#i'm immortal more or less

[aquarines]

stop unfollowing me, i'm literally the vampire lestat

[hellonerf]

unusual face post where i don't bring up caname marriage. all of their gangstalia childhood photos have been shown! i've been very captivated by their answers

the question is virtually the same for each of them with different wordings. here lord and owner have a goal for their future. between a distinguished admirable grown up and a welcoming hotel runner. meanwhile hero and parrain's answer are like. so vague. [(i?) can be anything] and [(be?) me] makes me laugh. what are these kids even saying? such blatant different personality dynamics. i actually don't have any coherent words i just point at a difference and go wowwww coool(keys jingling in front of me). but really. how sweet!!! the different similar answers

[knuckle]

it's so odd to me that it's like a meme that shi qingxuan is an innocent flower who's never done anything wrong when he xuan calls out very explicitly that desiring to cover up for shi wudu and help him amass power despite knowing that he's a ruthless serial killer who committed an extremely grave crime that gave you unearned privileges is wrong and everyone is just like well if your family member is orchestrating murdering people and getting them raped and stealing their livelihood it's fine not to seek justice

He Xuan took pains to bring Shi Qingxuan to his hometown where Scholar He has been turned into a gruesome folk hero. Shi Qingxuan figures out what had happened to Scholar He before losing her powers. They openly see how horrific Scholar He's life was, how his loyal childhood sweetheart, his sweet little sister, and his parents all died and the former two were sold off and raped beforehand. When Xie Lian deduces that Scholar He may be the Reverend of Empty words or have replaced it because he was the only victim that rather than die in despair, died fighting, full of resentment and spirit, Qingxuan said that they couldn't compare to him.

They had fully processed how horrific how thoroughly disgusting what Shi Wudu did especially after losing powers and wanted to live as a mortal. However, even after days (which Qingxuan had time to reflect!) in captivity with Shi Wudu, after being rescued by "Ming Xiong" and Xie Lian, Qingxuan still went back to Shi Wudu the moment he was in trouble, even after "Ming Yi" also tried to stop her and asked her if it was really right, despite knowing it was not, she went ahead and selfishly picked her brother, knowing that assisting him and helping him pass the trial would level him up and give him even more impunity in the heavens.

When He Xuan points out that they had given many chances, Qingxuan is unable to argue because of knowing it's true. Even Xie Lian realizes that as an outsider he should not have interfered after a certain point despite his bias toward Qingxuan. Even Hua Cheng had a strong conviction that He Xuan was justified and had been actively lying to and at times even working against Xie Lian's investigating to support Black Water's quest. The amount of moral wrong that had to be involved for Hua Cheng to pick He Xuan's feelings, even remotely, over Xie Lian's had to be immense.

Every single justification and feeling Shi Qingxuan had, while very human or understandable, was just an excuse to pick Shi Wudu - to protect him even though it was sinful, a lesser version of what Shi Wudu had decided to do for Shi Qingxuan. It's not the same level of wrongdoing, but it is still very wrong. Especially because we all heard from Shi Qingxuan's own mouth how wronged Scholar He was, how disgusting what Shi Wudu did was.

We also have Xie Lian's deduction that Shi Qingxuan was aware Shi Wudu wanted to find another innocent if possible to switch Shi Qingxuan's fate again, which is why she initially wanted to escape. In the end, Shi Qingxuan picked familial ties and love over justice, an inversion of He Xuan's hopes for her, probably especially after seeing the deep indignation the wind master had at Pei Ming trying to help and excuse Pei Xiu, especially after being friends for perhaps hundreds of years. He Xuan too was hoping or perhaps felt a sense of justice themself that they had to give the opportunity - for whatever reason tried to give Shi Qingxuan the chance to pick the weak, dispossessed victims, whose ashes and blood fertilized the fruits of her unearned glory, over the water tyrant. And she didn't. That's why Qingxuan too had to kneel before the urns of the He family.

Also, what is there to pity about how it turned out? Shi Qingxuan has friends, has a crew who love and refer to them as Lao Feng, has been proven in their eyes a bona fide god, has a carefree, if hard life, and even did not end up having their fate switched. With the way they stand above the crowd and have the chance to actually experience hardship and the moral qualities that would aid ascension, I feel it is actually possible to ascend on real merits this time too, as a god of beggars, or a god of mercy. In the end, He Xuan was merciful, did not injure Shi Qingxuan themself, and only took her off the unearned pedestal. They even got the absolution of He Xuan not hating them after the wind master fan scene and will likely continue to have a better and better mortal life. Being physically disabled is actually not the worst thing that can happen to you and Shi Qingxuan seems to be leading a happier life than for example the Xianle trio had for the last 800 years, probably because it is Qingxuan's fate to have a happy life.

