it's pulsating

levels 1-30 of sonic adventure 2: go fast shoot stuff find gems

final level of sonic adventure 2: as the result of a failsafe left by a long-dead scientist intended to exterminate humanity in the event of his execution, you have awoken a colossal bionic salamander from deep stasis, an abomination of ungodly science and alien DNA, spawned from the pursuit of immortality. it has engulfed the hull of a long-deserted orbital space colony within its pulsating, hungry flesh, and assumed direct control of its propulsion systems, causing it to fall from orbit. you must share the ancient power of the colony’s chaos shrine with your nemesis to go super saiyan and fly out into space, dodging the eggs it’s constantly releasing into its own orbit as you repeatedly impact the dying kaiju’s sickly buboes to kill it so you can use your combined power to teleport the space station back into deep orbit before you are burned to death by atmospheric friction as the three of you hurtle towards the planet’s surface.

postgame: weird lil pudding babies

You gave me autumn in an envelope.
The rich light burned within my bones like gold.
It sent the sun down with a vivid shout.
The air pulsated with its after glow.
—  Sandra Fowler, You gave me autumn


AUTHORS: @2moms-0fucks @piecesofscully

RATING: Teen-Mature


NOTES: Chapter One // Chapter Two 

Trigger Warning for potentially disturbing medical imagery related to children, and angst galore.

SUMMARY: “Tonight as he lay there in the guest bed with the old ratty comforter and lumpy pillows, he yawns as he listens to Dana and Mulder’s voices below him telling a story from their lifetime before.  It isn’t sadness he would rid himself of, he thinks to himself as his parents run through his sleepy mind.  It’s utter disappointment.”

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anonymous asked:

hey i thought you should know that the egg gif you just posted in response to that ask is transparent, and that tumblr desktop has an option where you can see posts in the colors of people's blogs, which i have activated. therefore, when i first saw the egg gif, it looked like a vaguely threatening pulsating yellow blob on a royal purple background. i have nothing against your blog, i LOVE YOU A LOT, i just wanted to inform you that it was startling. congrats, you bring excitement to my life <3


Originally posted by everythigisyellow

anonymous asked:

Uh, Mr. Host, if you don't mind, could you please introduce us to some of your animal friends? Would you also mind if I sketched them based off your descriptions? I'm kinda feeling down and drawing animals always makes me feel better so. It's okay if you don't want to though!

(Feel free to draw the fur (and feather) (and scale) babies!)

Host holds up his little orange kitten. “His name is Fitzgerald, and he likes to chase things and run around through the library and bump into people.” Host tickles the kitten’s soft belly, and it paws at his finger, trying to bite him playfully. Host laughs and set the kitten down. Fitz scampers off.

Next he gives a long, low whistle, and a flutter of wings can be heard just before a small raven sloppily lands on the Host’s shoulder with a squawk. “Hah, this is Annabel Lee, Host’s raven. She’s young and still working on her landings, but she is improving every day!” Host reaches up and brushes his fingers down the bird’s back, and she fluffs her feathers a bit before flying off again.

Finally Host gestures to a drawer of his desk that is opened where a little dragon sleeps, curled into a ball. Its faint glow pulsates in time with its quiet snores, and Host whispers, “This is Lewis Carroll. He works very hard to lead visitors in and out of the library, and when he gets tired he likes to nap in this drawer.” Host looks back up at you, very proud of his little pets and tugs nervously at his bandages. “But those are all of the Host’s small friends.” He laughs a bit. “For now, anyway…”

Across Cyber Space (m)

Pairing: Taehyung x CamGirl!Reader 
Genre: SMUT / some fluff / some angst
Word Count: 9.2k
Summary: It’s normal to have lots of admirers in your line of work, but the user strawberrylover312 is not simply one of them. As your relationship builds so does your doubt about him being too perfect to be true. After all, it’s impossible to find true love across cyber space, right?
Author’s Note: This took entirely too long to write but it’s my first time writing smut so it was kinda weird. NO actual intercourse between the reader and Taehyung, but I hope the phone sex makes up for it. Thankfully, this finished on time for our sunshine’s birthday. Enjoy!

“Hey, guys!” a smile spreads across your face as you speak to the camera only dressed in a big oversized sweater. You wave happily before leaning forward to check your laptop screen lying in front of you on the carpeted floor.

“There’s already 100 of you online tonight, have you been missing me too much?” a teasing laugh tinkers around the room whilst you’re reading the comments popping up beside the screen.

