#causal realm

[cryptotheism]

I am fascinated by what makes something pornography. I think it can be defined by a core of fantasy. There is a gravity to it. As if everything in the story exists only so this particular scenario can happen.

Pornography breaks down when you extend it's borders. The eroticism of the Big Office Fuck N Suck starts to fade when you imagine everyone calmly going back to work. The pizza boy will get fired if he doesn't get back to work, and the nice young woman did in fact order that pizza because she is hungry.

Or maybe every stop on that pizza boys route is another Horny Milf or Hot Dad. Maybe nobody ever has money for pizza, and being a pizza guy requires significant athleticism. But if life in the Porn Universe is just an endless series of contrived happenstances, who grows all the food? Someone has to actually make the damn pizzas. Someone has to grow the flour for the dough, and drive the trains, and work the mills. Perhaps at its most extreme, the causality of the Porn Universe simply cannot proceed until someone busts a nut.

But in reality, people have wild encounters. There are office trysts and one-in-a-million flings with beautiful strangers. I am sure that every hour of every day, someone stumbles their way into a sexual mishap that would be panned as unrealistic if it were written for smut.

But then where's the line? When does a narrative become pornographic?

I think it has less to do with sex than it does with narrative contrivance. I think many video games are pornographic in this sense. When Raiden slices a missile in half with a glowing katana, the contrivance of the Rule-of-cool swallows itself, attains a narrative gravity that the tone cannot ever hope to escape.

I think the realm of pornography begins once questions of why become secondary. Why did he cut that missile in half? Because it's badass. Why did he get his dick out? Because it's hot. But more importantly, those things happen because the laws of the narrative demand it. It could not happen any other way. Raiden must cut the missile in half. She has to get her tits out. Otherwise, the story can't happen. But it does happen, and it fucks.

I think Pornography happens when the rules break down, when the ridiculous becomes not only necessary, but exalted.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x DP Prompt #8: Best Friend’s Brother

Preface: this prompt can be used with different characters but I’m writing it as Dead on Main bc that’s my favorite. Also the colleges I mention are real colleges from the DCU

~~~

Danny Fenton was 18 when he moved to Gotham for college.

It was the only place with a half decent engineering program that would take a kid with his record; drop in grades, unexplained absences, missing class, a disciplinary record, etc. Plus there was a decent saturation of both magic and ectoplasm in Gotham’s air. After he got accepted he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. They reacted surprisingly well all things considered. They were horrified to learn they’d been hunting their son but it quickly turned into acceptance to listen to what he had to tell them. Now they turned their obsession from hunting ghosts to learning more about ghost more humanely. He also managed to get his former rouges to agree to call off any major shenanigans in favor of less destructive outlets. (He got Ember a TikTok and a YouTube channel, he set up a drag racing circuit in the realms for Johnny and Kitty, let Technus enter the internet as long as he stayed within Amity’s grid or help Ember manage her stuff, allowed Desiree grant wishes for Make a Wish Foundation kids so long as she didn’t horribly twist them, etc.)

Now with the town not at constant risk of danger and his parents agreeing to really handle any rouge ghosts, Danny could leave Amity with a clear conscience. His friends were also growing up and heading to their own colleges. Tucker was heading to Ivy University in New England, which rivaled MIT in terms technological prestige, and Sam decided on Vandermeer University in Pittsburg, which had a reputation for being a very liberal, anti-authority campus. Although their trio would be spread out, Danny found comfort in the fact that they’d all moved from the Midwest to the Northeast.

With promises to stay in touch a visit. Danny got set up in GCU’s dorms, ready to move into the next chapter of his life.

~

Danny Fenton was 20 when Tim Drake (age 19 but nearing 20) officially became one of his best friends.

They had been introduced to each other by their mutual friend Sebastian Ives for a new Warlocks and Warriors campaign. Their friendship extended beyond WnW when they ended up on the same Applied Physics and Mechanics class. It was cemented when they got pair up for a project in class and had to spend lots of time around each other.

Danny didn’t mind that Tim tended to be a bit flaky and Tim didn’t mind that Danny was possibly not 100% human. They didn’t ask each other too many questions about that stuff. They knew the other had something odd about him and that was fine with them. It was nice to have a causal friend they could be normal with, without being questioned about their more peculiar behaviors.

They officially became best friends when the built a Rube Goldberg machine with a working trebuchet within an hour of the three they had to complete it for their Applied Phys-Mech final. Danny introduced Tim to Sam, Tucker and Jazz. Tim introduced him to Steph, Tam, and Cass. They texted and hung out fairly often. They truly did consider each other one their best friends.

~

Danny Fenton is 22 when he meets Tim’s family.

Tim’s 21st birthday is coming up and he has plans with his family the day of and is going out with his friends, including a couple from out of town, that night. They want to take him out for his first drink and it’s fortunate timing since it’s the weekend so nobody has to worry about classes. Everyone who was going was already informed that Tim would be spending most of the day with his family before Steph and Cass would bring to the club everyone was meeting up at. Which is why it’s purely a coincidence when he runs into them at BatBurger during the lunch rush.

Danny had just picked up the part-time job to earn a little extra cash to pay for his hobbies. Tim new about it but didn’t know the exact location he worked. That’s why they were both presently surprised when they heard each others voices in the drive through. When they pulled up to window Danny saw his friend leaning over a tired looking black-haired man, trying to stick his head out of the drivers window to give Danny a maniacal grin.

He quickly introduced the other passengers of the car as his dad, Bruce, and three of his brothers Dick, Jason, and Duke. He mentioned he had a fourth brother, Damian, who was still at home. Danny couldn’t really see everyone all that well on account of they were inside a car but he happily greeted them as well. They laughed and Danny wished Tim a happy birthday saying he’d see him at his celebration later tonight before handing them their food. He could the rowdy boys ribbing their brother as the car drove away and Danny resumed his work.

That incident seemed to have opened a gate because now Tim felt more comfortable inviting him over when his brothers were still around the house. He occasionally talked about his family more and Danny returned the favor letting snippets of his own family spill a little more. Occasionally, he’d see Tim’s family outside of his interactions with Tim.

He’d run into Damian, and sometimes Bruce or Dick was with him, at the museum or in the park while the younger had been walking his dog and stopped to say hi a couple of times. He chatted with Dick a couple of times when they were both in line to get coffee at a cafe. He saw Duke on a college tour once and waved at him.

The family member he probably saw the most other that Tim (and by extension Cass) was actually Jason. He’d ended up ditching BatBurger to get some more practical experience at an apprenticeship at the auto shop Jason went to to get his motorcycle serviced. The two of them got along pretty well and would often make conversation when Jason was waiting on his bike to be ready or to get his bill.

At first is was small talk about little things like how he and Tim were doing in class or how their days were going but they soon grew to have genuine interests in each other. Jason let Danny talk about space and mechanics and even gave his own thoughts sometimes, once helping Danny realize he was over complicating the circuit board of the device he was building. In return Danny let Jason ramble to him about literature, even taking the initiative to read a book Jason mentioned so he could talk to him about it better. Their conversation tended to be on the briefer side but were always enjoyable to both parties.

Danny actually liked being around Jason a lot but didn’t really bring that fact up a lot around Tim as it didn’t seem necessary. Tim was pretty glad that Danny got along with his family but he preferred to keep them in separate places in his mind. Danny knew and respected that, only really mentioning that he’d seen them recently and that they’d told him to say hi on their behalf (or die in Damian’s case occasionally).

~

Tim Drake was 22 when he came to a horrific realization.

Well, perhaps horrific was a bit of an exaggeration. Tim wasn’t necessarily horrified by the revelation. In all honesty he didn’t know how to feel. He felt an odd mixture of protectiveness, possessiveness, confusion, and optimism(?).

You see, Tim and Danny had been hanging out in the campus center, studying and goofing off when he got a text from Jason saying he was coming to pick him up for family dinner at the manor since he was closest and Dick was busy picking up Duke and Damian from their after school clubs.

“What’s up?” Danny asked him curiously.

Tim set his phone on the table and started putting his stuff away. “My brother is coming to pick me up for family dinner so I gotta head out soon.”

“Ah well I should probably get going too. Tell Dick I said hi.”

“Actually, it’s Jason. Dick is picking up Duke and Damian,” he said shoving his textbook into his bag.

“Oh? That’s nice of him. Hey do you wanna just head out together?” Danny asked, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

Tim noticed a slight strain in Danny’s voice at the mention of Jason but didn’t comment. He just nodded his head sure and walked outside with Danny. They got out to the street when Tim realized he’d left his phone in the library. He faced palmed and asked Danny if he could hold his stuff so it wouldn’t slow him down as he ran back to the campus center to get his phone. Danny agreed to and hold his stuff and wait for Jason while Tim went back.

After getting his phone Tim started heading back to where he left Danny when he saw that Jason had arrived that Jason had arrived and was talking to Danny. He was about to call out to them when he noticed several things in quick succession. Danny was fidgeting with his hoodie, something he tended to do when nervous. The tips of Danny’s ears were a light shade of pink (it isn’t cold out yet?). Danny looked deeply absorbed in his conversation with Jason in a way that reminded Tim of how he talked about space. And Jason seemed just as absorbed in the conversation as well.

The gears in Tim’s head went into overdrive and he realized ‘Ah- Danny has a crush on Jason’. His eyes widened as his head whipped around to examine Jason again. He saw a look of genuine fondness in his eyes. Thus Tim was confronted with the aforementioned horrific realization and complicated feelings. Tim didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both.

‘My dumbass best friend has a crush on my brother. And worse(?), my idiot brother returns those feelings.’

#dc x dp #long post #dead on main #danny fenton #tim drake #jason todd #jason todd x danny fenton #danny and tim are bffs #Danny has a crush on his best friends older brother #he hasn’t realized this quite yet #Tim isn’t sure how to feel about this #Jason probably likes Danny too but also doesn’t realize it #Tim is the only one who is aware and suffering #he has to make a choice: #wingman his idiot friend and idiot brother #or hoard his friend to himself #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

[hughmanbean]

Dick and Jason are dead. A causality of battle.

Well, not really. But the otherworldly hunter thought they were, and it really wasn't in their best interests to dispute that. It was too chaotic to get back to Bruce, so they decided to just wait it out.

There was a scuffle and the crate opened, the two of them taking the opportunity to jump out.

Jason scans the room. Dick stretches.

"What in the-"

---

"You sure, Skulker?"

"Trust me, High Whelp, these two were knocked out cold!"

Danny opens the door. They look at him. He turns back to Skulker.

"You know, for the Best Hunter of the Infinite Realms, you sure aren't good at keeping your prey down."

#dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp #dead on main #skulker #high queen danny phantom #Literally just a snippet of what could be a fic idk

[7-dummies]

Can you imagine the jealously the boys feel when they realize that after the school year is over and we go back home we go to a realm in which Solomon is also sent to. A realm in which we are on of Solomon’s only true human friends and the only other person in the world who w can speak to about what happened in the Devildom. Can you imagine causally mentioning while telling the boys what you’ve been up to since you left ‘oh yeah and then Solomon-‘ and they just have this moment of WAIT WHAT

#obey me #obey me hc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me solomon

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 7 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 (here)

Song Used: "They're Only Human" ; in Death Note: The Musical (I've attached a link here, but there's also a video format later on when that part comes)

You hummed a tune while reading through a book and laying on your black cloud platform like a beach chair. Your little moment only cut short when your book was suddenly snatched away. You tilted your head up and saw a pair of silver wings with golden highlights before you saw your book burst into flames in the robber’s hand

“You sure took your time.” You teased as you got up from your comfortable position, opting to sit on your platform. “Trick.”

“Come on! Like you don’t know why!” The being exclaimed enraged with their wings getting puffed up, they took a deep breath and sighed deeply. “Your little Hell made too much of a commotion, Sil. And I told you to call me Noir!”

You shrugged, “That’s not fitting for a character such as yourself, Trick sounds better anyways.”