[romance-rambles]

godheim clarence | because it's you

On a seemingly normal day, as he's braiding your hair in the morning, your husband asks you if he should cut his hair. You try to be brave about it.

1.6k, post-clarence epilogue, misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

"SHALL I CUT MY HAIR short too?"

You register your husband's words as a joke at first. Why would you not? It flows so seamlessly from your own, after all—about how he might actually thank you for freeing up his time in the mornings if you chop off your long hair.

You know full well Clarence will not.

It is not enough to prevent you from chasing after your favorite kind of high. The one where he huffs exasperatedly and tells you as much, as a lovely but faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheek. The one that leaves you with the singleminded desire to kiss him, which you waste no time in doing—because you can.

So, expecting to see a hint of mirth in his blue eyes, you roll your eyes and watch him through the vanity's mirror with an unfaltering grin.

There is none.

Instead, the mirror reflects only the almost clumsy seriousness you've come to expect in his endeavors to prove himself worthy of being your husband. It is both flattering and worrying.

And sometimes, it makes you wonder if you were too harsh on him in the early days of your time together in the void, when you demanded apology after apology from him. Then, you remember that he's the same man who catches fishes only to free them in the end—and that this is simply sort of endearing idiot he is.

It helps immensely.

"Would you like to?" you ask carefully, concealing your silent insults with a half-awkward smile.

You would not like him to.

But it is rare for Clarence to express an interest in his appearance outside of what you make of it. His most frequently worn coat is the one you once complimented him, under a brightly-lit street lamp as he wrapped his scarf around you instead. He always buys the same fragrance, and only when it runs out, with a polite explanation of My wife likes this one the most that drives most merchants mad.

The only response he's ever offered when shopping for clothes is: If you like it, I'm fine with wearing it.

Biting back a scowl, you add, "I think you'd look good with short hair."

Of course he would. Even putting aside his hairstyle when he was younger, your husband is handsome enough to pull anything off.

You are, of course, very biased—it's an accusation you've never tried to deny.

"I see." With a pleased hum, Clarence ties off your braid. "Then I'll pick out a date. Would you like to come along?"

He's careful to adjust the hair tie first, concealing any stubborn tufts hair poking through between the gaps before he reaches for your usual red ribbon. Then, with a practiced ease that comes only with years' worth of repetition, he loops it through the hair tie and twists into a proper bow.

Today, you cannot find it in yourself to admire his careful movements through the mirror.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it if I do that," you answer, shuddering a little at the thought. The people at this village are mostly kind, but a few of the louder ones tend to comment on Clarence's tendencies a bit too frequently for your liking. "You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Your fingers traverse down the full length of your neatly-braided hair to pull it over your shoulder. Their grasp on the end of it lasts for only a second before your hand falls to the edge of your stool. Gulping, you swivel around and soon find yourself properly face to face with your husband.

He smiles faintly. "In a sense, they weren't wrong."

To properly hold onto his face, you have to scoot closer to the edge. Clarence bends down slightly, further easing the burden on your arms. Your eyes narrow fondly at him before you ruin the moment by smushing his cheeks.

"They were insulting you," you correct him, indignation fueling your flat tone. "I'd say they were very wrong."

His expression grows helpless and fond. Wrapping his hands around your own, he settles down onto the hardwood floor. In doing so, he ignores your chiding entirely; instead, he looks at you with a hint of reverence in his gaze.

"Perhaps," Clarence agrees softly. "I've heard worse."

Inhaling sharply, you press your foreheads together. When you next speak up, your tone is softer. "Do you have a cut in mind?"

"The same as it was when I was younger, I suppose," he says, sounding a bit uncertain.

You do your best approximation of a nod. You're not entirely certain what brought this on, but that won't stop you from being the most supportive wife to ever be supportive. As you squeeze his hands gently, you hope he can sense your resolve.

"Alright," you say, a bit forcefully, as you press a kiss to his forehead. "—now get off the floor. It's my turn to do your hair."

IT'S WHEN YOU'RE CAREFULLY UNTANGLING your braid at night that you remember the conversation from that morning.

"Did you decide on a date?" you ask curiously.

Clarence hums. "I didn't get the chance to quite yet."

