simply by being so excited that Alexander won’t say no, it thrills him.

Who else has ever cared for something as simple as stoking Magnus’ excitement rather than dimming it?

Besides Catarina and Ragnor of course.

Magnus can hardly take time to breath, the need to hold and touch and feel Alexander beneath his palms and magic is suddenly too intense.

The runes that have been seared onto Alexander’s skin go soul-deep and Magnus can feel the mutual longing engulfing them as they finally meet again.

Even just a few hours seem endless when it takes Magnus from his boy’s side.

“Beloved— Magnus greets and Alec kisses him without hesitation or comment, just a soft delighted laughter and the press of dry, sun-warm lips to his own. “I have—” and then Magnus has nothing to say because Alexander’s arms are around him and Magnus has better things to think about.

Like how Alexander smells like moss and sunshine and the sap of his favorite tree and Magnus nuzzles against him, breathing deeply and just letting everything in and around him settle.

A few moments pass as they sway in place and then Alexander presses a gentle kiss to his jaw and nudges Magnus with his nose.

“You have?”

His voice is deep and teasing and Magnus would love to let himself drift in the sweetness of the moment but alas, duty calls.

“I have you, darling. My consort, my love, a devotee to my very soul and the unholy blood in my veins, my archon.”

[thosearentcrimes]

Read Too Like the Lightning, part of the Terra Ignota series, by Ada Palmer. I generally try to be a lot nicer about books written by living authors, on the off chance that they read what I'm saying. For example, I tried not to be very mean about the Baru Cormorant series, which I thought was pretty bad but had some strong points I could highlight, but I was perfectly willing to go in on Madame Bovary. All I can say is, I tried. You see, Too Like the Lightning is straight up terrible, and it is basically impossible to find anything nice to say about it at all.

Too Like the Lightning is an unbelievably stupid book. Now, I don't require total scientific fidelity from my science fiction, not unless the author signals I should. But I do think authors should be at least broadly aware of what laws they are breaking to get what they want, and Palmer very clearly isn't. Basically everyone has the predictive/prescient powers of Dune characters through mathematical oracles, despite this being provably impossible. Everyone travels in cheap supersonic private jets that probably also have VTOL capability, which are powered by Fucking Magic presumably, the author sure as hell doesn't seem to care. This wouldn't be as annoying if the book didn't spend so much time musing on the deep sociological effects of the FM-powered aircars, while entirely forgetting that evidently both Fucking Magic and oracles apparently exist and should probably affect society in some way also. There's also more minor points. At one point, the first of the aircars is analogized to the Nina and Pinta and Apollo XI, all of which were notable exploration vessels, not technical breakthroughs. The appropriate comparisons would be to something like the Kitty Hawk Flyer or Stephenson's Rocket or some of the Trevithick machines. Sure, it's a minor error, but for a novel this pretentious, all errors are serious. There is no appreciable narrative reason for this error either. If the book were edited, perhaps someone would have noticed.

The ideological and historiographical (more on this later) background is also just kind of dumb. The book is trying to make some tedious liberal points and also say that we need to have very serious discussions about like sexism and racism or whatever. What the content of these discussions is supposed to be is extremely unclear, and as far as I can tell simply the existence of them will basically fix things on its own because discussion is magic and leads to Truth and such, except, of course, when the narrative needs for it not to. Also destroying a book is kind of like killing a person, and other trite garbage. Anyway, where the book actually ends up is in my opinion quite far from the apparent intent, but unfortunately not in a very interesting way. Suffice to say, if I wanted to read kinda racist gender-normative rapey fiction with clockwork twists scattered around, where all the characters are secretly serial killers (notably Mycroft and the Saneer-Weeksbooths) because that makes them edgier or something I guess, I suspect I could still do a whole lot better than Too Like the Lightning, for example by reading self-insert Wattpad romance novels about pop stars, or werewolf erotica, or self-insert Wattpad erotica about werewolf pop stars. The incest is boring as hell and cowardly, too. It's a book that's trying to shock you, but the author doesn't know how to actually do that because, again, just not very good at writing at all. It doesn't help that the pacing is so horrible that none of the shocking twists actually land, especially since absolutely nothing keeps actually happening. Sure, Too Like the Lightning is the way it is for a reason, but so is the werewolf erotica, and helping other people jack off is a far more noble pursuit than jacking yourself off.