Trick was similar to you. Actually, he was your opposite. You being the true ruler of Hell makes them the true ruler of Heaven. Of course, unlike how you keep your identity in the shadows, theirs was more well known. Trick was the God that everyone made a big deal around

If one were to see you two together, they’s say the two of you were night and day, good and evil, yin and yang. Not in terms of element, but in appearance as well

While Trick has a pair of lovely giant wings, you had none and would use a black cloud platform to ‘fly’ in some sense. While Trick has hair above the shoulder, you had hair below it. Trick’s eyes remain opened while yours are closed. Trick dons a causal and chill look while you had a more formal and elegant look

Still, whatever you two may appear, those weren’t important as the personalities you two had. If Trick’s name wasn’t an obvious indicator, they are not the holy entity the humans and angels painted them to be

Like you, Trick is absent from a direct presence in your respective realms. However, they love playing around with ‘divine interventions’ or ‘sacred messages’ from the God of this world. Truly, no one was aware of a balance. Even there’s Heaven and Hell, and God is in Heaven overseeing ‘his children’, what of hell?

Yes. You are the ‘God’ of Hell. Though either of you like that title. Since Trick was the one more in the open, you love teasing them about it every time you meet. To you, it’s truly entertaining to see them groan and whine over it

“So~ How was the sleep? Good?” Trick leaned over as their wings flapped from time to time to keep them hovering in the air. 

“Like Hell it was, you put me out of commission for no reason and with no warning! I have souls to watch over unlike your lazy holiness.” You snapped with your eyebrows furrowed.

Trick raised his hands in ressurender, “Hey, I was out of commission as well! It’s not a one-side thing.”

Your eyes squeezed even tighter as if you’re glaring at the jerk of a partner. “You started it!”

The two of you were Supreme Beings of your realm and entities as holy and cursed element. You can’t have one without the other. While it’s true that you were weak to holy powers, Trick was weak to cursed powers. You two were each other’s weakness no matter the situation

And the two of you aren’t as immortal as people would think. The two of you can be killed and healed by each other. Killing involves falling into a deep sleep when one side dies and healing involves transfering the other’s wounds onto themselves to heal more naturally as wounds can only be done by the opposite element

If one asks how to describe the two of you. You both were inseparable, can’t have one without the other. The concept of yin and yang comes to play

You are yin, in darkness there’s kindness. You are the unknown, you are negativity, you are darkness. You collect and control the souls marked for Hell without letting them go so long as they worth something to you. Even when you do it wasn’t for mercy and you’ll cage them into a torture unlike any other

Though, you were kind. You offer advice to those that deserve it and give opportunities for people to change. Why else would you let a soul be redeemed and let it leave Hell to go to Heaven? Why else would you allow Alastor to remind at the hotel even after your presence is back? Why else would you give Husk that little hope at a better future?

Trick was yang, in light there’s evil. They are the known, they are positivity, they are light. Trick judges and provides the souls marked for Heaven without letting them feel any negativity and only joy and happiness. Giving those worthy souls that lived life accordingly to enter a paradise fitting of Winners

Though, they were wicked and twisted. They enjoy a good trickery here and there, opting to let their high ranking angels deal with everything rather than rule as the ‘God’ they were named. They cared for none but their own interest and entertainment. If anything, Trick doesn’t see souls to be worth anything. To them, souls were nothing but actors on a stage to perform a good show for beings that was you and them to enjoy watching

“Fine, fine. I won’t do that again, unless you want a little rest.” Trick smirked as he looked your way. “So how’s your collection?”

“Hm… There will be some changes with what I have now. It’s a work in progress.” You told as you thought it over, “How’s your Emily?”

Trick’s smile widened, “Oh, miserable. But admirable. The sweet thing. She found out about the exterminations and sided with that Hell Princess during court! I told you she’s worth paying attention to.”

You hummed, “That’s what you said about Lucifer and he ended up falling to Hell. I wonder if Emily will be casted out as well.” You sensed the dark aura around your dear long-time friend spike and you turned your head over, “Don’t worry, I know not to accept her into Hell. She’s your prized one. Even if she’s casted out, I’ll push her back into Heaven.”

Trick huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists, “Good. Cause I will so remove those stupid higher angels if they did that to the only worthy angel in Heaven.” He looked over to you as well, “Don’t worry, it’s the same for your collections, I won’t let them into Heaven unless you want them do.”

Your smile widened, “Oh, I’ll never let them go~ But thanks for that safety net.”

You both picked your focus. While yours was on a hand-picked group, Trick focused on that one. Your little soul owning had one amazing benefit that none knew. It was the protection against angelic weapons

Back then when Alastor was hit by Adam’s attack in the chest, the slash should have eaten away at his body and soul. The angelic weapons or steel was created to aim directly at the soul of a being, that’s why it could kill both demons and angels. There was nothing angelic to it, merely a combine of yours and Trick’s power to create something that kills the soul

Now, your protection that to limit the effect of the wound till they can reach you for healing. But the best part was that your Overlords have no soul within their bodies so they wouldn’t be killed! Even if their head was chopped off by an angelic spear, it will just take time to grow back

You’ll never tell them that benefit nor do you plan to let them know about it. That’s why you made your appearance at the hotel. It was the sole reason of healing Alastor on your own terms. You thought of leaving soon later but you just couldn’t leave the poor deer when he was that desperate for your presence

The thing you can’t understand was why Trick only picks the one being to care for. Emily was what their supposed to be honestly. If someone met Trick and it was revealed that they were the God, no one would believe it. There was so much chaos and twisted nature in them that it was impossible that they were God

Yet you as the one by their time since the beginning of time knew the change was because of time. Time changed their view on the world and humans. So many time, they were disappointed that they just gave up and decided to laugh at all the misery. Maybe, you and Trick could switch places

But Trick will never agree because they never liked what you have set up in Hell already, plus there wouldn’t be an ‘Emily’ there. It was proposed once, and Trick shot it down without a thought. So to cure their boredom, there are meet-ups like this

Of course, the two of you end up going to Earth to see what the humans were up to while marking souls on whether they go to Heaven or Hell when they die

Trick smirked and flapped his wings to fly over, and gestures to the humans minding their own business in the city, ♫ Look at how they crawl around, upon the ground, like little ants ♫

♫ Yes, but how they fascinate, ♫ You floated over with your smokey platform, slapping away his hand to touch a mortal, ♫ Confusing fate, With what is merely chance ♫

♫ Isn’t it a laugh? ♫ Trick nudged you.

You pushed him away, ♫ Isn’t it a shame? ♫

♫ Thinking there is someone in Heaven to blame ♫ Trick pointed at themselves. 

You rolled your eyes, ♫ Yes, but even while blaming fate for the lives that they lead. They hope for the lives that they need ♫

Trick snapped their fingers, both of them appearing in a cemetery with a heavy mood in the air. They carried a white umbrella while you carried a black one, staying at the back of the group that was grieving while a coffin was lowered, ♫ Living every day ‘til the day they die. Never getting answers ♫

♫ Yet still asking why ♫ You snapped your fingers and appeared on the roof of a building that oversaw a group of religious individuals praying, ♫ Going through the motions as if there will be a reward ♫

♫ While we stay, ♫ Trick made a bored and disgusted face at the scene, grabbing your hand so the two of you fall, ♫ Eternally bored! ♫

♫ They’re only human. They don’t see ♫ The two of you sang, Trick with their signature smirk and you with a bored look. ♫ Who they are is who they’ll always be. Only human, after all ♫

Trick brought you to a scene in front of a murder scene, ♫ So they push and they shove ♫

You showed Trick a scene with a romantic couple on a date, ♫ With this thing they call love ♫

♫ ‘Til they fall! ♫ You both watched as soldiers fall and their souls going to where they were picked to.

♫ Isn’t it a farce? ♫ Trick shrugged while the scene changed to that of a hospital room with a weak man on the bed.

♫ Isn’t it a waste? ♫ You eyed the crying humans around the man, listening as the monitor beep softer and longer with each pause. 

♫ Struggling to Face what can never be faced ♫ Trick leaned against the wall with crossed arms. 

♫ Yes, but maybe Death can release something more than we share ♫ You blinked at the man as he tried his best to hold the closest family member of his.

♫ I really don’t know ♫ Trick came over, their wing slapped at the man over the face and the lifeline fell flat, ♫ and don’t care ♫

You shook your head while the room bursted in tears and doctors and nurses rushed in, Trick was as indifferent as already with his grin on his face, ♫ They’re only Human. Standing still. Doomed to live pushing boulders uphill. Only Human, after all ♫

With a snap of Trick’s finger, the two of you arrived at a temple with a number of offerings, Trick picked up one and threw it to you then took one for themselves, ♫ So they give and we take ♫

You caught it with one hand and eyed it, then to the elderly women that was bowing to statue, ♫ Hoping someone will help break their fall ♫

Trick brought you to a gang meeting of sorts, the topic seemingly deciding on someone’s death, ♫ They will pray, curse, live, die. Never knowing their Truth is another Man’s Lie ♫

♫ Eat, sleep, love, hate ♫ You changed the scene to one where a group of friends were enjoying themselves in a forest, ♫ Like a Leaf blowing in the Wind ♫

Trick switched to a scene where students are forced to pick a career for the future, gesturing to all the troubled humans for you. ♫ Watch them all vacillate! ♫ 

The both of you sang, ♫ They’re only human. They can’t see ♫

♫ All the fun they could give you and me ♫ Trick laughed darkly while you smiled at his amusement.

♫ Only human, after all ♫ You both continued as you two picked out a wave of souls destined for Hell without another thought while Trick only picked a small group of them.

♫ So they give and we take ♫ You had your palms opened at the vast souls that would be doomed for Hell under your thoughtless choosing.

Trick nodded approvingly over your future collection, a twisted smile forming, ♫ ‘Til their silly hearts break ♫ 

♫ Looking down from above. I’m intrigued by their love ♫ An equally dark smile appeared on your face as you took Trick’s offered hand for a short sway. 

Trick suggested while taking you into their arms. ♫ So let’s play! ♫

You nodded along, ♫ Let’s play! ♫

Trick chuckled while dipping you down, “Hmm, let’s enjoy ourselves with these foolish souls.”

Since the beginning of time, there were two beings. A being that symbolizes light and a being that symbolizes dark. They were two sides of the same coin and co-exist together contary to what humans would theorize or write in their little works of art

“So I’ll assume you want me to put Heaven’s little business on hold? Not that they can do much with a redeemed soul in their ranks.” Trick smirked at you, their wings flapping at their little jab at their realm’s higher ranked angels. “So Hell gets some peace for the moment.”

Your smiled back, eyes peeking open to that revealed a cosmos from within, “Yes, that is much appreciated. There’s gonna be some interesting change in my collection.”

“Love it when your eyes does that.” Trick’s wings opened up to show the view of a night sky.

“Yours is not too bad. Quite the sight.”

“Only a sight for the two of us though. None is more worthy of it.”

“I’ll agree.”

Everything happening on these two beings’ whims and wants, nothing’s done with clear purpose, and anything’s fair game. As divine and just as the humans painted them to be, they are nothing like the holy one that cares for all’s interest from above. As cruel and evil as the humans painted you to be, you are anything but the cold and heartless tormentor of prisoners of Hell

Note: New character!! I'll get to the request that were about this concept in a bit. First! The character design for Trick and you will be out in a moment~

Now then~ You guys feeling op yet?

Oh yeah!! I'm more interested with the song format too!! First time trying this, what you guys think???

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203@hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro @yourdoorisunlocked @clavelina @jono723 @cursedcattalastor @an-idyllic-novelist @flamiohotman2024 @rea-grace @myromanempiree @veroneverleft @lousypotatoes @crazysuityouth @jellyedkazoo @wat4r @kiraisastay @thealienartist @chefysawesomeideas @wtvbabes @patronizingbitch @koshi-kazu @craftyperfectiontragedy @scr4luv @chrollobb @mysterypotatoink @callmefe

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel overlord #Collection of Overlords #hazbin hotel rosie #rosie hazbin hotel #overlords #hazbin #zestial #carmilla hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel zestial #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla x reader #hazbin carmilla #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vees

[coven-of-genesis]

Time magic - Chronomancy

Time magic, also known as chronomancy, is a concept within the realm of magical practices that involves the manipulation, perception, or influence of time. Practitioners of time magic may explore various aspects of time, including past, present, and future, seeking to understand or alter events within the temporal continuum.