He's watching you from his side of the bed, both hands occupied by a book he stopped reading the moment you walked in after your nighttime routine. When you shake your hair back to normal and settle under the blankets, he wordlessly turns the lamps off, with only a flick of his hand.

Accepting his answer, you snuggle up against his chest, fully intent on going to sleep—

Except you can't.

Curiosity nags at you, offering you the same question over and over again in the hopes that you'll break. And break you do as you call out your husband's name.

You can't quite make out what his expression is, but you know he isn't asleep. It's only been a few years—just a little over a decade, to be precise—since they've reunited. Adjusting to a life within the bounds of time, you know, takes some time, especially for someone like Clarence who had seemingly outgrown the need to sleep even before he entered the nothingness.

"Clarence," you whisper, "what made you want to cut your hair?"

For a moment, he remains silent. You can hear his beating heart, and that is enough to let you know that he's flustered.

"Clarence?"

"You said I looked very handsome," he says finally. "The other day."

Upon hearing those words, your mind offers you nothing noteworthy. To you, calling your husband handsome is no different making sure your heart's intact. You think you might actually die if you don't tell him, but you haven't tested it before.

Your heart, however, is filled to the brim with affection for this man, the one you've searched nearly your entire life for.

Even if you do want to throttle him a little bit.

"You'll have to be more specific, dear," you tell him, gently touching his cheek. He's warm, you think. You're tempted to turn the lights back on. "I'm sure I say that every day. And why would that make you want to cut your hair?"

Clearing his throat, he adds, "To be more specific, you didn't say it to me necessarily. You were—" Clarence pauses, a hint of uncertainty to his next words. "—talking about my younger self."

Oh.

The gears in your head start to turn. Now, you can faintly recall the memory of you waxing poetically about the man whose image remains in use on one of the most popular and frequently sold-out stamps even now, centuries later. Mostly, you remember smiling through a comment about how carefully you must've chosen your husband—as if she hadn't pressured into picking a man other than your husband to gush about.

You would've chosen the Archmage who seemingly had no relation to your husband regardless, but it would've been nice to know ahead of time.

Because you do have eyes, Eliza. That's how you know there isn't a man alive that's more attractive than Clarence.

Still, there hadn't been any deeper meaning when you chose his younger self specifically. There'd been a stamp nearby and you'd used it as a reference, in the hopes that it would help the other ladies downplay your incredible knowledge of his features.

You're almost certain they think you're deranged.

"Clarence." You giggle, suddenly amused. "Clarence. You look very handsome today."

Clumsily, you press a loving kiss to his forehead. Then, to the mole under his eye, to the tip of his nose, to his other cheek, until finally, you kiss him on the lips. At some point, while you're busy being productive, he goes from laying on his side to laying on his back.

"What brought this on?"

He sounds bewildered. You think it's cute.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you begin to explain. Throughout, he's mostly silent, save for the occasional acknowledgement. Still, you don't have to worry about whether he's listening or not.

Until the very end, his hands—still wrapped around you—give him away.

"I like your long hair just as much, because—" You give him another peck on the lips. "—I love you. No matter what, you're always the best-looking man in the room."

Clarence wastes no time in answering you, though he very nearly chokes on his words. "And I...you."

"Good." Feeling satisfied, you rest your head against his chest. "Do you still want to cut your hair? ...Clarence?"

"I think," he says, clearing his throat. "It's fine the way it is."

You don't try to point out why.

[slushglow]

i wish there was a way to like someone's reblogs of ur content if they have nice tags without it just being u liking ur own post bc the tags can be so kind and i will have no way to acknowledge them and that the person gave me the will to live to see another day or whatever

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

✨ 🔁

🔁: A fic you’ve re-read several times

one that comes spontaneously to mind (and we must act with swift spontanity; the choice would be too hard) is the parasol tree by chiiyo86, which is one of my favourite word of honor wenzhou longfics, and i've actually read it so often i feel like i'm transcendening from mere readership to looking behind the curtain now. i love it when a story opens it's way for me and i get to see what it looks like at the back of the tapestry, even if it happens at the cost of some of it's magic

✨: A fic you wish you could read again for the first time

oh whew, that really goes hand in hand with the first question! well chosen!

i really want to read a weapon in another's hand by kleine_kat all over again for the first time, including all it's prequels and sequels, if i may be so bold and cheat a little. it's essentially a series documenting post-canon adventures of 'two murder husbands', and it's creative and badass and bursting with ideas. everytime i reread the series (which i have indeed done very often. very often.) i find something new. this is one of these fics, or fic series(es?), that i adore from a technical standpoint, from one writer to another, for it's extensive and excellent research work. the world is so vast already even in A Weapon, but because of it's many OCs that each have their own fleshed-out backstories, motives, and storylines, and because wenzhou are travelling through place as well as time (the latter by way of growing older as immortals and seeing the world go by), the world is ever expanding around them

thank you for these excellent questions! i enjoyed chatting about some of my favourite, beloved fics from a seasoned rereader standpoint <3

send me an emoji for a fic rec!