If the book is so stupid, why do a lot of fairly intelligent people seem to like it so much? Well, a lot of those people are Rationalists it seems (or close enough to it), and Rationalists have insanely bad taste in fiction for some reason. Actually Rationalists have insanely bad taste generally speaking but it's especially marked in fiction. And it's obvious why Rationalists would like the book, it treats intelligence as a comic book superpower the way they do, there's group homes and libertarianism and all sorts of other stuff they like. But there's a more fundamental feature that I think a certain kind of nerd loves about Too Like the Lightning. It's the omnipresent didactic tone, just like with Baru Cormorant, though here it's somehow even more obtrusive. Some people evidently like it when the author has a character read an encyclopedia entry for a paragraph or two for no particular reason, or pointedly make and then exhaustively explain a reference. I suspect it's because if they knew the reference, they feel like very clever students who read ahead, and if they didn't know the reference they feel like they are learning. I think it might be a form of high school nostalgia, the nerd version of student athletes unable to move on. Which is normal I suppose, I still think about doing amateur theater after all, but it does seem kind of embarrassing. To me, at least, the didactic tone always feels insulting regardless of if I knew the reference or not.

This insistence on transforming most of the characters into condescending lecture or encyclopedia entry delivery mechanisms understandably has serious consequences for the readability of the novel itself. It is impossible to believe that any of the supposed 10 billion people in the Hives that we barely ever see any actual traces of are actually persons in the eyes of the author or the narrative. Nor are most of the several dozen very important characters we do meet, to be fair. There is a single character, Eureka, who reaches the dizzying heights of "is an actual character" and she barely shows up. Thisbe is the only other one under consideration, but, eh, nah. Everyone else is functionally just a rhetorical device, because outside of the exposition most of the novel is poorly stylized as philosophical dialogue in Enlightenment style.

According to the Author's Note, Palmer sincerely wants to be participating in the Great Conversation. Now, this is a lost cause from the start. You cannot engage in a conversation by just parroting the words of others, and if you don't have any ideas of your own (and it is quite reasonable not to, there are so many people and so few ideas to be had), then a bare minimum would be the ability to rephrase or synthesize them. Now, maybe Palmer can do this, in lectures to students. Or maybe not, I have known instructors like that too (especially in history, lately). All I know is that Too Like the Lightning is no thoughts, all cliches. But if there were original ideas, the framing device would interfere anyway. You fundamentally cannot participate in a conversation while maintaining plausible deniability for everything by hiding behind your fictional characters, as Palmer does with Mycroft. Whenever I object to, well, more or less any feature of the novel, its fans can always say that actually I just haven't been paying enough attention to the unreliability of the narrator. This objection tends to be either false or irrelevant, but it's a pain in the ass to prove, and the only reason it is possible in the first place is that the author is actively refusing to stake out a position to be held to.

For what it's worth, I don't think it's out of cowardice. Palmer seems to have noticed that the tradition of the conte philosophique and the genres that take off of it includes a lot of different styles and narrative devices, and has ultimately decided to use most of them, invariably quite poorly. I've read conte philosophique, and it does not read like conte philosophique, sorry, the writing is all so painfully 21st century. Ironically, the one major device for philosophical stories I can think of that was not used, the travelogue, is the one I think is clearly most appropriate to the sort of worldbuilding-based speculative fiction Palmer is engaging in here, both from a practical and a historical perspective. The eclectic stylistic muddle makes the novel much longer without giving it any additional depth, the styles do not complement each other, and also the author very obviously does not have the skill required to pull any of it off. Authors, unless exceptionally competent, should pick at most one gimmick per work. Might not have helped here, but it's good practice either way.