Chronomancy often involves rituals, spells, or meditative practices designed to tap into the fabric of time. Some practitioners may focus on divination methods specifically related to predicting or gaining insights into future events. Others might attempt to alter their perception of time, achieving a state of timelessness or experiencing time differently through meditation or altered states of consciousness.

In the realm of time magic and chronomancy, practitioners might explore additional concepts and techniques:

1. Temporal Loops: Creating or entering cyclical patterns in time, where events repeat.

2. Time Travel: Attempting to move backward or forward in time, either in consciousness or physically.

3. Time Dilation: Manipulating the perceived speed of time, making it feel faster or slower.

4. Causality Manipulation: Influencing the cause-and-effect relationships of events through magical means.

5. Temporal Sight: Gaining the ability to see glimpses of the past or future.

6. Time Shields: Creating magical barriers or shields that affect the passage of time within a specific area.

7. Age Manipulation: Influencing the aging or de-aging of living beings.

8. Temporal Anchors: Establishing fixed points in time that resist manipulation or alteration.

(It's important to approach these concepts with a recognition of their speculative nature, often rooted in mythology, fiction, and magical traditions rather than scientific principles. Time magic is a captivating element in various cultures, stories, and esoteric practices. Time magic is often speculative and imaginative, as time manipulation goes beyond our current scientific understanding.)

#time magic #time magik #witchblr #witchcore #witchcraft #witchlife #white witch #beginner witch #witch tips #grimoire #spirituality #witchcraft explained

[the-darklings]

❛ if i kissed you, i don’t think i’d be able to stop. ❜ for dream/wanderer please ✨

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader (wanderer)

wc: 791

notes: used up the last prompt from my initial reblog, so keep an eye out in the future since I might reblog another list. for now, enjoy some Sexual TensionTM and playfulness between the duo.

dream & wanderer series: part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

Morpheus doesn’t enjoy games. He doesn’t permit himself childish fancies for idle amusement, suitable only for wasting time.  

His siblings—Desire, at least, though Delirium, too, no doubt—would point to him being dull. Vapid and concerned only with the state of his own affairs. It is not an altogether wrong conclusion. He places his own, their wellbeing, and the safety of his dreamers above all else. Oftentimes even himself. 

You have taught him, century by century, value in a different types of games. The tantalising, heated games of fleeting, charged stares and transient touches that leave even one such as himself… wanting.

Desire would be delighted by his blatant liability. However, it doesn’t feel much like weakness right now, following your figure several paces behind. You speak no words, heave no sighs—this is a game, and a thousand years have made you quite adept. Perhaps those early days by Desire’s side taught you much—too much—and if it weren’t for the devotion unmatched, for all those trials passed, Morpheus might find it discomforting. Even suspicious, for his sibling has meddled plenty in the past. 

“Wanderer.”

The castle is shadowed at an hour this late, with muted sounds of slumber and rest. Time passes here but does not match that of the waking world precisely. Right now, his creations rest. He senses each one, restful and at peace under his protection. 

Only one remains, he thinks wryly, eyeing you intently, drinking in the slopes and the lines of your figure. Restless and light-feeted, you push ahead steadily as the waves that lap the shores of the Dreaming, a dark coat sweeping over your figure with each step taken. Quiet pleasure reverberates through his chest at the vision. His creation. His…

“Wanderer.”

The title rumbles deeper from his chest, his fingers curling at his sides. Two weeks, walking other realms and meeting other creatures, all but absent from here. You greeted him earlier with a light peck to his cheek—there and gone in a blink, and now an entire day has stretched by and…

“Is something wrong, Lord Morpheus?”

Your words are light and impishly innocent, and Morpheus warps from one step to another, cutting distance through raw matter making up the Dreaming. What Morpheus so painstakingly moulded by hand and will so long ago, it’s hard to remember what or who he was back then. Before you.  

His arm settles around your waist, loose but unyielding, halting you both in a sweep of causal power that leaves you shuddering in his embrace. 

“Lord Morpheus?” he echos, quietly displeased. “Since when?”

You don’t turn or shift in his hold, and this steely patience might as well be his older brother, Destiny, for it is equally impressive and... frustrating. The silent corridor is barren apart from you and him, and Morpheus tightens his hold marginally, sensing the steady warmth from your body seeping into his own. His head lowers, breathing deep, his mouth settling lightly on your shoulder. 

“I missed you, Dream,” you say quietly, and his breathing slows, listening attentively. “I always miss you. Each second I’m away.”

You spin in his hold unhurriedly, his head lifting from your shoulder. He leans his head closer be face to face with you. Your breath fans his lips, warm and sweet, and Morpheus’ fingers sink a little deeper, a little more greedy and intent. Your mouth ghosts over his chin, your nose skims his cheek, and his eyelids flutter close. 

Patience. It’s about patience, and Morpheus is old; he has it in abundance. He knows this game.

Your words are a loving murmur, “Would you kiss me, Dream?”

“If I kissed you,” he rasps. “I do not think I’d be able to stop, stardust.”

For you are a great many things, but his self-control is tested by your mere presence. And why should he deny himself lips sweeter or more loving than yours? The love he senses in your smiles and touch alone are enough to mangle him. After so long, this. 

A velvety, lingering kiss brands the corner of his mouth. Hot, loving, piercing and all-consuming. The simplicity of it is devastating, precious. 

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathe. 

He drags them to the side, to the shadows that chase at their heels as the Dreaming ripples, and your quiet laugh is caught in your throat, hands clinging to his shoulders and coat, body-to-body. 

“You lose,” you whisper in a sing-song voice, victorious. 

And it suits you, that victory, that glow, and for that happiness, he can bow his head. Alone, for the only one he truly needs. When it is you and him, he can afford it. 

“For you?” he breathes, grasping your face, his thumb swiping across your bottom lip. “Every time.”

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus imagines #sandman netflix #sandman x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #sandman fic #fic: today i bury you in me

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hot & Bothered: Snack Shack [Avenger!Loki x Fem Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (14) Ice-cream ain't the only temptation waiting in the Snack Shack. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Hostility. Language. "Friends" w/ benefits. (4.2k)

You and Loki walked most of the way in silence. A small hut came into view, a half-shuttered awning facing the sea. The Snack Shack, a faded rectangular sign above the front read.

Loki chuckled mockingly, shaking his head. “I shall never become accustomed to this realms insistence on purchasing frivolities.”

“Like food?” you muttered. “Besides, you’re like, the poster boy for frivolities.” you said scathingly, pinching the arm of his chiffon robe. Loki sniffed. “I meant the exchange of coin. So uncivilised.”

“Well, it may surprise you to know” you whispered secretively, leaning towards him. “That not everyone has the benefit of being a spoilt arsehole.”

Loki scoffed, offering a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can assure you that if I was necessitated to use such vulgar methods of capital exchange, I would not waste it on trifles such as…”

He trailed off, searching for any sign on the dilapidated exterior of what could be found inside the Snack Shack. You rolled your eyes, turning the key.

“After you, my Liege.” you mocked, waving him inside. The god tilted his chin up, flicking his hair past his shoulders before striding barefoot through the rickety door in a swirl of black silk-chiffon.

Prick, you thought. “Peasant.” Loki snapped dryly in response, not looking back.

You tilted your head, a wave of irritation at his insufferable new habit giving way to curiosity. “I thought you said you could only see flashes of things. Like photos of certain...whatever?”

Loki nodded, picking up an empty plastic jumbo-cup and inspecting it with mild interest. He tilted his head, voice saturated in feigned innocence.

“You must be feeling something very strongly, Agent. Either that or the reason for your unfortunate position is deepening its hold. Oh dear.” He ended with a theatrical narrowing of his eyes, the blue of his irises darkened in the unlit gloom.

A coy smile pressed against the god's cheek as he watched your brow twitch; words failing to bridge the gap between your brain and tongue. He straightened, flipping the jumbo cup to spin flawlessly back to its position at the top of a curved stack.

A beam of afternoon sun snaking through the shutters ran a sliver of sunlight across his broad chest as he leant against the counter. It caught the golden embroidery of the caftan resting against his obliques, illuminating the luxurious weave that hung like a fucked-out lover around the muscle of his hips.

The god’s hands gripped the sides of the stainless steel, drumming them lightly as he waited for you to respond.

“Steve didn’t ask you to talk to me, did he?” you said, suddenly very aware you were bare but for a simple bikini. In the cover of shadow, Loki let his eyes wander leisurely over your curves; a flash of pink running across his bottom lip. His tell.

“He spoke to me earlier. He didn’t speak to you.” you analysed slowly, running a finger along the length of the steel counter. Loki’s eyes flashed, a roll of his shoulders betraying his arousal. He pulled the flowing length of the caftan to the side, letting it swirl and flutter. You supposed he thought it looked casual.

“He spoke to me prior to-” he started confidently.

“-Liar.” you snapped, cutting him off.

The god raised his brows. “You lied to me, Loki.” you said coyly, noting the way he was pressing himself back against the thick steel bar. His grip had tightened around the edge, the unexpected causality of your statement taking him by surprise. Not that he had lied. But that you had caught it.

Loki glowered, lowering his chin. “You are the one lying Agent. To me. And to yourself.”

“You’re full of shit.” you snapped, heart beating louder with every slap of your flip flops against the rudimentary tiled floor. “Why did you lie about Rogers? Why did you come over to sit with me? Did you miss me?” you goaded, pouting mockingly as his glare intensified. The bitterness in your voice surprised even you.

He had shuffled slightly to the right, subconsciously moving away from your stalk around the L-shaped counter. “Or did you miss your toy? The game.” you continued non-nonchalantly, reaching out and gathering the opposing edges of his caftan in a fist. “Which you were cheating at, by the way.”

You could smell the dried salt crusting in his hair, the undertone of spiced musk which infused his insufferably biteable skin hanging thick in the heat. A thrilling tingle soared over every hair on your body, his beautiful eyes squinting suspiciously as he tried to read you. “What’s wrong, Loki? Lost your upper hand?” you sneered.

Suddenly you pulled the fist gathering the sides of the slutty caftan towards you, slamming his mouth to yours in a violent kiss. Loki jolted in surprise, before his hands fastened to either side of your head. The feeling of his warm tongue invading your mouth after so long was heaven. Infuriatingly, it was fucking heaven.

He shuffled you back across the tiny kitchen. You lost a flip flop. And then two.

The force of his kiss was electric, the animalism of his covetous passion overpowering every ounce of dominance you had held mere seconds ago. He released you against the opposing steel counter, a fresh chill of metal hitting your lower back.

“You wish to know why I can see the desires that your mind screams across the lonely abyss you have created around yourself? One of misdirection and sabotage?” he hissed, taking no mind of the fist still gathered at his chest. Loki’s face was inches from yours, eyes wild and dangerous. Salted onyx curls fell around his cheekbones, rugged and dry.

“No.” you said slowly, rounding your lips. You watched his eyes hover on them as they remained parted, waiting for him to fill them again. “Liar.” he echoed.

You rolled your eyes, using the free hand not hoisting his robe together to roughly palm the front of his swim shorts. Unsurprisingly, he was already hard. Of course he fucking is, you thought. Despite your distractions, Loki continued unperturbed.

“You think that by conceding to your need for my intel on our little party trick, that you concede yourself?” he let out a mirthless laugh that stifled the small space, vibrating against the pots and pans hanging on the wall behind your head. “Oh Agent…” he hissed, as you squeezed his manhood tighter than any mortal man would find pleasure in; “...we are too far gone for that.”

“You’re awfully full of yourself for a man in a negligee.” you snorted, dragging your nails along the sensitive ridges of his cock through the nylon.

Loki grimaced, releasing a ragged growl as his head fell back to the ceiling. He let himself enjoy a few moments of submissive pleasure, before he brought himself forward; renewed determination glowing in his eyes.

“Be that as it may...it does not change that I can read you the way that I can.” he smirked, trailing a long finger between your breasts. He drew it between the mounds, groaning lightly as the digit disappeared into the valley of your cleavage before tracing it up your neck. His thumb lingered on your thorax, igniting the nerves that longed for his absent touch.

