#they��re so similar

[foe-paw]

YOU THOUGHT THAT YOU COULD OUTSMART THE VERY THING THAT RUNS THE BLOOD OF YOUR KIND?

[blighted-beak]

I'm not saying I would listen to an entire audio drama based around the Demeter, but I WOULD listen to an entire audio drama based around the Demeter

The Demeter sections have been my favorite part of Re: Dracula thus far. They sound like found footage horror audio dramas (i.e. The White Vault) and I LOVE this genre. I want an entire series about the Demeter

Big damn props to the entire Re: Dracula team for the time and effort put into producing this podcast. It has been top tier quality content

[ashtrayfloors]

When other people I knew in grad school read Kathy Acker’s books they were shocked. Appalled. Particularly most of the budding young feminists. I actually began weeding out women friends by their reactions to her books. The ones that smiled and lowered their eyes with sly understanding and touched themselves, I kept. The ones that freaked out, well, they were idiots. Once I read a paragraph from Empire of the Senseless in my theory of gender class and one of the women began to cry and ran out and barfed. No shit. Pussy, I thought.

—Lidia Yuknavitch, from The Chronology of Water

[chirpsythismorning]

S5 opener REAL

[raylasgf]

this is canon right

[ryanthel0ser]

[recurring-polynya]

i want the boots rukia is wearing in this color spread more than anything

[themoonshoes]

have you watched scavengers reign. when will you watch scavengers reign.

[nyaskitten]

It's so crazy to think about how these two almost certainly come from the same realm, as part of the same tribe

[rathologic]

I've always found Alexander Saburov interesting, especially P1 Rubin's take on him where he tells how Alexander in incognito saved people from burning house and went unrecognized for the deed (nor flaunted it). Wonderful and easy to miss characterization.

YES saburov's fucked up sense of performing duty by putting himself at risk... my favorite... have had thoughts brewing in response to this that aren't quite cooked enough yet but it's very much a gendered standard that he holds himself to IMO, of idealized masculinity as a responsibility. as an active role and as the way things must be done. making the choices that he thinks need to be made regardless of how bad they are for him. pairing beautifully with katerina's self-destructive attempts to conform to the extremely feminine-gendered role of mistress, pairing wonderfully with the two of them's catastrophic attempt to conform to the heteropatriarchal nuclear family archetype by adopting the changeling :^) and especially how this is a function of how saburov relates to his Job, a role that's been passed down in his family and Actually Is critical to the function of the Town, inescapably so as long as the system of rulers exists

[kraviolis]

where are all the 200k word post-day of unity fics where alador is going through a nasty and increasingly messy divorce and trying to help rebuild the boiling isles and also fixing his relationship with his kids but he's also struggling with having his own autonomy again and his own guilt over not being an actual father to his kids and he doesnt know who is outside of his responsibilities of work/family bcus he never had actual friends once he left school and once upon a time alador was the one to show darius there's more to life than what you can do for other people and now darius has the opportunity to help alador relearn the same thing and maybe together they can both rediscover what real love feels like again after years of bitterness

[mxnordberg]

Self-soothing

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Ayda Aguefort - a young black half-phoenix woman - looking over pages in her spell book. She's sitting with a weighted blanket spread across her legs and the open book in her lap; with her right hand she's stimming with the short hairs on the nape of her neck, and her left hand hovers, postured and curled, over the book's pages. She has golden-orange runic tattoos on her arms, her hair is a fiery bright poof of coiled undercut, and she wears an oversized 'Fig and the Cig Figs' tshirt. Her flaming wings are arched and curled around her shoulders, sheltering her off from the rest of the room. The edges of the frame are decorated with thin golden lines and stars.]

[sixth-light]

I have been re-reading Martha Wells' Books of the Raksura for comfort reasons and with the perspective of another half-decade since I first read them, may I present a proposition: these books are to Stargate Atlantis as Shards of Honor in the Vorkosigan series is to Star Trek, to wit, it's nothing like as simple or boring as "filed off serial number fanfic" but the underlying vibes are very, very real

[desultory-novice]

Magalor gets the crown but neither turns on the main cast or gets controlled instantly and just kinda leaves.

(Bonus points if he gradually gets controlled, taking such a long time (like a couple months - a couple years) that people can see it happening but just can't stop it and have to watch it happen no I'm not copying adventure time)

Since you said Magolor left Kirby and the others alone, I'm afraid you'll have to deal with a Marx and Marxolor-heavy version of this prompt! (I sure hope you're one of my readers who either likes or doesn't mind some shipping between them, Anon! >w< )

I originally wrote this as a script to maybe comic-ify before I realized it was way too long and quickly transformed it into a prose piece!

"False King's Lament" Pairing: Marxolor Genre: Angst Words: 1,000 Warnings: Uh...they kiss briefly...?

[Read More]

A breezy question, spoken almost out of boredom, echoed with unexpected weight throughout the room. 

"How long you gonna keep wearing that?"

The wizard king turned in the direction of the voice: it came from his court jester, who spoke to him upside down, being in the middle of a series of complex acrobatic exercises. 

The jester was the only member of his court. For theirs was a kingdom of two.

"...Wearing what?"

"The big glittery crown on your head, your majesty."

They tried to invite others to join in their kingdom of laughter and good times. Most refused with looks of disgust or terror. Some took up weapons. Some simply ran. Of course, together the two of them had the ability to force anyone they wanted to stay, but after a time, the wizard king would sigh and say their screams weren't the ones he was looking for and let them go–to the jester's disappointment.

"The Master Crown is an object of unlimited power." 