One of the techniques that gets talked about with regards to the book is the unreliable narrator, probably because the device is referenced in the book right at the start. In fact, contrary to what people insist, it is not really present in the sense I would understand it, of a narrator styled as deliberately deceiving the audience in order to promote his own agenda. Since the narrator of Too Like the Lightning, like basically every other character in the novel, evidently only actually has an agenda or motive as an informed attribute, there is no way for the reader to reason their way to the implied meta-narrative of what "actually happened", because I'm pretty sure that meta-narrative doesn't actually exist. As far as I can tell, the only actual function of the extremely tedious and obtrusive in-universe narrator is to justify telling the exposition in a particular twist-preserving order, which, again, is not what the unreliable narrator is.

The novel really does consist almost exclusively of dry narration and loredumps. Nothing ever happens in this miserable 460 page slog. I really mean this, nothing actually happens and nobody really does anything except flit around irrelevantly at supersonic speeds. A bunch of characters talk to each other, or talk at each other, or read the encyclopedia at each other. But it turns out none of that actually matters, because enough of the characters are basically omniscient (except for all the stuff they can't know otherwise the story falls apart, even though there's no conceivable way they wouldn't know) that there is no appreciable difference between characters talking at each other and thinking at each other, which they also spend way too much time doing. None of the dialogue serves to develop the characters, because, as discussed earlier, there aren't any. None of the dialogue serves to establish the plot or stakes, because the plot gets retconned every other chapter with yet another tedious twist so there's no real point in following the intrigue, which I'm pretty sure consists mostly of plot holes by the end anyway. Worst of all, a consistent pattern in these retcons is that it becomes clearer and clearer that an alarming number of the conversations in this book are actually functionally just a guy talking to himself.

It kind of makes sense that the novel is more or less entirely people talking to each other (well that and poorly done metatextual horseshit) because it turns out the novel endirses a fundamental theory of historical change consisting entirely of people talking to each other, specifically, a variation on Great Man Theory that says change happens because the most important members of the very real and existing natural aristocracy get into a room together in order to figure out what's going to happen next by finding the smartest bestest boy from among them all and all just doing what he says, and then maybe some other stuff that doesn't matter happens after who cares, all of the actual persons have made their decisions. History of ideas people are basically all wacky, but this seems extreme even for them, so I sure hope Palmer isn't actually teaching anything like this. In addition to being based on a variant of it, Too Like the Lightning references and then explains its own reference to Great Man Theory, and naturally has its own Great Man in the narrative itself, the guy talking to himself from the last paragraph, and boy is he unbearable.

The guy in question, Y.U.D.D. MASON, is genuinely in the running for the most insufferable character ever written. I wouldn't mind him being written like a particularly annoying teenager with delusions of grandeur who has evidently somehow read both far too much and far too little philosophy so much if the novel did not take every single opportunity to make it absolutely unquestionable that this horrid little git is in fact an unparalleled superhuman intellect omniscient oracle capable of outright mind control through speech alone. And no, that's not a unreliable narrator thing. My understanding is that somehow this gets much worse over the course of the rest of the books, which I will not read because frankly 460 pages was an unreasonable test of my patience and commitment to reviewing everything I read and finishing everything I review. Apparently at the end he starts a civil war and becomes God-Emperor of Humanity or whatever, who even cares.

Look, a persistent obsession with Mars, nonsensical car-based revolutionizing of transportation, references to De Sade, excessive confidence in mathematical oracles, these are not the preoccupations of a serious thinker, these are the preoccupations of Elon Musk. Musk really is a convenient example of the sort of Great Man that actually exists by contrast to the ones you get in fiction and in Carlyle. Richest man on the planet, widely acknowledged power behind the throne of the most powerful state out there, owner of what was once (you know, before he bought it) regarded as the online public square, AI magnate, rocketman, surely here we have the Great Man of our time? Except, wait, we know him. We know him from his irrepressible habit of Posting, his now decades of pathetic self-promotion, his desperate need to turn himself into a living meme to get the attention he never got from his father, and which he in turn will not give to his two dozen kids. He is a massive loser whose aesthetic interests consist of the most accessible symbols of coolness and futurism that he can find, up to and including the glyph 'X' and memes that got old over a decade ago. What does it say about Too Like the Lightning that half of its aesthetic language is not only shared with this fucking loser, but is even projected out to the 26th century? Nothing good, that's for sure.