You let your head loll to the side, hips thrusting forwards as you felt him grow harder through the tight swim shorts. Harder? Fuck; you thought, as Loki’s fingertips grazed the length of your neck, back and forth; feeling every pulse, every breath. He descended to sweep your exposed collarbone, drawing tingling lengths over every pleasure point hidden beneath your skin with the lightest of touches.

It was torture. He was torture.

Loki’s forefinger and thumb clasped lightly beneath your chin, pressing against the angle of your jaw and forcing your face to his. He rocked his hips into your hand, grinding against the passive fury of your desire. “So fucking weak for me, aren’t you, Agent?” he murmured thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he watched a new wave of infuriation blossom over your features nestled in shadow.

Before you could answer, his hands were wrapped around your wrists; tearing them from their grip on his caftan and cock like tissue paper. You gasped as he raised them above your head, sliding them roughly down your naked waist and hoisting you on top of the counter with a jolt.

“The only time you’re drawn to me is when I make you rage, isn’t it?” he grunted, grasping ravenously at your thighs as he spread them wider and slotted himself between. You panted, gasping as his hands wound in your hair possessively. “You are such a fucking arseh-”

“-Yes, Agent.” he groaned from deep in his gut, clawing mercilessly at the bikini bottoms wrapped to your hips.

“Loathe me. Scorn me. Hate me. Rage for me...I care not.” he spat through a desperate moan as the white briefs were cast to the floor by your flip flops. “Just fuck me.”

His own swimwear had disappeared in the fray. The thick cock you fantasised about filling you in the long hours of the night bobbed at his naval as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t, Agent.” he said softly, pressing a finger to your lips to quell the biting words hovering there.

Perched on the counter-top, you gazed up at the god who irritated you more than anyone or anything ever had. If you chose, you could pick up your shit and leave. But why would I do that? you thought fleetingly, catching a fleck of something spark in the greenish hues of his eyes.

You lurched forwards, catching the tip of his finger in your mouth and sucking with your eyes locked to his.

Loki lowered his chin with a rumble, the timbre making your slick pussy tremor as you swirled your tongue around the tip. “You are playing with fire, little thing.” he growled, tinged with desperation as your mouth released his finger with a final wet slurp. “Fucking burn me, then.” you snarled, running your palms down his chest to the treasure below.

“A month…” Loki groaned wistfully, as your hands looped around his neck; pulling him deeper against your keening body. You wondered if he had meant to say it out loud. His mouth latched to the curve of your shoulder, sucking messy kisses into the salted skin.

The flimsy material of your bikini top did nothing to stop pangs of pleasure soaring as your nipples rubbed against his body; shooting in blissful stars.

With an aggressive sweep of his hand, the pans hanging on the wall behind you shot across the room; clanging menacingly against the stove and falling chaotically to the floor. You gasped, descending into giggles as Loki lowered you against the cool counter-top with a satisfied smirk.

He hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, the silky material of the chiffon caftan feeling taboo beneath your naked calves. The god towered over you who lay spread and ready; running his feral stare over your glistening pussy as your back arched against the steel.

You moaned his name in frustration, pulling shamelessly at the golden hem of his slutty cover-up. Loki chuckled, holding his cock in one hand and dragging it leisurely against your wet slit.

“And you think you’re not weak for me...” he muttered, dipping the wide tip teasingly inside; watching a sticky web of arousal string outwards as he withdrew. His hair fell around his face, his eyelids closing gently with the smallest thrust of his hips edging lightly against your core.

“Only for what you can do…” you teased, fingers grasping around the counter’s edge; steadying for the coming reckoning. You bucked your hips so the first inch of his cock was swallowed into wet heat. “Fuck.” Loki choked, losing his concentration. His palms slid up the front of your thighs hanging against his chest before he bit ravenously into the flesh to his side.

“Please.” you sneered, feeling his length pulse against your clit as he stalled for time with his teeth and tongue. “You’re weak for me, Laufeyson.” Your fingers tightened around the chiffon hanging at his waist, yanking hard. The god’s eyes fluttered open in your direction, lips still fastened to your skin mid-bite.

“So desperate for the one who doesn’t want you.” you cooed, watching the familiar primal glaze blossom in his stare as you arched towards the ceiling. “So desperate for v-validation…”

The god’s hands cupped your knees, straightening your legs against his broad shoulders. “Lying to yourself again, Agent? How unattractive.” Loki snarled.

His fingers wrapped around your calves, squeezing tightly as you squirmed on the steel like an animal marked for slaughter. You bucked upwards, trying to capture the tip of his weeping cock like before. Loki tutted, wild hair melding in amongst the folds of black fabric covering his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem like you find me unattractive, Loki.” you purred, pressing your lips together mischievously.

Your hostile lover’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together as he leant forward; tight obliques pressing against the rear of your thighs. The veins of his furiously hard cock pulsed against your slit as he slid back and forth through your folds. Testing you. Teasing you.

You gasped as Loki thrust into your pussy without warning, his brows slanting before resuming their haughty, regal set. He bottomed out, a low groan vibrating against the back of your legs through his chest as he began fucking you with your straightened limbs jiggling shamelessly by his ears.

Dirty grunts spilled from his lips as he rode you into battle, primal desperation soaring as you rocked violently into his passion.

You could do nothing but feel the enormous weight of Loki’s arousal stretch and fill your sex, every long drag of his cock making your face scrunch in aggressive pleasure. Loki’s jaw gaped, unhinged as dark hair swung against his cheekbones; errant strands sticking against his parted lips.

A line of utensils on the wall shook, every messy slap of the god’s hips meeting your centre making them clang. A spatula clattered to the steel counter, bouncing along the shaking surface before descending loudly to the floor. A ladle followed.

One of his hands ran down your thigh, finding its way between your spread legs. He began rolling your clit with his horizontal thumb; firm and mercilessly targeted – each massage of the digit timed against his wet thrusts.

“Tell me what I want..” you gasped between filthy curses, your back squeaking against the steel as sweat made it stick. In a flash, Loki roughly lowered your legs around his hips, swooping his hands beneath your waist and heaving you into the air.

His cock never left your slit as you clenched around him, hanging on to the heady fuck only he could deliver with all the strength you had.

He slammed you against the lowered shutters, crushing your mouths together like a man possessed. You’d never seen him like this, hands spasming in their impatience to squeeze and grip and pull every curve of your body to his. “Say that again.” he growled disbelievingly by your ear, making you shudder.

“Tell me..w-what I want, d-dickhead.” you managed to gasp as he rutted into you; your back flat against rickity corrugated metal. It rattled ominously with every smack of his hips, your hands running through his hair and pulling his head back with a sharp tug. Loki hissed, lips stretching to reveal his teeth bared as he bit air. “F-uck, Agent…” he groaned. “I shall n-never understand you.”

“Good.” you whispered groggily, clenching tightly as he dragged his pelvis against yours. He couldn’t be any deeper. Every tight thrust bottomed out as he impaled himself again and again, withdrawing only an inch or two from the back of your channel before the temptation was too much. “You owe me that.” you murmured breathily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His face hovered in front of yours as he stilled, fully sheathed and hard as rock. He jutted his chin, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and drawing it back. A thoughtful hum shuddered the air as he squinted, eyes flickering between your own. You could feel a tingling by your temples, a low buzz of static filling your mind as your lungs clenched. Am I imagining that, you wondered; as Loki’s hypnotic stare sank into yours.

The god inhaled sharply, head titling to the side as he pursed his lips. “You’re a bad girl.” he murmured, punctuated with a slow roll of his hips. “No worse than you.” you countered, as Loki’s attempt at a lean for a kiss turned to a grin.

“Where?” he said. “There.” you replied, nudging your head towards the opposite side of the small kitchen space. The only unspoilt surface.

Loki smirked. “Very well. Although don’t be disappointed when you do not have the strength to facilitate the desired result.” he mocked, sliding his cock from your tight, wet heat and lowering you to the ground. The tiles were cool on the soles of your feet, flushed with faint pins and needles from Loki’s iron grip on your thighs. “Oh, we’ll see.” you replied petulantly. “I have a lot of pent up frustration.”

Loki chuckled, backing slowly towards the steel counter on his left. “That much is obvious, Agent. Perhaps it will teach you not to punish yourself with the withdrawal of your affections from me.”

You rolled your eyes, before being drawn back to the sight of him leaning seductively against the ledge. His slutty caftan spread out as he rested his hands casually behind him, knuckles popping as long fingers wrapped around metal.

The chiffon cover-up glinted in the slivers of light through the squint shutters, embroidery framing his deliciously luxurious erection in the scruffy surroundings. “Or perhaps affections is the wrong word, hmm?” he interjected, looking at you appraisingly through heavy-lidded eyes.

You stepped forwards, noticing him brush the long line of dark material from one thigh, holding it beneath his thumb against the steel. It exposed the meat of his muscled thigh which bulged as he adjusted his stance. Tease, you thought with a smile as you padded past him, enjoying the moment his look of smug assurance melted to a frown.

“What are you doing?” he snapped incredulously, as you reached up to a high shelf. You fished around in a box, drawing out a solitary wafer cone before placing it beneath the ice-cream machine beside Loki.

“I’m mortally offended you would choose that over the delicacies I offer, Agent.” he coyed, bristling beneath the humour. You shrugged, watching the vanilla soft serve swirl in a perfect loop, higher and higher. The machine growled, chugging as an exasperated huff expelled from Loki’s throat. You smirked.

Turning to face him, you held up the loaded cone. “I thought you said you can see what I want.” you postured bluntly, before giving the ice-cream a whoreish lick. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” he growled, widening his legs. You sashayed the several steps between you, pressing your chest to his. He opened his mouth, eyes never leaving yours as you let him lick the cone. Slow, sensual. Filthy.

You whimpered as he covered the tip with his mouth, sucking before his tongue darted across vanilla-soaked lips. “I’ve had better.” he murmured playfully, a dark strand falling over his eye. “Me too.” you said, before shoving the remnants of the ice-cream in his face.

Loki spluttered, smiling back at your own grin as you began to run the ruined cone down his neck. A drop of white fell from his nose, splashing your cleavage. The scent of artificial vanilla filled your nostrils, soft serve melting instantly against his heated skin. It nestled in the crevices of his collarbone; sticking in tacky pools before finding a slow path down his chest.

“Did you see that coming?” you whispered provocatively, letting your tongue roll over the final word. Loki shivered, shaking his head. You ran your palms up his neck, feeling the thick sugar clinging to your fingertips drag across his skin. They slid over his cheekbones, carding past his temples as Loki gave a reluctant twist of his neck.

“Beware the robe” he muttered, “it was crafted by Asgardian crones, the finest weavers in all the realms.”

You smirked, wiping a wet finger down the embroidered collar. “Oops.” you purred. Loki sighed heavily, restless irritation bubbling beneath the surface of his perfect skin. It felt like all your senses were heightened. His submission. That was what you had wanted more than anything else, right here. Right now.

A seaborne breeze fluttered through the gap in the shutters, coolly kissing the sweat gathered on your chest and neck. Without a moment’s pause, your messy hand slid down his abdomen, rippling over valleys of muscle before wrapping around his heavy cock. Loki hissed, a rasping groan filling the air as you began to slowly wank him back and forth.

Your free hand fastened around the thick muscle of his neck, the cartilage of his Adam’s apple hard against your tingling skin. The span of your thumb and forefinger barely reached edge to edge.

Loki smirked down beneath half-lidded eyes. “I told you.” he growled goadingly, before you pushed the flat of your palm backwards. Loki let out a grunt of surprise as the digits hooked beneath the angle of his jaw, tilting his head back further as you increased the speed of your hand around his cock. The drying stick of ice-cream made every tug drag as you watched him relent beneath your touch, becoming undone against the steel.

“Gods...more…” he whimpered huskily, toes curling on the floor. Loki’s thighs twitched, femur muscles bulging against your own as you pressed harder against the soft flesh of his neck. “Fuck.” he choked, rasping moans filling the air as wetness slid between your legs.

You squeezed his windpipe, clenching at the sound of half-breaths struggling to surface. The god’s hair swung around his shoulders, chin pointed to the ceiling. His stomach muscles flexed against your chest, the desperate thrusts of his sex into your palm making you feel more than turned on. Making you feel alive.

You slowed the motion of your hand, feeling a silent whimper vibrate his throat. Toying with the foreskin covering his shaft, your fingertips gently massaged the weeping tip as his knees began to buckle.