Hopeful28: You’re the only thing I look forward to every week

“Aww, that’s sweet of you! But I’m sure the other girls are just as amazing, I mean did you see Strawberry the other day? I’m getting hot and bothered just thinking about it,” you shyly admit to your viewers.

Truth be told, you hadn’t seen Strawberry’s stream but you can always rely on your best friend to deliver some steamy delight on camera that you’re able to tell your audience the little lie. And quite frankly, it would be pretty weird for you to watch your best friend get herself off, no matter under what circumstance, so you avoid watching her live streams.

Tugging on the fabric of your pullover, you shift your sitting position to another one where you’re able to grab a small package lying behind the camera. Purposely, you arch your back just a bit more to give your viewership a good look at your pert behind, its existence the reason why your name on Forbidden Fruit is ‘Peach’.

“One of you lovelies, namely user peachesandcream, sent me this little gift. I wanted to open it together because the more the merrier, am I right?”

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How Jungkook would react to sex toys

The bed dips suddenly under something’s weight and a fresh, soapy smell fills the room.

“Jimin?” you call groggily, instantly recognizing the smell.

“Ha ha,” says Jungkook sarcastically as scoots under the covers and pulls you close. His hair is still damp and smells like your flowery shampoo.

“Not even a little bit convinced?” you ask, nuzzling into his neck.

“Not even vaguely,” he replies, his arms squeezing you tight against his body. “If you’d said another name, maybe. But definitely not Jimin.”

You laugh and press him tighter to you, never wanting to let go.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you say into his neck. “But how is it that you are home a full day early?”

“A lot of rushed deadlines and a lot more luck,” he says, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair.

The two of you lapse into silence, Jungkook steadily stroking you hair. You can almost hear his heart beating through his skin and your own heartbeat feels slow and painful at the thought of having him so close to you again.

In time you’ll remind him that this time, as all times before, you had missed him terribly. He would let out a tinkling laugh and tell you how much he missed you. He’d be exhausted, but he’d makes sure to plant a few sleepy kisses on you before falling asleep with his arms still around you.

You open your mouth to tell him how much you missed him when he suddenly says, “Urgh, what is that?”

He slides one arm off of you and reaches between your bodies to yank something out from under him. As he pulls it up you hear it spring to life in his hand.

“Oh my god,” you say, laughing loudly.

A look of heart-stopping puzzlement crosses Jungkook’s face as he pulls the vibrator out from under the covers. For a second the room is filled with nothing but its pulsating sound.

“Er, yes,” you say after a minute, avoiding his eyes, your face flushed. “I’ll just… relieve you of that.”

You reach out to take the vibrator but Jungkook pulls his hand out of your reach.

You look up to meet his eye and see that they have become dark and mischievous.

“So this is what you’ve been doing while I’ve been away?” he asks with a tut, turning the vibrator off.

“Well,” you say, trying not to laugh. “It was either this or Jimin.”

Jungkook laughs and presses back down on top of you. “Good choice,” he says, lowering his mouth to kiss you. His tongue moves slowly in and out of your mouth and your hand dips under his shirt to whisper across his back.

“Did you use it tonight?” Jungkook asks, pulling back slightly and letting his lips brush over yours as he spoke. You nod, your lips aching as they brush lightly over his.

“What…”Jungkook trails off and his tongue darts out to trace your bottom lip. A shiver scuttles up your body and comes to rest in your core. “What were you thinking off when you used it?”

“You,” you reply, letting your tongue flick over his bottom lip too.

“What was I doing?” Jungkook asks, his voice in a whisper. You feel one of his hands grope along your thigh for the hem of your nightshirt. When he finds it he slips his hand under and rests his palm on your upper thigh. You can feel his thumb is frustratingly close to your centre but his hand stays still on your thigh.

“There was some touching,” you say, looking up at him. You resist the urge to move your leg to jostle his fingers closer. “A lot of licking. A lot of fucking.”

Jungkook swallows hard. “In that order?” he asks.

You shake your head and run a finger over his lips. “Sometimes in that order, sometimes not.”

“That’s a lot to think about in one sitting,” Jungkook says, a smile on his lips. “Slow TV night?”

“The slowest,” you reply with a sigh.

Jungkook laughs and his hand finally moves from you thigh and a finger dips beneath your underwear.

“Since you spent so much time thinking about me doing all those wonderful things,” he says, pressing his finger to your core and rubbing gently. “I think it’s only fair that I do my best to bring your vision to life.”