It is my opinion that novels should be edited. Unfortunately publishers do not seem to agree. Editing could never have made this book good, but it might at least have informed the publishers of the scale of mistake they were in the course of making. This novel was a lost cause the moment it was accepted for publication, which happened by a mechanism I am still quite unable to explain. The Author's Note does contain a very helpful list of the extraordinarily many collaborators allegedly responsible, of whom I would pick out for particular discredit the editorial decision-makers and the peers who apparently encouraged the creation of the work. That this book was written was a mistake, that it was published was a travesty, that it got sequels is an absurdity. The existence of Too Like the Lightning is an enormous embarrassment to the entire genre of Science Fiction, whose reputation was frankly already quite bad for very good reasons. Anyway, I'm never going to read Worm that's for damn sure.

This novel made me afraid to write my own intended stories, for fear that they will end up like this. Ordinarily, this is where I mention what kinds of person might enjoy the novel, recommend it to someone even if I did not like it myself. Frankly, I think I have provided enough information for people to figure out whether or not they would like it, but I have to confess that I do not think anyone should read this book, including the ones who would enjoy it. It's not for moral reasons or anything, I just think the book is that bad.

[madamejadex]

also !! gosh i need to stop hitting before im done.

first, give us the update. you okay? how’s mental health? kisses

second, silly this or that game. i have so many random things in my notes. there’s like 40 of these.

1. understim or overstim?

2. rope or cuffs?

3. sensation play or impact play?

4. ruins or edging?

5. psychological punishment or physical punishment?

6. wax or ice?

You’re adorable, darling. And yes, I’m doing very well, thank you for checking in on me. 💋

Now, I do hope you’re doing well too, sweet one.

Mmm, a little game, you say? Well, now you’ve got me intrigued. Let’s see what you’ve cooked up for me…

Understim or overstim? Mmm… now this one made me pause, because I truly enjoy both. But if I have to choose, I’d say it’s the sadist in me that leans toward overstimulation. There’s something about the rawness of it, the way it reduces a submissive to tears, whimpers, sometimes even screams. I love pushing that edge… seeing just how many orgasms I can pull from them before they plead for mercy. It’s exquisite.

Rope or cuffs? Rope, all the way. There are so many ways to bind someone with rope, so much versatility, creativity. And more than that, it’s the ritual of it I adore. The care in every knot. The patience. The control. It’s an art form, and it makes the surrender all the more meaningful.

Sensation play or impact play? Ah, now you’re going for the throat. This one is difficult to answer because both of them are favorites of mine, and they carry very different energy. Impact play is raw. It’s deep. It’s layered with passion, pain, and that perfect drop into something primal. But sensation play? That’s intimate. It’s soft, often slower, and filled with so much potential for connection. I wouldn’t say one is better than the other, they’re simply… different expressions of my control. So I'm sorry that I will say both.

Ruins or edging? I’ve mostly used ruin orgasms as punishment. They’re not something I've dabbled much in. There’s no real gratification in a ruined orgasm, no bliss, just need, and the denial of release or extremely unsatisfying orgasms (bordering on painful). And I've so far never come across a partner in my past who have yearned for this type of play. So it's why it's an incredibly effective correction tool. So between the two, edging is my preference. I adore building them up over and over again until they’re trembling for it. There’s power in the control it takes to give… and then take away.

Psychological punishment or physical punishment? This, again, depends entirely on my partner. The key to punishment is understanding what actually feels like punishment to the submissive, while always remaining within their negotiated boundaries. If I’m working with a submissive who loves impact play, then spanking won’t be effective. Instead, I might restrain them and leave them waiting, or give them a task they find boring or mentally uncomfortable, like organizing a storage closet, or sitting silently facing a wall. But for someone who finds impact difficult? Spanking might be the perfect correction. Regardless of the method, I want to be clear: punishment should never leave lasting damage. It's meant to be corrective, not cruel. It should be safe, controlled, and within the context of care. I know you understand exactly what I mean, because I've seen from your blog that you’re already well-informed about BDSM etiquette and safety.

Wax or ice? Wax. Easily. It’s more versatile, easier to maintain over a longer scene, and doesn’t numb me the way ice does. Ice can be fun in short bursts, but I don’t enjoy using gloves during scenes, and my hands get cold far too quickly. Wax, on the other hand… oh, that’s a delicious tool. Drip by drip. Sharp, brief pain with such beautiful marks left behind.