“You’re so fucking weak for me, Loki.” you parroted, seeing his brow crease in feral anticipation. If he could, you were sure he would have nodded. You pushed the hand pressing at the angle of his jaw further, making his eyes roll back as you tugged the delicate skin of his cock out and pulled it back with aching slowness.

A ragged groan from Loki charted every step of it’s ascent.

“Mercy.” he gasped, as you stroked him slowly. Too slowly.

Every devastating rub of his sensitive tip made him lean back further under the weight of your hand at his throat. He was dripping with precum, each roll of your thumb against his frenulum making another pearl squeeze forth. You glanced down, seeing his fists clench and unclench against the metal counter-top, body shaking with unspent lust. Ready to burst.

Your pace quickened.

“Why can you see into my head, then?” you panted, beginning to tug mercilessly. The fluid motion of your hand sliding against the magnificent column of flesh was it’s own reward, the pretty flutter of his lashes as he came undone making you mewl alongside him.

Loki let out a strangled moan, velvet skin melded to your own; moist with arousal and saliva and liquid sugar as you stroked the underside of his exposed shaft with every flick of your wrist. The veins on his neck stood erect as muscled shoulders juddered, abs clenching as he leant into your grip.

“Because you...fuck. l-love me, f-fuck...uhhh…” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut as glorious white seed spurted over your fist. His roar was apocalyptic, a deafening exhale of your name as he spilled himself over your waiting skin. His cum shot up your wrist, coating your palm. Your forearm. Your chest.

You squeezed a final time as Loki let out slow, shallow pants; gathering every drop before smearing the handful down your cleavage. Bringing your fingers to your lips, you sucked the remains as the god leant forwards, tongue primed.

He met the curve of your breast with a sigh, letting slow licks trail languidly as he lapped himself from your skin. Fuck, it tastes even better than I remember, you thought; pressing the back of the god’s head further between your mounds.

There was still a ringing in your ears as he surfaced. “Did you hear what I said, Agent?” he said tentatively, mouth sticky with ice-cream and semen; glistening in the low light. “I was distracted...” you purred, your hand already fumbling for his cock, ready for round two.

“Because you love me.” he said slowly, brows slanted. An awkward smile tugged at his lips.

You snorted with laughter, brushing a thumb against his mouth to gather the remnant slick gathered there. You sucked it, able to instantly tell the difference between the ice-cream and his own delicious vanilla-infused seed.

“Very funny. You’re insane.” you snapped, pulling the collar of the sluttish caftan towards you to kiss him. Loki frowned, placing a palm gently against your lips. His brow was furrowed, deep lines set above eyes which sparked with barbs unsaid.

“I should have known better than to think you’d actually tell me.” you said petulantly, muffled against the flat of his palm. The god leant forward, the scent of his cum hanging sweet and heavy on his breath.

“Since you will not take my word, I think it best you have a conversation with my brother.” Loki said with disquieting bitterness, lowering his hand. You realised that the tight swim shorts had reformed around his hips as he readjusted the sheer robe, haughtily flicking fucked-out hair over his shoulders.

“Wait-what?” you stuttered, stumbling to gather your bikini bottoms from the floor. “Loki, wait –is that it? What about the water?”

“I have it on my person.” Loki grunted dryly, casting a shaded glance behind him with a theatrical flourish of the slutty caftan. “You are not the only expert at hiding things, Agent.” he said snidely, letting the door to the snack shack clatter shut behind him.

Continued in Bow to Me Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Kiss The Girl 🫶🌹

I don't need to tell you twice

All the ways hе can't suffice

If I could give you some advicе

I would leave with me tonight

Dove Cameron - Boyfriend

🫶💕

Hawkins is hosting a Valentine's dance, your boyfriend has treated you like shit yet again, Eddie decides he's had enough of your loser bf and plans to steal you away from him. 🌹

I had an ask from @itdobe-foggy that said to listen to Boyfriend by Dove Cameron and you telling Eddie about your loser ex. I did listen to it and thought of Eddie stealing you from your shitty loser boyfriend because he knows he could be a better boyfriend ❤️

Angst, fluff, minors shoo! 18+, Eddie is a little bit of a shit in this but we love him for it 🤭🌹

Valentines Day Fic 🌹🧸🫶💕

If you have any mini Valentines fic requests then send me an ask 🥰

🫶

Eddie hated Valentines, hated the hearts and the cheesy love songs, those god awful romantic movies and pretty much everything about it.

He was much more drawn to Halloween, unfortunately that was months away and he had to endure this hell instead. Normally he would be far far away from any Hawkins High dance but this was the Valentines Dance.

Most importantly you would be here. His secret crush. Eddie was God damn sure that he was falling hard for you. It was so easy, so easy to fall for your sweetness, you were beautiful inside and out, a true rare sweetheart in this shit hole of a town.

Eddie would ask you out in a heartbeat if it wasn't for your dickhead boyfriend. He really was a butthead, didn't know how to treat a princess like you.

But Eddie did.

He looks around at the decorations for the dance in distaste, pink was everywhere. Pink balloons, pink streamers, love spell punch, Valentines themed food and shitty cheesy music that made his ears bleed.

Still be would deal with all of this just to see you.

Gareth nudges him and he smiles-probably looking like a goofy idiot but he doesn't care as you walk in to the gym in a flowing red dress, lips painted cherry red and you're wearing heels that defy gravity.

Then Eddie notices how sad you look, the not so hidden red rimmed eyes and he fumes silently.

Hastily he grabs the wildflowers he picked for you from the field near the trailer, hopes they make you smile as he holds them out to you.

The beaming smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat "Eddie thank-you, you're so sweet" you kiss his cheek and Eddie feels his cheeks warm at the feel of your lips on his skin.

"Uh no problem sweetheart. Where's Peter?" he asks causally and you frown. The smile disappears from your lips and he kicks himself for asking, it's obvious you didn't want to talk about Peter.

"Around here somewhere. He decided talking to his oh so pretty chem partner was more important that accompanying his own girlfriend to the dance" you wave it off like it doesn't bother you but Eddie knows it does, hates the way your pretty eyes look so downcast.

"Why are you with him? Jesus h christ, I mean he's awful sweetheart'' you nod and look down, a sad expression on your face.

"I've told him it's over so many times but he's such an arrogant ass that he pays not attention, even when I avoid him it's like he makes it his mission to be the biggest jackass possible" Eddie listens to this, tries to hide his growing rage. Kinda wants to hit Peter right in his stupid face.

Not that he's much or a fighter. He prefers his battles strictly in the realms of D&d. Still you don't get labelled as the town freak, have assholes riling you up on the daily and trying to pick at you and not know how to fight dirty.

"He's a fucking dickhead princess, you could do so much better. Deserve the best. You could have anyone you wanted" he holds out his hand you squeeze it softly, give him a sweet smile.

"Anyone?" you repeat with an impish smile and there's a deep tension in the air, it wraps around the two of you. Eddie has felt this before but never knew if he should do anything about it.

Now? Well now he was going to steal you from your douchebag boyfriend and he couldn't give two fucks if Peter hated it. He had watched that asshole make you grow sadder week by week, heard the arguments in the hallways.

You deserved to be treated like a princess and Eddie was more than up for the task. If you wanted to be with him, then he was for damn sure going to be the best boyfriend possible.

"Anyone sweetheart, Peter doesn't deserve you, I could be your boyfriend and I'd be better than him in every fucking way" he says fiercely.

Eddie can see the longing in your eyes, the way his own heart skips several beats as to what happens next. He really wants to kiss you, instinctively he moves forward just as you do and he pulls you into his arms for a kiss that makes both of your heads spin, goofy smiles on your faces.

"Eddie Munson. If I didn't know any better I'd say you had a plan all along to steal me away from my shitty boyfriend" you tease him and he smirks.

"Is my plan working princess?'' you answer him with another kiss then take his hand to lead him somewhere more private.

🌹

"What the fuck!!''

Eddie peers up pissed off, his hand caressing your thighs, lips pressed to your neck and gives your boyfriend a dirty look as he grips your thighs gently and you hum in frustration, tug on his hair a little so he can continue.

Peter splutters as he takes in the scene, looks between you and Eddie who stares defiantly back at him.

"What the fuck... I heard moaning, I thought... he trails off as Eddie stands up and fixes your dress. Picks up his leather jacket and tucks you into it, admires how incredible you look in his clothes.

"Beautiful, he sighs then turns to Peter, do you fucking mind? We're busy. Oh and dickhead that noise that's so unusual to you is your girl enjoying herself... Must be such a rarity with you, I know"

You hide your smile and snuggle into Eddie who tugs you closer to him. He feels on top of the world.

"She's my girlfriend Munson" Peter rages, Eddie shakes his head and points to the door.

"Not anymore. Fuck off" he snaps and Peter must sense the irratation in Eddie's tone as he flees.

"Asshole you mutter, he'll be back in Rita's arms by Monday. Shit, maybe we should have went to yours Eddie"

He looks around the janitors closet and kisses your hair. "You were so insistent to come in here sweetheart. How can I say no to my princess?''

Fuck, he doesn't think he will ever be able to say no to you, your pout and pleading expression will be the death of him.

"Let's go to yours" you nod and take his hand leading him outside, your giggles filling the air.

This Valentines Day wasn't so bad Eddie muses, after all he pissed off a jackass, had a decent time and best of all he got the girl.

❤️

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson

[bayesic-bitch]

How could consciousness possibly not be real? I'm here perceiving shit and having internal experience all day. Surely you are too. So is "consciousness isn't real" just semantics, playing with the definition of "consciousness"? Or what?

So, this comes down to two main arguments: 1) I don't have to explain consciousness, I just have to explain your perception of your own consciousness and your belief that it's real, and 2) consciousness being real but not acting on the physical world does nothing to explain the former anyway -- odds are you're categorically wrong about what your own experience is.

We talked about 2) last time this came up. But to recap, basically the idea is that Chalmers and other modern epiphemoninalists avoid the problem of dualism breaking physics by taking this position: the world can create internal experiences, but internal experiences don't act on the world. Physical events can cause qualia, but qualia cannot cause physical events. This is necessary because if qualia could cause physical events, then you could observe that effect scientifically. Once you observe it, you can study it, quantify it, and then you would have to make a place for souls in the standard model. Very few philosophers think that's likely. But if qualia can't cause physical events, that poses problems too -- namely you saying "I see a red apple" is a physical, observable event, so it can't have been caused by qualia. So under this view, all your reportable beliefs about your own conscious experiences have no causal relation to your actual conscious experiences. And while it's conceivable that your beliefs about your qualia just so happen to line with your actual qualia despite there being no connection, that seems like an absurd coincidence -- there's no reason to believe that you are correct about any of your qualia, ever, and we know for sure that our conversation here is causally isolated from both of our actual experiences.

And all of this is something Chalmers & co are willing to accept, because at present it seems like this is the only way to make substance dualism work and not contradict physics.

@nightcore-nasheed mentioned that there's a similar argument for property dualism, but I'm nowhere near as familiar with it, so I'll leave that aside.

Now we can return to 1). At this point, we've proposed a view of consciousness that "takes consciousness seriously", but this does nothing to explain our belief in our own consciousness. Dennett in particular wants to say that this is the only thing we need to explain. I don't have any direct, voiceable evidence of my own qualia. I know I feel things, and I know other people also say they feel things, and those are the things I need to explain. The solution is then to turn this into a psych/neurobio problem -- why is it that we have persistent beliefs in our own consciousness? Is it evolutionarily helpful to have such a belief? There's a couple not-absurd answers you could have here. For instance, when the brain is Turing-complete or nearly so, it is necessarily impossible to deterministically model our own thought processes (because of the halting problem). We must necessarily view our own minds as being irreducible to themselves, even if they are physically reducible. And extending this notion to others simply involves generalizing from our own experiences.

If this seems unsatisfying, well, yeah, a bit. But as we said before, substance dualists are also committed to a position like this, because they hold that the brain acts purely independently of input from qualia. To an epiphenomenalist like Chalmers, consciousness is still an illusion in the brain, it just also happens to be correct for unrelated reasons.