“Hold on a second there, kid,” you say, smiling up at him and resisting the urge to grind yourself onto his finger. “I didn’t say I was thinking of you doing all that to me.” You lean forward and pull him into a kiss. The pressure of his finger on your core increases and you bite back a moan. “I was thinking about doing all of that to you.”

Originally posted by dream-bts

Masterpost: How BTS would react to sex toys 

The Earthworm

Prompt: A huge worm bursts from the ground and catches you off guard. You fall back; the breath is knocked out of you. The worm’s heavy body pins you down and what you THINK is its head shoves past your lips. Something jiggly is forced down your throat; you can do nothing but swallow the indeterminate flow pumped into you and try to breathe. When you come to, the worm is gone and your jeans have popped open around a stuffed, squirmy belly. You hiccough and a little earthworm falls into your palm.    

First time submitter here.  I hope you like it, Anon.


You couldn’t have asked for a better day. Both of Tenarus 4’s suns shine cheerfully in the azure sky with only a scattered handful of puffy clouds to break up the view of nearby galaxies glittering faintly through the atmosphere. Leaving Earth was the one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, but the promise of free land to those willing to cultivate it tempted you away as it had so many others. Safe and extremely fertile, Tenarus 4 held the promise of a good life. And you were more than happy to take a chance on it.

It’s only been a few days since you made planetfall, and now that you’ve gotten your prefab up and all of your belongings safely stored, it’s time to get a feel for the land so that you can start planning out your farm. That’s why you rose at first light, pulling on your favorite pair of jeans and buttoning up an old flannel shirt before heading out to explore your new homestead.

A lush forest surrounds the open fields of your property, bordering the grassy plains with the vibrant blues and greens of local flora. Someday soon you’ll have to take a hike back there and see what wonders lie hidden beneath the canopy. For now, however, you’ll stick to potential fields and areas that might need fencing off. The next few months were bound to be a bustle of activity as you start getting everything into place, and you won’t need any new adventures to distract you.

A curious spot far from the house and on the very periphery of your vision catches your attention not long after you start, and you head off in that direction to find out what’s going on. From afar the terrain seems extremely uneven, and as you get closer you realize that it is because this area is covered in large, freshly disturbed mounds of soil. They almost remind you of the little worm mounds you always found in your father’s garden while you were growing up, though these are much bigger and obviously not created by any worm you’ve ever seen.

It’s strange, and when you finally reach the place, you give one of the piles a little kick with your boot. The soft, damp soil scatters easily. “Yeah, it’s just dirt,” you say aloud to yourself. “But how did it get here? This is just weird.”

The ground in front of you suddenly erupts in answer to your question, the force of the explosion knocking you flat on your back. Your mouth hangs open to gasp weakly for oxygen as clods of dirt fall around you like hail, the impact leaving you momentarily stunned and struggling to catch your breath.

There weren’t supposed to be any aggressive fauna in this area. What the hell is that?

Looming over your prone form as the dust settles is an earthworm, rust red and segmented, easily twice as long as you are tall and as thick as your arm at either end with a much bulkier middle. The sight is almost comical, at least until it drops down on top of you and traps you in place. It’s denser than it looks and its weight forces what little air you’d managed to obtain right back out of your lungs, but before you can push it away, a pointed end that you can only guess to be the creature’s head is unceremoniously shoved between your lips.

The taste of dirt slams into your tongue at the same time you finally gather enough of your wits to grab at the worm and yank it back. Unfortunately for you the worm isn’t letting itself go anywhere; its muscles are firm and flex solidly beneath your hands as it pushes itself even deeper, the worm’s bristled head forcing itself over your tongue and towards the back of your throat.

You’re frantic now, slapping, kicking, arching up against the creature, but to no avail. You don’t dare bite in fear that it would break your jaw, or worse. You can barely breathe around the worm’s girth, and you have no idea what it’s trying to do to you, at least not until you feel its body pulsate and swell even larger in your mouth, rhythmically squeezing something gooey out of its orifice.

The warm, gelatinous mass has nowhere to go but down your esophagus.

Pinned as you are to the ground, you have no choice but to gulp it down, desperately trying to steal quick breaths around the worm’s body between batches of the stuff.

You don’t know what it is giving you or why.

You don’t want to swallow it, but you don’t want to drown or suffocate in it, either.

You can feel tears dripping down the sides of your face, fear squeezing around your heart and clenching your chest like a vise. Already starved for air, you quickly succumb to the specks of darkness invading your vision, the worm still pumping something down your throat.