Now that was fun, sweetheart. You’re welcome to bring me more little games anytime. Just don’t be surprised when I turn the questions around on you next time.

xo Miss Jade *and fun fact, this answer was my 1000 mark post. Crazy.

[starsandgutters]

@aceadoxography I cannot find the post I made about my KevAaron omegaverse ideas so I instead offer whatever notes I had saved in my concepts doc (loose & messy & very little semblance of plot, I fear)

Okay well I want to write two fics as I want to explore the potential of both designations (omega Aaron/alpha Kevin, and alpha Aaron/omega Kevin) I think both potentials are SO INTERESTING for exploring COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DYNAMICS. And I hate to choose. So I would need to do both haha

I need the twins being absolutely appalled at not only being tiny but also being omegas. Constantly fiercely fighting any preconceptions people may have of them. Andrew extra vicious for the weakness people may perceive in him, and Aaron just so embarrassed by his body and his cycles and he doesn’t have time !! He has studying to do this is so stupid !! And both of them seething about the forced vulnerability their hormones force on them (also love the idea of being able to pick up on emotions through scent changes and the fact these emotionally repressed assholes who hate anyone knowing how they feel would DESPISE THAT!!!) but also everyone assuming they’re omegas because of their appearance and they’re actually alphas !! Imagine !! Teeny little alpha powerhouses like both ?? Both options are so good !!! I need both

As omegas they’d be constantly fighting their nature. They do NOT want to be perceived as that. Andrew worse after his abuse and Aaron because he hates being seen as weak. Both on suppressants as soon as they had access to them (Aaron went through shitty dodgy ones in his teens, Andrew had a harder time getting access to them but at least they put him on suppressants in juvie. One perk). Both passing as betas but people think Andrew might actually be an alpha in disguise (I actually think he’s transalpha when he presents omega tbh). Aaron’s bad at not reacting to pheromones though so he’s constantly fighting now to expose himself lmao

Then Kevin as an alpha who is meant to be STRONG but he's so fucking scared and skittish and anxious. Aaron who can't ignore the constant stress scent billowing off him like clouds of smoke, and he’s always got an instinct to CARE he can never shut down. So when there’s a stressed omega living in his dorm… and like yeah Andrew is incredibly territorial over him, and he’s already doing a lot of caretaking, but Aaron doing little things in the background. Getting mad whenever he realises because like UGH why is he wasting his time looking after some alpha (Andrew’s pet alpha on top of that). Kevin actually warming up to Aaron earlier on because Andrew is the solid grounding force he NEEDS to survive after the nest, but Aaron is an unexpected gentleness, someone who doesn’t expect him to just play out the perfect alpha role he’s been taught to act … Aaron who actually seems to relax more around Kevin when he’s feeling a bit pathetic, when he lets Aaron be in control, when he’s not snapping or trying to boss him around.

And while I think Neil of any designation could be interesting, beta Neil who has even less response to pheromones than most betas. Andrew who trusts him entirely because he's not a slave to his instincts. Neil who has no concept of the oversexualsiation of omegas because it’s just not a part of society he’s paid much attention to, and so he just sees Andrew.

Vs the flip side. Unexpected alpha twins often mistaken as omegas due to their size. They’re giving small dog tbh. Super aggressive. Andrew who revels in the power he gained from presenting after being so vulnerable as a child, versus Aaron so desperate not to be aggressive, not to be like his mother, hating every slip.

Secret omega Kevin who the Ravens presented as a beta to avoid the prejudice and assumptions omegas get saddled with. Who they kept on a fucked up cocktail of suppressants and other drugs and whose hormones are a wreck when he comes to PSU. Having to adjust to normal suppressants. His initial resistance to Andrew as his protector as an alpha - so untrusting of them - but Andrew does not flaunt his power like Riko or Thea did, he is a steady presence. He protects Kevin as a choice, not a response to his instinctual drive. Jean as a beta and one of the only people who ever humanised Kevin before. He’s been taught not to act like an omega so he's rough and haughty and vicious as ever, but all his warring instincts on top of his injury leave him a mess when he's away from the court or cameras.