[byanyan]

tonight's one of those nights where i'm thinking about fledgling verse again....... but this time i'm just laughing at the concept of byan being trapped with eternal babyface

[rdlain]

He Would Not Fucking Say That lmao

[synonymroll648]

absolutely evil fic idea! sophitz soulmates au where post-war they reconcile but also find out that fitz won't make it to 100 due to the severity of his shadowflux echoes and the reason sophie kept surviving seemingly impossible odds was because the black swan 'accidentally' made her immortal.

to make things extra cruel: consider how fitz canonically counts on having thousands of years ahead of him to build himself a future he enjoys, and how sophie canonically struggles w/ the idea of living forever due to her human upbringing (plus the canon-compliant possibility of her hearing ten bajillion tales growing up of how immortality is a curse) :D

[starfilled-galaxy]

Something I don't notice people talking about but I think about way too often like probably more often than is healthy is the fact that Aphmau is immortal. Because Irene was immortal.

There is going to be a point, long into the future, but still inevitable, where all of her friends are going to die. There is going to be a point when one of her closest friends who she has adventured with for decades dies in battle or from sickness or just any cause of death really. And then another will die. And another. As they get older and the risk of death gets higher. But Aphmau? No, she's going to be alive throughout ALL of this and a lot longer.

She'd get more and more desperate to protect her loved ones as they slowly die out, until eventually, she's left alone. Yeah sure maybe she can go make new friends, but it wont be the same. She'd just been seen as a goddess to everyone. She has years upon years upon years if experience in life now. And she knows, even if she made new friends, found new loved ones, that they'd also die eventually.

Like idk I see some people talk about something like this with Mystreet or like AUs where she already knows she's immortal or stuff like that (IF the topic of her immortality is brought up at all). But I've never really seen anyone talk about the middle between Mystreet and what we know of MCD. How immortality will effect the future of MCD even before Mystreet.

[immortalled]

why do you hurt?

because you cannot hold freedom

the sky is only air. the ocean is only water. the only freedom you will ever have is breathing, drawing this air again & again & again & again. You have to exhale, and it costs you something - you have to quench your thirst and it comes back again - there is nothing solid in being free, it is not a status to be achieved but an action to do. Free is an active status, and you worry you'll somehow forget. there are people who would control you. there are orders you could obey. you keep coming back to take this next breath, your own part of the forever-freedom of the sky, but sometimes you think to hold your breath. it is deceptively peaceful underwater. you don't know if you would notice it if you started drowning.

tagged: yoinked from @parameddic tagging: anyone who wants to!

[golden-explosions-main]

*the lost soul is glowing a faint yellow.* we were talking about the circumstances of why I'm still here correct? Im...starting to remember things. A person I trusted stabbed me through the heart, and before this happened I promised someone I'd to go to see them for a social gathering...I do not see why I wouldn't be in my resting place or what woke me up again, or why I'm in your...home? This is your home correct? Also do not worry. I do not think i will go away any time soon. *it's personality is coming out as the soul remembers more things* I do not remember my name but if it is important I am a female. *she seems like it's still trying to remember something. You are now able to check her stasts, if you wish*

[I got attached to the character as well. Hell. Might be added to my collection of things i make a blog for. I love developing random characters]

"Well, until you remember your name, I want to finally say that it's nice to meet you miss, I hope you stick around as long as you need and want,"

Flowey: "Hmm, I wonder what kind of social gathering it was supposed to be? Maybe it was relevant to your death? Maybe it was near our home?"

Frisk: "Or maybe it was even supposed to be at our home- like before we moved in?"

Flowey: "Hey, do you think it would be ok if we read your stats?"

Frisk, whispers: "Is that even possible without...y'know, a body?"

Flowey: "It's worth a shot, she's an entity with a memory connected to a body that she doesn't have anymore.. uh... is that too blunt? Sorry if it is,"

[littlegirlinvisible]

I am the Vampire Lestat. I'm immortal. More or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire, these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not.