So the position of Dennett and other more-or-less reducible physicalists is: why do this? why add the bizarre complexity of an extra-physical realm with no evidence to support it, if it doesn't even explain why we say we are conscious? Better to just accept that our belief in our internal experience is incorrect and try to figure out why than to add all these extra hoops to jump through. Besides, our conversation would be causally isolated from both of our qualia anyway -- since they can't affect our conversation no matter what, it's categorically impossible to learn anything useful about them by talking about them. So what's the point in even discussing this view in the first place?

There are other positions taken by non-reducible physicalists, but personally I've never found the explanations for why physical systems can be non-reducible particularly convincing. So for the time being I'm stuck with the reductive physicalists. I can't say I'm happy about it, but I don't see a better option. In reality, I feel like this is one of those problems that's better dissolved than solved -- somewhere along the line we probably made a mistake formalizing this problem, and eventually neuroscience will come along and render the question moot without actually resolving it. .

[thirdity]

Proof differs from analysis. Proof establishes that something happened. Analysis shows why it happened. Proof is a mode of argument that is, by definition, complete; but the price of its completeness is that proof is always formal. Only what is already contained in the beginning is proven at the end. In analysis, however, there are always further angles of understanding, new realms of causality. Analysis is substantive. Analysis is a mode of argument that is, by definition, always incomplete; it is, properly speaking, interminable. The extent to which a given work of art is designed as a mode of proof is, of course, a matter of proportion. Surely, some works of art are more directed toward proof, more based on considerations of form, than others.

Susan Sontag, "Godard’s Vivre Sa Vie"

#proof #analysis #understanding #argument #art #criticism #quotes #Sontag #Susan Sontag #Godard’s Vivre Sa Vie

[theaceofarrows]

Buckle up, this is going to be a long post⬇

Thinking about the unbridled chaos that would have been Hunter if he had gone to public school with Luz during they're time in the human realm

Would it have made sense for him to suddenly go to school, him the guy whose only previous experience with public education is an undercover afternoon at Hexside, a completely different realm where he didn't even attend class? No, it wouldn't have made any sense whatsoever.

But just imagine it. That you're a student at Luz's school and one day the weird girl who let loose a bunch of snakes in the school shows up with her "cousin from Sweden". This mysterious 16 year old dude with a facial scar who is an absolute beast in gym class whose got even the P.E. teacher speechless.

This guy who has a glare that makes even the seniors shudder and think twice about saying anything about the Noceda girl, and the one time the bully didn't take a hint and keep his mouth shut, and actually tired to take a swing at the guy, doesn't land a single hit because the Swedish dude breaks out some kind of Spider-Man moves and back flips out of the way and the bully ends up punching the locker instead and breaks his hand, and Swedish dude just goes "you would have broken your hand anyway with the way you were making a fist" whilst causally flicking a speck of dust of his shoulder.

He always spends his lunch period outside, and a cardinal shows up everyday without fail to join him. He's either having what appears to be an intense one sided conversation with said cardinal, or the bird is casually nesting in his hair while he reads a book and eats his lunch.

It turns out that all the teachers love him. The home ec teacher is so impressed with his sewing that she doesn't even mind that he nearly blew up the oven while they were making cookies. The math teacher loves him because he's apparently also a math whizz who can do college level problems. The P.E teacher is trying to recruit him for at least three different sports teams. The drama teacher loves him because He's a natural at acting and doing improv. He's always the first one to class, takes the most notes, he's super respectful to the teachers, reminds the teachers about homework, does extra assignment work for fun. This dude who is wicked smart and sarcastic, and witty almost all the time, and then raises his hand in history class and asks "What's a Spain?" With the most sincere expression.

Just imagine that

#the owl house #hunter noceda #hunter deamonne #toh hunter #luz noceda #toh luz #luz and hunter are siblings #we were robbed #this would have been so funny #i'll never be over him #hunter my beloved #bonus points if you got that reference

[ancientcraftnoccultism]

Beginner Class - Correspondences 101

Ancient Craft & Occultism

Correspondences 101

By KB

Introduction

Welcome back to another lesson! Today, we're diving head first into the world of correspondences. What exactly are they? Why do we use them? We're going to discuss that and more in this lesson! Let's get to it.

What Are Correspondences?

In essence, correspondences are objects or aspects of objects that represent symbolism in direct correlation with a specific energy. Practically anything and everything has the potential to be a correspondence, therefore correspondences are subject to change depending upon the individual practitioner. Some of you may find yourself attributing certain emotions with colors - this itself is an example of a correspondence. Everything has its own energy, and using the energy that is in direct relation to your spellworking allows for that energy to be amplified and released into your work.

As Antoine Faivre (a French Occultist) states in his book Access to Western Esotericism:

"Symbolic and real correspondences (there is no room for abstractions here!) are said to exist among all parts of the universe, both seen and unseen....These correspondences, considered more or less veiled at first sight, are, therefore, intended to be read and deciphered....The principles of noncontradiction and excluded middle of linear causality are replaced here by those of the included middle and synchronicity. We can distinguish two kinds of correspondences. First, those that exist in nature, seen and unseen, e.g. between the seven metals and the seven planets, between the planets and parts of the human body or character (or of society). This is the basis of astrology - correspondence between the natural world and the invisible departments of the celestial and supercelestial world, etc. Next there are correspondences between nature (the cosmos) or even history, and revealed texts. Here we find the Kabbalah, whether Jewish or Christian, and varieties of 'physica sacra'....Ultimately the world stage is a linguistic phenomena."

Or as Pierre Riffard (a French philosopher) states in his book Dictionnaire de L'ésotérisme:

"The doctrine of analogy and correspondence, present in all esoteric schools of thinking, upholds that the Whole is One and that its different levels (realms, worlds) are equivalent systems, whose parts are in strict correspondence. So much so that a part in a realm symbolically reflects and interacts with the corresponding part in another realm. For instance, the Sun in the mineral realm is the counterpart of the Lion in the animal realm. The relation between A and B is similar to the relation between C and D. The microcosm and macrocosm are analogous, that is, equivalent, similar in their structures, even though they are outwardly dissimilar. The parts are in strict correspondence, closely knit together and closely interacting: thus feet/pisces, veins/rivers."

This is exactly why you use specific herbs, go for specific timing or moon phases, use certain colored candles, and much more.

Why Do We Use Them?

When raising our energy and directing our energy towards our goal, it's very useful to have elements that align with that as a means to amplify the energy. It takes less energy on the practitioner's end, as the natural energy of the objects being utilized is aligned with the energy needed in the work. A lot of it has to do with association, as that's a natural way for our mind's to process information. If you're doing a spell or ritual that is about healing, and you include a solar symbol or something orange, your mind may focus on a different energy rather than healing, which would interfere with the energy of your working.

It's important to make sure all correspondences are considered with your personal associations of things as a means to help you raise and direct energy.

Can I Make My Own Correspondences?

As stated above, the energies connected to particular items are known as correspondences, and they can be employed to increase the power and efficacy of your spell while also giving additional energy. These energies are influenced by a variety of elements, such as nature, colors, history, and culinary and medicinal applications. You would probably find at least one or two lists of correspondences for frequently used items in any book on witchcraft, especially for herbs and crystals. While the majority of correspondence lists are excellent, there are occasionally those that contain ambiguous correspondences, thus it is crucial to investigate any correspondences you are unsure about. Even if I wholeheartedly endorse the usage of these lists, especially for novice practitioners, how can we do away with them, particularly those in which we are unsure about the source of the information?

Look At Practical Uses

Examining the object's beneficial uses is the simplest method to get started writing your own correspondences. How do you utilize the item on a daily basis? What role does it play in the home? Take the broom, for instance. The broom's primary use is to sweep up dirt and debris from the house. Brooms can therefore be used to tidy up an area. Is the plant you're looking at utilized for cooking? What flavor does it have? What flavor does it add to the food? Is it able to glue the elements together, thicken, or color them? What is it used for if it has therapeutic uses? Does it relieve pain, calm rashes, improve focus, promote sleep, or treat infections?

Cayenne peppers, for instance, are hot and add long-lasting heat to the dish. They can also be used medicinally to reduce pain, increase metabolism, and hasten digestion. Based on these real-world applications, cayenne can be used to speed up a spell for a long time, eliminate rivals, or ignite your romantic life. We can begin to deduce some of their elemental correspondences from these practical applications. The cayenne pepper, which is hot and red, is related to the element Fire, whereas the broom, which is sturdy and purifying, is related to the element Earth.

Historical Uses

Once you have examined an item's practical applications, you might explore its history. Most things we use every day, especially those found in nature, are covered in folklore. To start figuring out other correspondences for an object, I advise consulting mythology, urban legends, medical books, and other historical documents. It takes time and needs critical thought to determine correspondences, but the effort is definitely worth it.

Scientific Nature

Next, start examining the object's scientific nature. The easiest way to do this is to use natural objects like plants, rocks, fungi, animals, insects, and other living and nonliving things that are present in your local environment. Where is the item often located? What features or qualities distinguish it from other things? What function does it serve in the ecosystem? Does it exhibit any distinctive behaviors? Take the flavor of mint. Almost all mint species develop swiftly and prolifically. If you don't watch them, your entire yard will be taken over. They are associated with abundance, prosperity, and fertility because of their prodigious nature. Some of these scientific correspondences are simple to infer, while others require some additional research.

Your Intuition

When determining an object's correspondences, the first three ways use logic; your intuition uses your psychology and emotions. Intuition is one of a witch's strongest weapons, although our contemporary culture frequently downplays its accuracy and trustworthiness. Start by wrapping your consciousness around the item in meditation before using your intuition to find correspondences. What does your intuition have to say about the thing? What comes to mind when you think of the thing you're looking at? Personal correspondence frequently starts in this area. At least for you, your personal connection to an object and the correspondences you create by employing your intuition have incredible power.

Consult With Spirit

Finally, you can speak with the object's spirit to learn more about its correspondences. The concept of animism holds that all things, both living and nonliving, have a spirit that we can interact with and form relationships with. This is easier said than done, and before attempting this kind of communication, you must be able to distinguish between your own intuition and mental chatter. It's normal for some witches, especially novice witches, to struggle with this correspondence determination process. This is an excellent chance for you to develop your spiritual gifts. Start by grounding and meditating with the object in issue, just like you would when using your intuition to determine correspondences. However, leave yourself open rather than putting your mind into the thing.

Keep the general mental chatter at bay and concentrate on the work at hand. Set out with the goal of listening rather than speaking. Depending on the object, you might hear it speak loud and clear in full sentences, or you might only see a flash of color or experience an emotion. But the secret is to approach this situation with no expectations. The item may not speak to you at all because you are not entitled to a dialogue with it. However, by building a relationship with the object beforehand, you can increase the possibility that it will communicate to you. Offer it gifts, communicate with it, take care of it, etc. Do essentially everything you would to make a new friend.

You will gain a strong understanding of how to employ the object in your own magical practice after combining these five techniques. Additionally, it will improve your magical practice overall and reinforce your bond with the object, enhancing its effectiveness as a component of your spells. The object will be considerably more likely to help you if you can communicate with its spirit.

#elder witch #baby witch #witchblr #witchcraft #beginner witch #dark witchcraft #astrology #tarot #aesthetic #divination #traditional witchcraft #green witch #witch stuff

[luffyrose]

Dc x Dp Blurb #3

It's late, I'm tired and on my phone so it's weird writing here but I must share this one instantly.

So, I saw a Trans Danny AND Trans Jazz thing earlier and I lost it. The idea that they both are is so good to me, and I have so much angst for it.

Just, neither of their parents even REMEMBER that they're trans. Like Danny's their son, Jazz is their daughter....but only because they know they have one daughter one son and clearly that was correct, not because they remember they're both trans. Acceptance through negligence basically.

Also side note but totally an au where the kids at school know and are like "Hell yeah you go!" About the trans stuff. Dash will push Danny into a locker but if he hears someone deadname his nerd friend he's taking a note from the ghosts and breaking shit.

Now the crossover aspect that's been invading my brain. Danny is visiting Gotham temporarily for something and is just like not hiding that he's trans, he's got a lol pin of the flag on his bag. Class trip with the Fentons being some of the supervisors, they came along to see if Batman was a ghost, and Danny us just very tired at this point. He's king of the realms, come to a midpoint with his 'rogues' after realizing it was more a ghost thing than a hate thing for 99% of them, and finally become friends with most of his class even if Dash still liked to mess with him.