The light of the suns has faded to a soft glow on the horizon when your eyelids finally flutter open again. You’re alone, lying on your back in the grass with the dirt mounds still at your side. Everything is a little hazy. Perhaps your memories from earlier are all the result of a rather vivid dream brought on by something weird that you’d eaten. Perhaps you just found a nice spot to lie down in and take a quick nap after your walk. You have to believe that it’s true.

It takes you a few minutes to get your bearings. Your stomach is audibly groaning and gurgling, but you don’t feel hungry. If anything, you feel… full. Too full. One of your hands raise to rub soothingly over your belly, but instead of the flat, slightly muscular stomach you sported when you woke up this morning, your hand finds a taut, round dome.

You gasp, hauling yourself upright and moaning a little at the unexpected difficulty of the task. Your flannel shirt is strained tightly over what looks to be a belly in the fifth or sixth month of pregnancy, most buttons barely holding the fabric together while one had come unfastened to reveal your bulging navel. Your jeans have completely given up the fight, and you can feel them lying wide open beneath the mound of your distended belly.

The worst part is that not only are you full of something, but that something seems to be alive and moving. You can feel whatever the worm injected you with squirming and wriggling around, and the bulge of your belly visibly shifts and rolls. You’ve never felt so bloated before in your life, your stomach stretched well beyond its normal capacity. What’s in there? How will it get out? How will you get back to the house? You’re not sure that you can even stand in this state.

Suddenly your diaphragm lurches, surprising you with an intense hiccup. “Hic!” You instinctively clasp a hand over your mouth as only seconds later another one hits, and then another, your belly jerking with the force of them. “Hic…hup!”

Something tickles your throat.

You cough and then hiccup into your hand again. When you drop your hand away, you find a small earthworm lying in your palm, a miniature clone of the creature which violated you earlier. It’s covered in clear goo and tries to undulate across your skin. You toss it away, disgusted.


Another tickle, another cough, another hiccup, another worm. The internal spasms seem to rile your unwelcome guests, making them squirm and writhe around in your gut even more than before. Your stomach burbles loudly, just as miserable as you are.

You’re not sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or cry.

The next hiccup brings up two worms. Hopefully it’s just your imagination that they seem a tiny bit bigger than the last few.

You have a feeling that it’s going to be a long night.

  • pea-sized brain: The ecological limits and liberatory potential of technology are absolutely vital issues. However "civilization" is not a coherent or useful concept and declaring opposition to it in the abstract is simply an inversion of the dominant western narrative, when we ought to reject its premises entirely.
  • massive pulsating brain: Civilization is Good Actually
  • 12-dimensional brain transcending the limits of time and space, at one with the Godhead: You want to jack off in the woods lol

I spent butterfly youth fearing hell
Now I fear that there is simply nothing
I used to write poems about love
now I finger-paint with the emptiness
That which cannot be named, undeserving, unspoken, undressed
Gun shots cloudy moon wearing his watchful snicker
Fox limps scatterbrained tail quiver
bird sings that he’s forgotten how to sleep
the explorer immerses into his ancient ritual
Bidding thee a taste
of warm hero’s milk
turns the
Saliva-womb into salvation
How many years can unwind youth spent in empty chapels?
Chasing bats inside your mouth like cavities
Tongue slick conscious tick sputtering insects
I’m not sure who I write for
Me or you or it
I expel the demon and name him we are intimate
He reaches in, I take off his coat,  
Peel back the corset of my soul-lace
And he peels the hair against my face behind my ears to whisper
memento vivere
memento mori
remember you must live
remember you must die
You are healing
Life is a wound
And its lessons are bruises
Rub your scar memory like an antique genie until your body absorbs it
Rectify reincarnated calligraphy until your soul can recycle it
Somewhere beneath the ocean is the universe,
pulsating with its spectral gills
somewhere at the bottom the ocean breathes out
as liquid unknown manifests into an empty space
where the fish become stars,
so its seems
that we are calling upon mermaids instead of constellations
and that telescopes are fishing lore
And the children hold their swords of moss like sparklers
Counting wishes, turning moths into fairies with their magic
Behold! Apparition dimensions complete the bleeding eclipse
Behold! The death of one being into the other!
What name will you give each chapter?
Eyewide Infancy Interlude! Adolescent August Memory! Lord Treering Epitaph!
Behold! The masks from our fossilized galleries are unraveling!
Behold! Galvanizing seablood over human hypnosis in starbrowed awe
Behold! Navigate beyond the question
Of what’s beyond the horizon
Because what lurks beyond the seafoam
Or an apocalypse of celestial origami
Rests also in the world behind your forehead
If you are a scientist close your eyes
If you are a teacher close your eyes
If you are a mathematician close your eyes
a musician close your eyes
If you are a being of beating chest chorus machinery
Close them
Lovers, close them
Poets, close them
Dreamers, close them
Child, close them as you close your toy chest of sacred portals
Bleeding egos receiving
Sociopaths and killers
Mothers and mistress
Close them
Connection is our keeper.
I used to think my anxiety was a ghost
And that if I left the light on long enough it would go away
I sleep now in darkness because I have my dog beside me.
This is my last poem for the unknown
This is the last poem for the myths my mother sold me
This, the last poem for the God I am purging
I cast off my omens for the sea within me
Somehow, now a woman
I have gathered leaves from the perious seasons
after this my cells relinquish their duty
And with them, my fear of you, the sweet unknown
No longer expecting Nothing, but Anything