[terrestrialnoob]

Harley crawled into the apartment. It was organized, but it looked like the occupant didn't have a lot of time for cleaning. She walked softly through it, taking it in. There were photos of her target and what had to be her family, but no friends or romantic partners. Some had a pair of older adults, matching traits meant bio-parents. More of the photos were of the target and a younger boy - a little brother, the highest likelihood of becoming another target if things go bad.

Harley continued forward, following the light to where her target was. She stood in the doorway, looking in.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton, Arkham Asylum's newest psychologist, just got her degree and everything. She did what most newbies do, actually thinking she could get through to the Joker. Harley didn't want to say it was impossible, but everyone who tried ended up in a new job or dead. Harley would try and make sure it was the former and not the later.

Harley watched as the redhead read over a file as she ate from a takeout box. She didn't want to scare the girl, yet. The scaring her away from Joker came later. So, she had to wait for the perfect moment to-

"I know you're there." Jasmine didn't look up from her file, but held out the last box of Chinese food in Harley's direction. "There's plenty if you want some."

"Awe, you ruined the surprise." Harley walked out of the shadows of the hallway into the girl's home office. She snatched the offered box of food and took a few bites as she jumped to sit on the desk.

"I'm hard to sneak up on." Jasmine said, closing her file and finally looking at Harley. "So, Dr. Quinzel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Oh, call me Harley!" She laughed, she wasn't called Dr. all that often any more. She tapped her chop sticks on the file Jasmine just closed. "I thought you'd like a consult on your new patient, Dr. Fenton. I've got a lot of experience with him."

"I prefer to go by Jazz." She said with a smile, "While I appreciate the offer, I'd like to see how far I can get on my own. And, sorry, but I'm pretty sure your license was revoked."

Harley nodded as she swallowed to get the noodles out of her mouth. "I get it! You're new, fresh outta school, gotta prove yourself. But Joker ain't the guy to do that with. He eats people like us for breakfast, and in all the years he's been in Arkham, no one's been able to get anywhere with him."

Jazz sighed, "I don't like to believe people are lost causes. There's always something we can do to help."

"You can't help everyone, especially when they don't want it. And it's not just a question if whether or not he can be saved or whatever." Harley set down the now empty box, Jazz pointed to another one that still had food in it, but Harley declined. "If you keep it up, he'll think you're worth his time to torment. There's no telling what he'll do when he inevitably gets himself out again."

"I'll be fine." Jazz said, but Harley had to cut her off before she said something stupid.

"It's not just you! You've got family out there he can target, your parents. Your Brother! Anyone you date will become a target! He'll do everything in his power to make your life miserable!"

Jazz chuckled. "If he wants to target my family, his funeral. My parents are - were supervillains. They've really only become less- well, hyper-focused on eradicating an entire race of being- in the past few years. And my brother - I'm pretty sure he's conditionally immortal. So that's nothing to worry about."

"If it's conditional, Joker will find a way around it." Harley said, but she had to admit, this might have been an unnecessary trip. "You sure y'ain't got nothing to worry about? What about you? How conditional is your mortality?"

Jazz smiled. Her mouth seemed too wide and with too many teeth. "Oh, I am nowhere near immortal. But..."

She stood up and the room was suddenly a black void. Toxic green eyes and mouths filled with glowing white teeth opened around them. "I doubt anyone could get close enough to test it."

The room was suddenly back to normal, but whatever that thing was was still there. Harley could see its eyes watching her with amusement from inside Jazz's oversized cardigan.

"Well, I guess this really was a wasted trip. You've clearly got it covered."

"Not entirely." Jazz said, her hand wend up to her neck to rub nervously, "Well, you see... I don't really have a lot of friends. People tend to get - uh, creeped out, you know? Or chased off by my parents or brother or whatever..."

"You wanna be friends?" Harley laughed so hard she almost fell over.

Jazz's face turned bright red and the shadow eyes looked way less amused. "Yeah, stupid question. You've clearly got your own things going on."

"No! No, no." Harley had to take several deep breaths before she could look Jazz in the face again. "I 100% wanna hang out with you!"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She took another deep breath, "I mean, I really should have made a support system before trying to take on the Joker back when I worked for Arkham. This" she pointed between them "can only end well."

Jazz's face turned brighter than the sun. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! We should - I have Thursday's and weekends off - What - what kind of things should we-"

Oh man, Jazz was like an excited kid. She must have had a really lonely childhood... they can psychoanalyze each other later. "Come over for girl's night next week. I'll tell my gf and bff to expect an extra person... Does the-" she motioned to the cardigan creature "-go everywhere you go? Does it need food?"