Walking through the museum they're touring with Lancer, and a class from the local high school, Danny ends up near the edge of his classmates group next to the other school group. They're not avoiding one another but also not really talking, but this one kid just goes, "nice flag pin," before showing off the bisexual and polyamorous ones they have.

It's Tim. Because he saw the flag and went :O friend time. And also no one he talked to was with the group he was in, so he'd rather talk to this stranger who probably won't treat him differently since he doesn't know him.

The two talk as they are going, some of the other Casper high students chiming in since hey if a kid is nice to their weirdest classmate they're pretty okay in the books. (50/50 if the class know Danny is Phantom but they totally know he's different from all the osha violations in his house and most of them are so worried after really paying attention after they became friends).

Randomly Jack and Maddie come out of nowhere and grab Danny talking about something to do with ghosts, much to the apparent tiredness and even slight distaste on their kid's face, which they didn't even notice. Tim is unsure what is happening but seeing the dislike on the whole class's faces and some worried looks Danny got he's now wanting to go all detective on him because hey Danny's fun to talk to! Totally not because he's very very gay-

So after they leave, he causally tries to learn more about the two and why the class seemed to hate them, even why Danny himself didn't seem to want to be anywhere near his parents. Of course he tries to be subtle.

"So you're parents seem pretty accepting of you being trans, that's good!"

Maybe not so subtle, in his defense, he hasn't slept recently. Danny tried to smile at it though but completely failed, just giving up and slouching as he shrugged.

"More like they don't even remember."

So now Tim is concerned and confused, but much to his luck, the tour is over and the Casper students are leaving. He's worried about his new friend, even if they exchanged numbers, so he goes down a rabbit hole. Not only does he find suspicious stuff about this small town that was heavily deleted from many things, but he finds that Danny has a sibling. It's evident to him they're also trans from the few pictures before and after but the sibling's name isn't anywhere to be seen so he tries to dig deeper.

He pauses before going further down though to respond to some of Danny's messages. But his sleep deprived brain decided 'let's just ask'. So he asks a bit of questions about Danny. Like what's his town like? Any other family? Are they fine with you being trans, because he'll totally beat anyone who's not, etc. Danny answers them and in turn asks about the Waynes, mainly because Danny is not entirely convinced Bruce himself isn't weird like Vlad, but he does acknowledge that he's at least not evil.

Eventually Danny offhandedly mentions Jazz is trans to, and Tim being the detective he is is like "huh..." and asks if his parents were accepting of Jazz too. It's a while before he responds but Danny just says;

"They don't remember we are trans...so no problems or anything with it..."

Tim doesn't get the chance to say anything about it as Danny asks about something about him being poly and what his dad and siblings thought. Of course he replied but his mind was also reeling from the fact that Danny's parents literally don't pay attention to their kids enough to not realize both kids are trans.

They keep in touch and Tim puts investigating on the back burner some since while kinds neglectful they seem to be decent enough parents.

He regrets that though as Danny doesn't message him for nearly a month. It worries him enough to put that investigation back to the forefront. Of course he finds osha violation city in the Fenton's house, as well as the actual paranormal activity happening. What concerns him the most is that apparently the town hero, a ghost boy, is missing...from around the same time Danny stopped messaging.

It's a week into trying to find Danny that he gets a message from his number, except it's not Danny. It's Jazz. She asks Tim if Danny had gone to him, she was trying everyone since no one knew where he was. This sparks a big ol search.

Danny meanwhile ended up with a hero (any but Clark or Bats cuz we want some rarer family dynamic, the good juice) after crash landing, most literally, right by em. The hero, I'm thinking Hal or Barry idk, is too busy trying to help this random powerful teenager who was bleeding way too too much to not have some regeneration ability.

After some drama of trying to find Danny, and Jazz, Tucker, Sam, and Tim knowing identities(Danny's included) because Tucker accidentally hacked around and found out, hero parent of Danny shows up with said boy closely in tow to a meeting after their surprise break from league work and Tim just jumps up and doesn't even remember that Danny doesn't know his identity.

Danny panics initially but quickly realizes it's Tim and finally gets back in contact with Jazz and all of his friends/classmates who had most definitely stormed a GIW lab in his absence. The league is confused and it's a whole mess before Danny trauma dumps on em and Tim as RR just admits this all started because he saw the trans pin.

My brain is rambling too much for this now, but basically lotta trauma, the league appalled and Danny getting a good family after everything is settled. His classmates so visit him and Tim, Kon, and him date because I feel like Danny would meet him, learn he's a clone (after being very gay for a moment) and just be like "heck yeah, my younger sister is a clone" which also caused more panic but like gay trio.

I'm gonna go sleep now, enjoy the angst and randomness this blurb is-

Remember these are free to take and do whatever you please with them, it's just random ideas/thoughts that I have but don't plan to do anything with for the foreseeable future!

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc comics #ghost king danny #dc #dcmultiverse #tim drake #dash baxter #jazz fenton #jasmine fenton #I just think that their parents not remembering because they still have one son one daughter and not realizing it swapped is so angsty #like #that's almost worse than them not accepting because hey #they just don't care enough to even notice nor remember #they use the right names and pronouns sure but only because they already sometimes forget their kids names when they've been focused #tim is horrified by this #and he hyper focuses on stuff so he KNOWS you can still pay attention to others #it's like a bare minimum and they still failed it so he's baffled #then Danny goes missing #and Tim is like “welp- fuck” and chaos ensued #meanwhile Danny was crying in a blanket with a cup of hot coco with his resident new parent rubbing his back #it's the spiderman meme when Danny shows up with hero #and the whole halfa thing was already a mess to explain #so he just trauma dumped instead if explaining it to the league #didn't help much but hey at least they couldn't all adopt him #tim and kon dating him was just a lil spice and happy to the idea #also the class being chill with danny was some good spice #cuz I love dash having standards and just befriending danny after a bit because it was just teenage angst things

[atlaswav]

METAMORPHOSIS ☾

INFO: 2246 words, kafka x gn! reader SYNOPSIS: The threads of fate were never to be interpreted by the senses of mortals, and you pay the price. An extravagant cage, or a slave to destiny? You play your part like the puppet you learned to be, with Kafka serving as your lesson to maintain the realm between art and the artist. You, the Frankenstein's monster of fate's mistakes, and Kafka, the one who sees everlasting beauty in you. WARNINGS: uh nothing really except angst ig and REALLY FUCKING DENSE PROSE good luck reading allat bc i'm not reading what I wrote again LMFAO. this is gonna flop bc it's too complicated rip AUTHOR'S NOTE: NOT PROOFREAD BC ITS CURRENTLY 3:30AM AND IM DELIRIOUS. This was intended to be a weird character study but it turned self indulgent REAL quick i hate it sofuckingmuch YIPEEE!!! likes and reblogs are appreciated i'll give u a fat sloppy kiss.

Art governs the world, as Kafka says.

The world is governed by its artists. Formed by the hands of sculptors, decorated with grandeur by its musicians and dancers, yet art runs far deeper than these meticulous displays. Art is present in all. It allows life to be breathed into the mundane, allows men to understand their souls – the contours of their being, the purity and refinement of their essence. It allows for the soul to become honed as sharp and pedantic as one’s craft, etching the outline of an artist’s life.

Art allows man to discover and become familiar with themselves, and hence becomes a vehicle for all those yearning for greatness to have their wishes fulfilled. Thus, art is mistaken as a noble practice, each misshapen line of a paintbrush burdened with the virtue it cannot promise. Yet art may not be as noble as what meets the eye, with its breath shaping each whisper of life. As there is an art to all, there can only be balance. Shrouded with the curse of mortality and death, the act of stealing life becomes an art as well. Dark and taboo, but an art nonetheless. 

Killing becomes an art, each spray of blood the artist’s signature, each cut, bruise and scar carrying the same reverberations as the splash of paint on a blank canvas. It could never be replicated, even if the artist’s eye was the most honed at their craft. Done right, killing could be beautiful, and death could be revered. It was a mantra for all she did – Kafka, the absurd devotee to all that was beautiful, perpetually in pursuit of beauty and purpose. 

Beauty, she thought, was the hierophant of art in itself. Though this may present a causality dilemma in all art mirroring beauty and beauty ever present in art, she believed that beauty would reign triumphant. To her, it was a sanctimonious practice that would rule out of presence alone, but instead of interpreting the beauty of the world, she craved to find beauty for herself. Selfish to no end, but what were humans if not selfish?

Many thought she was mad. That her self imposed quest was futile, and she’d return tasting bitter disappointment sickly on her tongue. Her self imposed quest was woven into her being, the thread that perpetuated her fate and directed her to Elio. The thread that gloriously pulled her towards you. 

Were you art, or the artist? Were you the creator, or the created? The all knowing maker or the grotesquely beautiful creation? She couldn’t tell. It was trivial. Did it matter? No, it didn’t. You were beautiful to her – the embodiment of all she believed to ring virtuous and true. Causality dilemma as you may be, you remained unshaken by the wiles of fate.

“How did Elio get you?” were her first words to you. 

Composed of fragments of dreams and broken flesh, you appeared in front of her. Stricken by a plight of existence, but beautiful, still. A Frankenstein's monster of beauty and decay. “He didn’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I came to him.”

Curiosity flashed in those eyes of honeyed wine. “What reason would someone like you have to enslave yourself to fate?”

In turn, you smiled at her. “Fate will tell, will it not?”

Fate strung its threads across your body in a pattern of knots so ravishingly complex. Your fate, ambiguous to all but Elio, it seemed, wrapped around you in the most tragic and delightful way, she couldn’t resist tangling herself with you; tracing her gloved hands along your bindings, losing herself in the rumination of possibility. The rumination that she once would’ve scoffed at for being so wishful. 

You didn’t know what you did to her.

“Is it time already?” she rose from her position, glancing down at the unconscious man beside you, oblivious to your presence. Blade was barely conscious, drifting in and out of the hypnotic state Kafka had induced on him. 

“Looks like it. Elio’s never wrong.” you reply.

“Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be? Did Elio mention anything about danger?”

Her laugh is musical. “The trailblazer hasn’t met you yet.”

“I’m excited to make their acquaintance, then, if they’re as interesting as you suggest.”

Kafka smiled, slipping through the doorway of the makeshift abode with a fleeting glance. Fleeting glances, furtive touches, whispered words. That’s what the thin bond stringing you together consisted of. Neither of you let the other linger for too long, so help the stain that you’d inevitably leave. You were the substance she wanted to get blissfully drunk on, yet you were far too beautiful to squander on such menial things. In turn, she was the overture that haunted your dreams, yet disappeared once the score came into view.

Some things were best left at a distance, the careful and prudent restriction promising preservation. 

With a laugh to none but yourself, you followed her from a distance just beyond arm’s reach. You realised you would follow her to whatever end she led you to. You’d let her lead you to desolation, because you trusted she’d restore what she called your ‘beauty’ once again. You trusted her cunning eye – the eye of the artist – to watch you become derelict, and to salvage what could be saved from the shards of your remains. 

The trailblazer had the same eyes that Kafka had – willful and shrewd – yet determination sat at the forefront instead of the tinge of deadly curiosity Kafka held. 

“Who are you?” the trailblazer questioned, eyes flickering between the two of you. Two questions spent, one left.

“I used to be a knight of beauty.” a faint glimmer in her eye as she smiles towards you. “We worshipped Idrila, the Aeon of Beauty. We vowed to guard their beauty with the sword, but one day they suddenly disappeared.”

The trailblazer appeared to be conflicted, gaze darting back and forth between the two of you. “And you?”

“I am the interpreter of the cosmos.” Kafka’s amusement is undeniable. Her lie doesn’t escape you as you weave a web with the string she provided. Playing her game as intended. “The stars ordain their prophecy, and I interpret them into coherent events that mortals are able to comprehend.”

The trailblazer says nothing. The best lies are moulded from dregs of the truth, as she’d taught you.

“What’s your last question?” Kafka asks. 

“What are you two?”

Very few times you’ve seen Kafka taken by surprise. The woman blinks. 