Aaron who has never been one to fuss over omegas but can't ignore Kevin's distress, finding himself constantly bringing him blankets or food and trying to put out his own soothing pheromones (not that he has much of those to go around lmaooo when are you ever soothed, Aaron). And Abby says Kevin has to go through at least a few heats in his first year to regulate after all the shit the Ravens had him on. It’s only coming up to his first planned one (his first ever one at PSU was when they were detoxing him off the Raven drugs, so he just went through it alone), that Aaron realises he’s subconsciously been thinking of Kevin as HIS omega and omg gotta shut that down. Even if he hates the idea of anyone else being with him through that. It’s. No.

Andrew of course volunteers, and everyone assumes that’s who will be with Kevin, but he quietly turns the offer down.

Unsure if that’s even allowed. If he gets to have a choice, to have a say in this - he never has before, right? Never had autonomy in anything to do with his body. It’s Abby who catches him glancing at Aaron and asks if he’d like to ask Aaron.

Kevin is like: no!!?!!!! Because obviously Aaron would say no !!!

And Aaron is like: no!!! Because why would Abby even suggest that clearly Kevin would NOT want him like Andrew is clearly the only choice so Kevin must just want to do it alone again

And Andrew is seething because he knows it can all be a bit precarious when hormones are flying about and he’s supposed to protecting both of these dumbasses

Kevin dejectedly muttering about how he wouldn’t put Aaron in an awkward position by asking, and Aaron being like 🤨 how do you know what position I’d be in unless you ask?

Andrew’s hating his life tbh but if there’s anyone he trusts Kevin with, it’s Aaron. Not sure how much he trusts Kevin with his brother though.

Aaron is Very Official™️ about the whole thing and makes them go through consent forms beforehand because he will not be caught slipping no sir. Even if it’s a very painful and mortifying ordeal for them both. Better to know beforehand

I think omega Aaron really loves his nest and being scented and having his alpha plastered over him basically through his whole heat but he’s just !! Constantly trying to fight it !! Because how embarassing to be so vulnerable (but he keeps fucking PURRING and he’s going to TEAR HIS OWN VOCAL CHORDS OUT because it’s MORTIFYING) (Kevin’s obsessed with the sound he’s doing everything in his power to make Aaron purr and he’s very much “tell me what you want tell me what to do anything just say the word” kind of alpha. Like is he tragically horny? Yes. Is he going to die of blue balls? Maybe. But if Aaron wants a non sexual heat their first time together then that is what he will get 😤 Kevin’s blue ball related death aside)

Whereas omega Kevin is very clingy and needy but doesn’t really know how to communicate what he wants, so Aaron takes a lot more of the lead but he’s very focused in on Kevin’s comfort and desires. I think he’s a lot better at reading body language and shifts in scent than Kevin because the Nest did not develop those skills (and also, the autism)

And I’m torn between beta Nicky as the calm neutral safe middle ground for the twins or omega Nicky who cannot wait to for his beautiful strong alpha to fill him with pups 🕺🏻

Although I guess it would match his backstory more if he were in a alpha x alpha or omega x omega relationship

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Never underestimate the healing power of a good meal!

(For @nibbelraz!)

[fewwawihater]

just checked my draft & dms.. apparently i was possessed last night between 3 and 5 a.m. and became intrigued by bryan bozzi. but now he's just some ferrari guy again

look at my url if there's any accurate characterization in this i fail as a person alright

[magical-awesome-kid]

I looked at the councilwoman in disbelief.

I was now twenty, having spent most of my life studying and learning, practicing, mastering magic. I could now down a young dragon, though my parents and teachers had always said that was barely the standard for a student my age.

And here I was, applying for the Master’s exam, and the magistrate had to tell me this.

“I’m… the youngest?”

“By a long shot.” She said, her smile confused. She was in her mid thirties, maybe a little later. I’d honed my senses to detect the faintest signs of illusion magic, so this was how she actually looked.

“Why, yes. Most people don’t take this exam until they’re in their thirties.” She nodded. “I only took mine five years ago, when I was forty-five.”

“Wait, you’re fifty??? I thought you were thirty-five!”