The First

Warning: Sexual themes are slightly mentioned.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 10,066

Note: A scenario based on perhaps two of the most terrible feelings in the world- loving someone who doesn’t love you back and being loved but not being able to return the favor.


Firsts are always unforgettable.

Simple, fleeting impulses stirring excitement in your heart. Hesitant fingers and the ghost of a grimace as apprehension clouds your mind.

But no matter how many times the film of memories flickers through your mind as you squeeze your eyelids shut to revive the fluttering in your heart of your first roller coaster ride or the terror of having your teeth pulled out for the first time, the excitement sparking your fingertips doesn’t seem to return. Like an old photograph, the vibrant colors have washed away to dim hues and only the faded imprints of fleeting emotions and the ghost of cheery smiles remain.

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Mark of Cain

Word Count: 1282

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, major character death(s), canon divergence, language

A/N: This one…actually hurt. Sorry. Written for Franzi’s @faith-in-dean June challenge. My prompt was “Pain.”

“It’s called the Mark of Cain for a reason! First, you’d kill Crowley. There’d be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you’d have your reason, get it done, no remorse. And then you’d kill the angel, Castiel, now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then! Then would come the murder you’d never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me…”


“No.” I sat bolt upright, covered in cold sweat, throat raw from screaming, both asleep and awake. I stood up, walking to the dungeon door and pounded on it as hard as I could, demanding to be set free. “You can’t just leave me in here! You need me!” It was no use; I was completely alone. Abandoned. They went to stop Metatron without me, knowing it was impossible. I turned to walk back to the bed, stopping when my stomach lurched and I threw up blood, shaking and sweating. I needed to kill. They left me no choice.

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Harvard Gothic

+ There are tourists on the path. They appear every morning and disappear every night. When you walk to class, you can feel the weight of their glassy-eyed stares as you pass by.

+ Your TF reminds you to turn in your essay by midnight. Both of you do not talk about what happens if you don’t. No one ever talks about it.

+ There is music blaring from the room across the hallway. Through a crack in the doorway, you can see vague shadows gyrating across the wall in time with the music. Laughter rings out from inside. You do not remember a room being here before. You do not remember much of anything. In the morning, you wake up in the middle of the Yard. Everyone swears that they’ve never heard of a house called Dunster. When you return to your room, you find the whole building has disappeared. “We are doing renovations,” a grad student explains. You do not know who “we” refers to.

+ You go to office hours, but the professor is not there. In her place is a glowing sphere of light. The other students nod along with its pulsations. You agree as well. It is all starting to make sense now.

+ The lights on the Memorial Church steeple are bright tonight. A shadow scuttles across the white expanse. It looks like it has eight legs. “But of course that would be impossible,” your friend assures you. There is a soul-deep fear in her eyes.

+ As you walk to the Kong, a shuttle passes you by. The lighted sign claims it is going to the Quad, but there are no passengers aboard. In fact, there is no driver aboard.

+ You go to your entryway’s study break. Everyone pretends to eat. There is no food, but there are plenty of cats. “Don’t pet them,” your tutor tells you. He smiles, pulling on the bloody stitches that keep his cheek together. “They can scratch.”

+ Your professor draws the steps of enamine formation on the blackboard in chalk. There is no chalk in his hands. There is no chalk in the room. He is drawing white lines with his finger. He turns to face the class and his elbow crumbles into fine powder. He smiles and his mouth is lined with cracks.

+ When people ask you where you go to college, you tell them “Boston”. You have learned that when you say “Harvard”, people’s eyes glaze over and they stare at you vacantly. This signals that you have managed to activate the self-destruct protocol in their behavioral programming. They will be dead within the week.