“Kafka is an artist.” you respond in her stead as she scoffs at your answer.

“Then you are the wanderer above the sea of fog.”

Full of riddles, always. She could never give anyone a straight answer. Why would she? She was the artist, forever touched by the calamitous effect of your being.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” The trailblazer frowns.

Kafka laughs in delight. If you could store the sound in your heart, surviving from its pure, unbridled mirth, you would. “Everything leads to the answer eventually. There’s only the illusion of being lost.”

“Quit being cryptic.”

“The future is a labyrinth. Divergences are merely inducements. There is only one true path. You only have to know how to look.” A smile plays across her lips as she gestures towards you. “And I have my looking glass.”

—

If beauty was present in all art, you failed to find the art in deceit. Morally, its falsehoods nurtured the true nature of humankind, yet the guilt that followed in tandem with this practice ate away at the disposition like rotting flesh in the maw of a rabid beast. 

Elio had revealed his plans to you – your script to act out – and you’d shied away in cowardice. Or could it be seen as self preservation? Where was the line between cowardice and preservation? Surely, you walked across it with fear of teetering to one side. There’d been no deceit on your part until this very moment, the illusion of what you’d had finally facing the denouement. 

You so desperately wanted to continue living this beautiful farce with Kafka, but there were other plains written in the stars. 

“Kafka?”

“I’m here.”

“Tell me a lie.” 

“A lie?” 

You frowned, gazing up at the stars. The infinite, perpetually changing stars that voiced their teachings to you with whispers unheard to ears but your own. If it was in Elio’s script, you’d play your part, no matter the height of the fall. Such was your deal with Elio – your shackles in exchange for an extravagant cage. “Yes.”

“Why would I do that?” she asks, leaning against the railing of the balcony. Another city, another task to fulfil via Elio’s requests. Did they ever end? It was a foolish question to ponder. 

“Your lies are pretty. I could get blissfully drunk on them.” your eyes reflect the cosmos in them, and as Kafka leans in closer, you shut your eyes. 

“What do you mean?”

You laugh, palm outstretched in front of you as if to gather the galaxy in your fist and force the fate of the world out of its grasp. “You lie so often that it’s the only constant I can find, anymore.”

She pauses. She’s sure you can feel her body tense beside you. “...Don’t tell me.”

“Lie to me, Kafka.” you close your eyes, leaning against her shoulder as the stars gaze down at you. She remains still. 

“I can’t. Did Elio put you up to this?”

“Why not?” Your avoidance of her question only makes her even more wary. 

“I’ll feel guilty.” she pouts, her light tone an attempt to alleviate the atmosphere, but you turn to face her completely. 

“Kafka, I’m in love with you.”

Silence hung rigid in the air as the stars sang their lonely hymn, their finale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Kafka, the picture of stoicism – the unmoving sword in the stone – was torn. Her facade of cold, amused indifference had shattered, leaving a demeanour that betrayed her emotions, now written clear across her face. You turned away. 

Two stars, born of the same nebula, yet suffering far different fates from one another. Your star burnt far too brightly, while hers shone with cold light that you relished in. Your star would soon wink out, your death a destruction unbeknownst and insignificant to many, yet cataclysmic for one.

Deceit was necessary, or so Elio had told you, for Kafka’s resolve to steel. For her to become the character he needed to execute his script.

So, you supposed, as there was an art in Kafka’s beautiful lies, there was beauty in deceit. A beauty of sacrifice to set Kafka’s beauty etched into time, while you burned away in the depths of history. 

The wanderer above the sea of fog, and the artist that could only appraise its beauty. The two realms far too separate for the artist to reach out and stop the hand that tore the canvas with a blunt knife. 

“Was that a lie?” Kafka asks, voice distant as the look in her eyes. 

“I couldn’t lie to you.” the words spill out like a wound torn open. Rehearsed, and performed like the slave to destiny you became. It repulsed you. You wanted to rip your tongue out. 

“You can’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do this.” she meets your eyes. Pleading, almost. The Kafka you know never pleads – but the thread between you is stretched taut, and the three fates lie in wait. 

“Tell me a lie, please.” you step closer. She steps back, expression carefully blank. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you despise the air I breathe. Tell me that the beauty that you see in me is unfading.”

“Stop.” her gloved hands rest on your shoulders. Delicate, as if you’re a statue that she sculpted herself. 

“Kafka, please.”

“Enough.” She releases her hold, turning away from you. “Goodnight.”

The art must be separated from the artist, or so Elio had claimed. You were the grotesque creation, and she was the artist with unbridled curiosity. Your mere touch was poisonous to her, Elio claimed – he claimed many things, and you wanted to scream at him, to tear the tapestry of destiny apart with your bare hands, but he gave you a choice. 

Though a life as destiny’s slave was demanding, life as an orchestrator of the most beautiful catastrophe sounded far more enticing – morbidly so. 

Kafka was the artist in perpetual pursuit of all things beautiful, and you could think of no entity more beautiful than the tragic story of your own satirical tragedy. 

Elio handed you the options, and you tugged at the thread lined with gold, cajoled with fables of love and artistry. The world fell silent around you as you stepped into the role of the artist, commanding the orchestra with a baton of bones. Cold, unfeeling. Such should be the shape of your soul, as your art demanded. 

Art aids mankind in discovering the contours of their soul. Yours just so happened to be the missing star in the sky. A tale of destruction unknown to any other except the star burning blindingly bright beside you, mourning. 

You, the monster of art, pressed too close to the artist, and now you were marked with lacerations none could erase. Kafka’s sword found its mark through your heart, and blood sprayed onto the floor in a flourish of red. The artist’s signature. 

“I can’t lie to you anymore.” 

And so the star burned brighter.

written by @atlaswav , published 17th of January 2024

#honkai star rail #hsr #kafka #kafka hsr #kafka x reader #kafka honkai star rail #hsr kafka #kafka x you #wlw #YAY!!! #gn reader #fem reader #angst #character study #??? #this shit so fucking dense that i'm DROWNING IN IT what the fuck is wrong with #kafka brainrot #MOMMY #what #i will want to delete this after posting it #i want sleep #i need sleep #i want kafka so bad #☁️. writing

[circeyoru]

{Collection of Overlords} Trick's Design

Everyone! Meet Trickster, the (somewhat) opposite of you!

If you had yet to read Part 7, go to MASTERLIST and read that first. This is a major spoil for that part.

Name: Trickster (aka Trick as per your nickname to them)

Alias: Noir

Title: The Big G | God | Lord

Status: The True Ruler of Heaven | Supreme Being of the Heaven Realm

Species: The Holy Entity | Symbol of Angelic | Everything & Anything

Appearance: Basically an opposite height of yours, like if you’re tall they’re short and if you’re pretty average height then they are too. Has short black hair and pitch black eyes (think Cannibals’ eye feature). Wears baggy and causal clothing, think long sleeves that covers the hands, they love waving that in your face. Does not wear any accessories because they hate those human creation. Has a pair of silver wings with golden highlights

Prounoun: They/them

Personality: 

“Nothing’s decided, nothing’s fated. Nothing’s anything really. Where’s the fun is picking or thinking a reason for anything. Don’t put your assumptions on us Rulers. You’ll only get hurt. I don’t mind watching though.”

Trick was once kind and sweet, living up to the expectation and painting of what the humans think of them. At the time, you were truly the ‘evil’ one and you do call them by ‘Noir’ as it was a name you two picked for each other after a colour that was believed to suit the other. Like how they saw light in you, you saw dark in them. And you were right. Noir was the dutiful God that was merciful and forgiving to humans, they watched over the living and Heaven while you were down in Hell with the souls of the damned. Rarely would Noir call you for a little meet up to pass the time. The changed them was the humans that committed evil time and time again, in their rage and disgust, they only saw the ugly side of the world that they so loved. Noir found it more pleasing to let the souls go to Hell that nurture them so that they would join them in Heaven. Those filth weren’t worthy in Noir’s mind.

Soon, Noir offered for you to mark where the souls go instead of only them judging and you dealing with the directions and torture to the evil ones. You changed and called them ‘Trick’ after that. From then on, Trick found pleasure in toying with the souls and saw them as their toys instead of living beings. Heaven had it worsen when things were done without understanding, all the high angels can do was listen to the ‘divine message’ that Trick gives as a prank. Just to see how far their ‘beloved’ angels would go. They have a dark interest and fascination with evil and his personality developed to match. Trick is indifferent to suffering of others that doesn’t interest them and is keen on causing chaotic and disorder as long as they get a laugh out of it.

However, Noir and you were once kept distanced from each other and he feels guilty for it but he puts his duties as the godly holy being above catching in on you while you’re in Hell. Now, as Trick changed and all that, they value your friendship and companionship with them above all else. The meetings like the one in Part 7 are more frequent and prolonged because Trick understands that you’re the only one that can match them and stay by their side without scaring for a terrible change. The way that you didn’t care what image they put up was another factor. With that being said, Trick bares some level of envy at your collection, especially your Overlord favourites. That was the reason why Trick killed you with holy powers and put both of you into a madatory slumber to heal.

Abilities / Powers: 

Immortality: It is physically, mentally, and spiritually impossible to kill Trick. Unless the user is the owner of curse based powers. Even after killing Trick, all they need to do is wait for time to pass and their body will be reformed so they can move and do everything again

Holy Powers: A higher form of light powers

Omnipotent: As a True Ruler and Supreme Being of a realm, Trick is all-powerful but has weaker curse and darkness-based powers and abilities

Omniscient: As a True Ruler and Supreme Being of a realm, Trick is all-knowing of what happens all around. Knowledge is at their disposal if Trick wants to know, but they rarely do because they view that there’s nothing interesting to know

Omnipresent: As a True Ruler and Supreme Being of a realm, Trick is present everywhere (but Hell) at all times. This ability is more commonly used when it was their Noir phase since Trick doesn’t like being everywhere at all times

Realm Travelling: Trick can travel between the Heaven Realm and Earth Realm, but can never enter Hell

Soul Marking: Trick can mark a still living human soul and judge whether they go to Heaven or Hell, now they mark souls with you so he only marks those that are allowed to Heaven instead of both realms

Flight: Trick has a pair of wings that can give them flight to travel to wherever they pleases. Shown to be able to float with it opened and even fly from high up in the sky to down onto the streets

Death: Trick can cut a human’s life short with a wave of their hand or wing

Teleportation: Trick can teleport themselves and other beings with them to wherever they please without any incarnation or action needed

Fun Facts: 

Trick’s favourite colour is black, that’s why you picked ‘Noir’ as Trick’s name in the beginning. However, ‘noir’ also means a genre of crime film or fiction characterized by cynicism, fatalism, and moral ambiguity in the dictionary which they are later on fascinated by when they changed personalities. In contrast, Trick hates the colour gold or yellow

Trick is the more childish and unhinged one between you and them

Some time to time, Trick descends to Earth and ‘haunt’ places to scare humans. They find the ghost hunting videos and ‘ghost hunters’ a funny concept

Trick hates ‘shiny rocks’, basically gemstones, and gold, namely anything that humans see as valuable and makes into jewelry. The only exception is silver because that’s what they picked as your nickname

When Trick gets bored, they whine to you telepathically. If you shut them off, they’ll give random and harmless ‘divine messages’ to the angels and have them fly around trying something impossible and Trick gets a laugh out of it

One can get Trick to eat anything if there’s cream on it. Trick can eat frosting and whipcream without getting bored of it

Trick can’t stand spicy food, it reminds them too much of the sun and being under it

(what kind of other fun facts do you think will fit Trick or Noir?)

Note: How you like this character? Oh right, there isn't a definite design for Trick/Noir as of right now, so you can go ahead with the drawing and doodles if you like~

Circe Y.

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203 @hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro @yourdoorisunlocked @clavelina @jono723 @cursedcattalastor @an-idyllic-novelist @flamiohotman2024 @rea-grace @myromanempiree @veroneverleft @lousypotatoes @crazysuityouth @jellyedkazoo @wat4r @kiraisastay @thealienartist @chefysawesomeideas @wtvbabes @patronizingbitch @koshi-kazu @craftyperfectiontragedy @scr4luv @chrollobb @mysterypotatoink @callmefe

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