"Oh, don't worry about Jet, they only eat who I tell them to."

Harley barked out more laughter. "You're going to fit right in!"

Now featuring a Part 2

[prokopetz]

You know a lot about the cultural influences behind various aspects of D&D, so: do you know the origins of the thing in 3.5 where it seems like a main way they want you to play as a psionic warrior is to grow massive claws and get breath weapons? It's so specific and out of left field for a "warrior who uses the power of the mind" that I've always wondered.

Much of 3E's handling of psionics closely follows material presented in the 2E supplement The Complete Psionics Handbook, which, contra later editions' habit of treating psionics as a variant of wizardly magic, presents psionics as a totally separate and mutually incompatible thing. One feature of this treatment is psionics having its own distinct set of "schools", or disciplines: clairsentience, psychokinesis, psychometabolism, psychoportation, telepathy, and metapsionics.

The 3E psionic warrior stuff is a more or less direct port of the discipline of psychometabolism; I can only presume that this is because it's the most "fightery" of the Psionics Handbook disciplines, though I can't back that guess up. Apart from your cited examples, other psychometabolic powers presented here include self-healing; energy absorption; turning into animals, objects, or living shadows; wuxia-style "lightfoot" techniques; camouflage; shrinking or expanding; stretching one's limbs Mister Fantastic style; and others.

Of course, that just kicks the can further down the road: if the 3E psionic warrior is a port of 2E's psychometabolism specialist, where the heck did 2E get the idea for the discipline of psychometabolism? The general idea of shape-shifting and fire-breathing and such being psychic powers that can be cultivated through mental discipline pops up in quite a few places, but we're looking for a specific constellation of tropes, not isolated instances of little bits and pieces of it.

The Complete Psionics Handbook helpfully includes a comprehensive bibliography of its inspirations (remember when Dungeons & Dragons used to have those?), though I'm unacquainted with most of the books it cites, so that's where my ability to help in this respect ends. I'll include a copy of that bibliography under the cut, though – maybe one of this blog's followers can point out which of its entries, if any, might be most directly informative.

Taken from page 113 ("Related Reading") of The Complete Psionics Handbook:

Fiction

Bester, Alfred; The Demolished Man, The Stars My Destination.

Bradley, Marion Zimmer; Darkover series: The Bloody Sun, Children of Hastur, Darkover Landfall, The Forbidden Tower, Hawkmistress!, The Heritage of Hastur, The Keeper's Price, The Planet Savers, Sharra's Exile, The Shattered Chain, The Spell Sword, Star of Danger, Stormqueen!, The Sword of Aldones, Thendara House, Two to Conquer, The Winds of Darkover, The World Wreckers.

Brunner, John; The Whole Man.

Del Rey, Lester; Pstalemate.

Henderson, Zenna; The People, The People: No Different, Holding Wonder.

Foster, Alan Dean; Flinx series.

King, Stephen; The Dead Zone.

Kurtz, Katherine; Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, High Deryni.

May, Julian; Saga of the Pliocene Exile series: The Many-Colored Land, The Golden Torc, The Non-Born King, The Adversary.

Nourse, Alan E.; Psi High and Others.

Pohl, Frederik; Drunkard's Walk.

Russell, Eric Frank; The Mindwarpers.

Robinson. Frank M.; The Power.

Schmitz, James H.; The Universe Against Her, The Lion Game, stories.

Simmons, Dan; Carrion Comfort.

Sturgeon, Theodore; The Synthetic Man.

Tucker, Wilson; Wild Talent.

Van Vogt, A.E.; Slan.

Zelazny, Roger; Creatures of Light and Darkness, The Dream Master, Lord of Light, lsle of the Dead, This Immortal, To Die in ltalbar.

Nonfiction

Brookesmith, Peter (ed.); Strange Talents, from the series "The Unexplained: Mysteries of Mind, Space, and Time;" Orbis Publishing, London, 1983.

Index of Possibilities: Energy and Power; Pantheon Books/Random House, New York, New York, 1974.

Mind Over Matter, Powers of Healing, Psychic Powers, Psychic Voyages, from the series "Mysteries of the Unknown;" Time-Life Books, Alexandria, Virginia, 1987.

Puharich, Andrija; Beyond Telepathy; Anchor Press/Doubleday, Garden City, New York, 1973.

Rhine, J.B.; The Reach of the Mind; William Sloane Associates, New York, New York, 1947.

[fearwakes]

I am the Vampire Lestat. I'm immortal more or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire-these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not.