“Oh! You’re a charmer.” She waved her hand. “Good genes and a few good skin potions for the wrinkles, but, yes, and I was considered quite young for my time then. Most mages your age are applying for schools and discovering their specialties, after all.”

Specialties? I’d taken the coursework at seven.

Because that is what it takes to be a good wizard. My mother had tutted.

Not even good. Just basic. My teachers had added.

“So, hypothetically, when do most people start studying magic…?”

She hummed. “I think most teenagers begin to dabble, but most people do not seriously commit until they are in their twenties. Magic has a way of extending one’s life, after all, and life experience often is a large part of discovery and Magic.”

I felt my soul shatter in my chest. All the years of lies. Of telling me that only the wealthy could have magic, and therefore the most powerful must hone their magic young, lest they lose it.

I’d never gotten to just be because they’d expected me to be a magnificent wizard.

They used me.

Something trailed down my face.

I reached up and found tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t cried in front of someone in so long…

“Oh, oh no, honey….”

The interview changed very rapidly after.

From the long desk and hard chair, we’d moved to a small side room with squishy chairs, walls of books, and a warm atmosphere that welcomed someone in. The woman dried my eyes and handed me water, allowing me to collect myself.

I told her of what I’d been told. Of what I experienced.

Her face darkened.

“I must admit, I had heard of your family.” She admitted. “Your parents always painted you as a naturally gifted child, that you mastered magic like it was breathing.”

It hadn’t been. It was gruesome work.

By the end, I just felt disgusted. They expected me to take the exam and take a place in the Magical Ministry, rise the ranks, just as a half-way decent wizard was expected to.

And I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in time and shake my younger self, tell them to use that Fly spell and escape out the window, go play with the town children instead of being locked in the tower.

I spilled my guts because I didn’t know what else to do.

“If I may.” The councilwoman, Grace, said as she set her coffee to the side. “For all that magic is grand, Chronomancy has always been finicky at best.” She joked, and my lips perked some at that. “While we can’t turn back the clock, we can do something going forward.”

“Like what?”

She waved her hand, and a folder flew off the shelf and flew to her. “You are the same age as someone in University, and I happen to know quite a few school professors who wouldn’t mind adding a student to their ranks. Meet people your own age, explore your interests both in and outside of the magical sciences.

“And, if you are worried about being known, I do have one other option.” She pulled out a small slip, handing it over.

It was a posting from the Adventurer’s Guild.

“I spent my latter twenties traveling with a crew of Adventurers.” She admitted. “It was like nothing I’d done before, and it was the kind of time I needed to find who I wanted to be. I’m still friends with many of them to this day. I can help you find a guild, a team, whatever you want to do. Most level E adventurers are in their teens, but I think I can get you in as a D or C without revealing too much about your magical past. Anyone there would accept you just as what you want to present.”

I took the slip. There was a crude drawing on it of a warrior, a cleric, a rogue, and a mage. The note has a call for new adventurers.

Adventuring had always been a field of tight contention among the wealthy and powerful. Adventurers were largely civilians to start, and, while they generally followed the rules of the land, they rarely bowed unless it was warranted to their morals. Powerful adventurers would rise to attend events amongst nobility, and they oft stepped on every unsaid rule without worry.

My own parents had often spoken of Adventurers as annoyances, only being polite because it was a means to an end, and even then, some Adventurers just did not care.

If nothing else, it would absolutely piss them off.

“Can you tell me more about Adventuring?”

Learning magic is an arduous journey, requiring sacrifice and dedication. Your parents made you give up your childhood to study magic—only after completing your studies do you learn that most other mages actually choose to start in adulthood.

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

..

[cryptiddeer]

Ok so i hit max tag limit but i wasn't done. Someone should euthanize me

what is your most controversial video game hot take? 🎮🎮🎮

[nozomijoestar]

I know people hate SMT Nocturne's approach to characters but I love this shit, they feel like puddles that drag you down into an ideological sea once you start thinking on what they represent and the context of the situations the game put them in or what they say/how they act pre and during Vortex World, and their isolation from the player makes them doomed from getting any help being faced with their ugly inner selves until it's too late

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[deadpresidents]

"What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 millions people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women's pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn't carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America's founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn't paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen."