+ You go to Lamont Library to study for finals. As you weave through the shelves, you come face-to-face with a grotesque beast, which shambles closer to you on twisted legs. Its hair is matted and greasy, and it groans as it stares up at you with vaguely familiar hazel eyes. You run away, but hours later it comes to you – he was in your Expos class freshman year, wasn’t he?

+ To enter the residence halls requires a small swipe of blood across the door. To eat at the dining hall requires the donation of a small section of skin. To gain access to a more restricted area requires a small part of your firstborn son.

+ You stand at the John Harvard statue, waiting for your friends. The weather is cold and you feel frozen to the core. In fact, you are so frozen that you cannot move. Your muscles refuse to cooperate. Someone touches your foot. “There are three lies,” says a tour guide, pointing at you. “This is not actually a statue of John Harvard.”

The Mad God Human

I take the idea of a god to mean the Hyperself of a thing. Not only the Hyperself of a thing as an individual (Augoeides) but the Hyperself of its kind.

Thus Wolf is god of all wolves in all times and all places, living or dead, male or female. It is not just an individual as a totality but the totality of all individuals of a species of entity, living or “non living”.

So the god of humanity is Human. A living dead chimera of faces past, present and future, from which undulating tendrils of semi autonomous awareness grope and fumble in the third dimension.

Understanding the gibbering chaos that is the Mad God Human allows its own tendrils to behave with a seemingly greater degree of autonomy and self determination (though all fleshy emanations of Human are ultimately still bound to its pulsating mass in higher space).

Human is a mad, masturbating, self mutilating larva. It is the pupating form of the future god Technos. And one day Technos will devour Human like a mother wolf consuming her placenta. Because all gods one day die. And new ones will rise from their corpses.

Copyright Jason Tiffany

Caramelized Nectarines with Maple Coconut Granola. 

It’s been a seriously intense two weeks: I saw an epically moving opera (Dog Days, featuring two completely genius friends: Fellow food blogger Molly Yeh and brilliant college classmate Lauren Worsham-Jarrow), I honored the seventh anniversary of my mother’s death, and, yesterday, I wrote my dad a long celebratory letter of awe and appreciation.

As I bore witness to my personal sadnesses, the country pulsated with its own horrors of injustice and racist terrorism. I found myself looking away, turning into myself, averting my gaze. It’s so much easier not to see the grossness of humanity dying all around us. 

In the kitchen, in times of flux, I seek comfort and simplicity. This dish is great for an elegant breakfast or a simple yet satisfying dessert, capitalizing on the sweetness of fruit in the season. The caramelized fruit is perfect with salty-sweet granola, which, by the by, is an infinitely customizable recipe. 

Read more about how grief takes its shape in my heart, and get the recipe for this dreamy summer dish right here.

Scribble-Doodle: Gift

This was written purely for aesthetics, just a flash of a scene that wouldn’t let go. Can you tell I’ve watched way too many anime in my life? 

Jace reaches out reluctantly to touch the darkly pulsating prism. Its warmth should feel pleasant, instead it makes his skin crawl. For it’s not just a pretty crystalline thing, it’s a prison, and inside… his parabatai, trapped like a fly in amber.

Alec’s lying on his side, one arm slightly outstretched, knees lightly bent, still in the same position in which he landed after he was hit with a violent burst of dark magic, after he tumbled and rolled across the stone floor, and before the malevolent energy imprisoned him inside the shimmering crystal.

“I can still feel him,” Jace says softly, hand still pressed against the surface of the prism, eyes fixed on his parabatai’s pale face. “He’s alive in there. I don’t know how, but he is.” 

Magnus joins him, arms wrapped around himself protectively. He’s exhausted; he hasn’t slept since it happened, desperately trying to find a way - any way - to break the spell. “Yes, Alexander is alive just… trapped in time.”

Jace finally looks away from Alec. “Why did he do it? Why did Asmodeus do this to Alec? He’s a demon, I get that, but we’ve never fought him before, he had no reason to hold a grudge against us.”

Magnus closes his eyes. He seems to crumple, shoulders rounding even more, as the slithery voice of one of the Princes of Hell echoes through his head…

“Now he’ll never leave you, Magnus, he’ll never age and never die… Isn’t it a wonderful gift that I’ve given you? Am I not generous…?”

Magnus swallows, his heart aching, and without opening his eyes, he whispers, “He did it because he’s my father. Asmodeus is my father and he hates me and he wants to destroy everything I love…”