The golden diadem in question, sculpted to resemble some kind of airborne creature, like a bird or a bat or perhaps a dragon sat atop the wizard king's head. The jewel in the center, a light opalescent color that every so often looked blood red in the light, sparkled on its own, as if it somehow knew it was being spoken about. 

"Why would I ever stop wearing it?"

The jester hopped forward, deft in his comically oversized shoes.

"Uh, cause it looks dumb on you?"

The veil of majesty on the wizard king's face fell away, one gloved hand massaging away the annoyance he felt in his brow from betwixt the crown's enormous claws.

There was no more dignity there as he dropped the royal charade to sigh at his longtime friend and lifelong partner in mischief.

"Ma~rx..." Irritation rose in the last notes of that name.

The jester, unfurling his wiry wings, crossed the distance between himself and his king with a single glittering flap.

"Seriously, Magolor. You haven't taken that thing off since you came back with it. I know you like looking all important, but come on!"

Magolor noticed Marx's ever delighted smile had left his face. His own countenance was a frown.

"Once more, I have to question you why I should?"

"...Can you?" This question was softer in pitch than that which initiated this conversation. Heavier in tone.

"What was that?" Magolor feigned a fool's ignorance. It was true that his hearing was not what it had been in years past. But to say he hadn't heard the jester's question would be the kind of lie that distinguished his life before his coronation.

"Can you take it off?" 

Firmer now. Marx no longer concealed his concern.

"....Why is that a question?" Golden eyes looked around the throne room for anything else to concentrate on. (Though had it not, at one time, been built for a purpose other than ruling? Had this empty castle in his image not been made to host more than just them?)

Marx wrapped his hands–though it was only Magolor who thought of the large, monstrous claws that way–close around the two ends of his jester's cap like they were cuffs, miming his king's horns.

"It's hugging your head pre~tty tight." His violet eyes glimmered as he stuck his tongue out of a crescent smile. "Even tighter than I do!"

Magolor laughed, suddenly at ease again. "Is that it? You're jealous over a piece of headgear?" 

He lifted the small jester in his large hands; up to the brim of his scarf for a secret kiss. But as the two pulled away, Magolor saw that the mirth in Marx's expression had been only temporary. A trap to encourage Magolor to let down his guard.

"I'm being serious for once."

Magolor absentmindedly bounced the jester from hand to hand as a distraction, Marx nimbly skipping and twirling along the stairs of the other's fingers in their little lover's game.

"Whatever you're worried about, don't be. I've spent years researching the Master Crown and its power."

The last two words came out with crushing force. "...I'm fine."

"Great!" Marx stopped, smiled, and hooked one hand on a white gloved finger, orbiting it like a trapeze artist to fling himself up on top of Magolor's head. "Then you'll be fine without it too!"

"...Marx, just let it go." Magolor wanted to crane back to pull him off but knew that he would not be able to turn his head to his satisfaction. He instead swatted uselessly at the air behind him.

"No, I won't." A once soft voice hissed with anger and determination. "Not until I get this creepy thing off your head, Mags."

Magolor's blind grasps grew quicker and more panicked. Marx stretched his wings to their full span and slipped the tips of his bony claws under the thick golden ones that wrapped crushingly close around the head and horns of his lover. 

The fake royal finally let the old weakness and helplessness of his former life slip through the cracks in his voice as he began to shout, "Don't! Don't tou-...!" Then, Marx began to pry at it.

"...Ngh!" Magolor groaned, feeling his head simultaneously forced up and pressed down by Marx's determined efforts to de-crown him. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Yet. Still, he cried Marx's name through tight lips, pleading with him to stop before...

His howl of excruciating pain echoed through the room, bounding across every wall like a wounded animal desperate to escape as Magolor violently arched back, flinging Marx off of him like a missile.

"Ugh...!" Marx rolled several times before coming to a stop against the wall. He shook his head to clear the dizziness. "Mags, what the..."

He looked up at his injured king, whose hands were tightly clutching the crown that now appeared to be wriggling atop Magolor's head like it were alive. Magolor shook and shuddered, whimpering at the angry, punitive thrumming of the crown-creature that wore him.

Marx noticed that, in the struggle, Magolor's neck wrap had fallen. His round eyes widened, irises like dots, at what he saw.

"M-Mags...?"

The jester traced the path of the crown-creature's claws with those eyes. Unlike the ones clutching his brow and hugging his horns, these trailed down a ways before they disappeared entirely into Magolor's back, where body and gold fused together.

"Are you...satisfied...now that...you know?" A glint of a golden eye found him, wavering as the light illuminated a stillborn tear.

Marx flew around immediately to face him, kneading his claws gently into Magolor's curled fingers until they unfolded once more for him to hop up into. "How long has it been like this, Mags...?"

"I don't remember... Right after I put it on? Months later?"

Anger boiled over in Marx to the degree that he no longer knew where to direct it. "How do you not remember when this thing suddenly began crawling over your head and growing into your back?! How did you study it for years and not realize it wasn't a stupid crown at all but some sort of...messed up monster?! Do you even HAVE limitless power?! Then use it and get rid of it! Blow it up or take it off or whatever you have to do! You CAN do that, right?" 

The lying wizard ducked his head in shame; he did not want to lie.

"...What's it doing to you Mags...? What's it going to do?"

The jester, who in a moment had forgotten forever how to laugh, looked at his liege, his fellow trickster, and his love as the other opened lips split in a most unnatural way. "...I don't know..."

-

[660percent]

I've been thinking about drawing nomai recently so I drew nomai lmao.

[nose-coffee]

pg. 196 (pb), Chapter 20, Harrow the Ninth

pg. 465 (pb), Chapter 50, Harrow the Ninth

anybody else think abt how gideon's parents both really deeply value poetry and prose? nobody? just me?