-- "How Far Would He Go", TIME Magazine's interviews with Donald Trump, April 30, 2024.

I know we're saturated in coverage of Trump and it's easy (and probably better for our mental health) to usually ignore most of the articles when we see them, especially since he's so full of shit and infuriating. But it's also important to recognize that he is going to be the Republican nominee for President and he could absolutely be elected in November, and if you thought his first term was scary and dangerous, you need to understand that in a second term he's going to have people around him that are better prepared and VERY willing to do the crazy shit that he wants to do to this country. They aren't even hiding the fact that they are seeking vengeance against political opponents whom they feel have wronged them, and are ready to fundamentally dismantle the democratic foundations that are barely holding this country together after nearly 250 years.

Just look at what Trump says about the people who he incited to attack the United States Capitol in an attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and halt the peaceful transfer of power that has happened every four years since 1789:

"Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. 'I call them the J-6 patriots,' he say. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, 'Yes, absolutely.' As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor."

Oh, and please note that Trump -- a former President of the United States and possible future President of the United States -- said on the record in these interviews with TIME: "There is a definite antiwhite feeling in the country and that can't be allowed either." We are at a point where political leaders are outright saying that in this country again, and it's because of Donald Trump.

So, take the time to recognize that Trump is straight-up telling us the country we're going to be living in if he wins again in November. And understand that your vote matters -- and WHO you vote for matters -- because, as I've been saying for years now, ELECTIONS HAVE FUCKING CONSEQUENCES.

[demonic0angel]

Justice League Dark being all worried because an ancient and magically powerful pharaoh is going to awaken to his past life memories soon and could usher in a new age of darkness if he isn't stopped.

Tucker, said pharaoh, gains his past life memories and magical power, and ignores it in favor of continuing his internship at Wayne Tech.

Part 2

Wonder Woman frowned. “What are you saying?”

Constantine growled. “I’m saying that if we don’t find this thing fast…. It could bring in a new age of darkness. And trust me, you don’t want to find out what that could mean.”

Wonder Woman turned to Zatanna. “How dangerous is this thing? And how did this happen?”

Zatanna shook her head, also looking worried and confused. “I’m not entirely sure. However, Constantine and I did some spells and we talked to some other psychics, who have all said the same thing. Someone out there in the world will soon gain their past life’s memories and magical power, and with it, they will have the knowledge and capabilities to bring death and chaos to this world. We need to stop them.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “Tell me what we need to do. We must stop this person before anything could happen!”

————

“Wait, but didn’t we already know that you’re the reincarnation of a past pharaoh?” Danny said, staring at him in bafflement through the screen. “This isn’t anything new.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I know! Like damn, couldn’t I have given these powers in high school?”

“Still wouldn’t get bitches though,” Sam said dryly, not even looking up from where she was trimming her plants.

“Hey!” Tucker complained.

Danny smirked. “Maybe you could say he’s a…. Late bloomer?”

He chortled as they both groaned. Sam picked up her flowers and placed them under her desk to protect them from Danny’s awful puns with a shake of her head. Tucker just gave a long sigh.

Tucker was sullen. “I mean… it’s cool and all, but I don’t need them, y’know? And for some reason, I have voices in my head telling me to start the apocalypse now.”

Sam and Danny stared at him with varying degrees of unimpressed and concern. “Well? Are you?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker snorted. “Hell no. You know how much I get paid at Wayne Enterprises? I get paid buckets for only an hour a day to write up some software and then I can spend the rest of the time on games. There’s no way I’m going to waste my time on Armageddon when I can make money.”

Danny beamed. “That’s the spirit! Do you want me to come over to exorcise the voices in your head? They’re probably like… ghosts or something, right?”

“Nah, it’s alright. Jazz is going to come over to help. And if it’s insanity from drinking Gotham water, then she’s definitely more qualified than you guys.”

Danny nodded. “Makes sense.”

Sam chuckled to herself. “Who knew that the world could be saved with a billionaire’s money? Oh, wait, I did because—!”

Both boys groaned and settled in for another rant about the ethics of billionaires. Not that they disagreed, but still.