#&& media ( hdtvtits )

[gloryshound-archive]

@realitv​ ( HDTVTITS )  prompted   ❝ This will be my last confession, [ the sound of a car rear ending another at an intersection; followed by the blaring of a horn ] never felt like any blessing. ❞  +  their husband The Law, Himself. 

          𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓'𝐒  𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄  :  𝐈𝐓  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐀  𝐆𝐎𝐃        there  are  no  unfinished  contracts  ,  a  beauty  no  camera  could  comprehend  ,  not  made  for  4k  or  sparkling  hdtv.  a  beauty  that  had  been  instead  captured  in  radio  waves  ,  crackling  audio  ,  blue  ink  for  authenticity.  black  ink  for  notary.  there’s  a  form  in  his  pocket  ,  soft  with  creases  ,  folded  and  refolded  again  ,  worn.  it  sits  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  suit.  above  his  heart.  SOMEWHERE  :  the  copies  sit  ,  in  triplicate  ,  signatures  stark  on  white  paper  and  written  with  shared  hands.  SOMEWHERE  :  there  is  a  ring  on  a  finger  ,  set  with  bone.  SOMEWHERE ,  here  ,  that  ring  sits  snug  against  his  skin  ,  hands  laced  together  ,  the  unrelenting  constancy  of  their  being  woven  together  ,  words  and  images  and  THE  LETTER  OF  THE  LAW.  

something  in  him  flooded  ,  noah’s  ark  awash  in  a  sea  of  drowning  , the  rest  of  the  world  ripped  away  on  a  high  tide  and  all  left  was  him  and  the  plasticine  perfection  of  their  skin.  their  red  ,  red  mouth  censored  once  and  again  ,  and  this  time  not  by  his  hands  not  by  his  mouth.  there  is  a  word  tripping  itself  across their  tongues  ,  to  be  shared  in  the  press  of  lips  and  shared  breath.  WIRES  CROSSED  thoughts  and  words  stuttering  around  a  four  lettered  word.  he  breathes  it  against  their  skin  ,  a  flush  of  air  ,  and  in  the  distance  ,  louder  now  ,  the  sounds  of  sirens  drown  him  out.  AFFECTION  ,  not  unlike  a  knife  shone in  the  light  of  his  eyes  at  the  very  impression  of  the  mass  media’s  smile.  he’d  known  the  cousin  of  affection :  adoration  ,  and  had  turned  it  toward  them  with  abandon.  

ever  gentle  ,  what  it  means  to  know  the  pain  of  too  much  tenderness  ,   the  intolerable  aching  longing  of  it.  HUNGER  FINDS  ITSELF  IN  YOUR  CHEST   ,  bloody  ,  human  ,  he  is  flesh  and  bone  ,  rigidity  against  their  lush  ever  changing  sound  stage.  hunger  makes  itself  known  in  the  clench  of  your  jaw  ,  the  pooling  saliva  under  your  tongue.  BLEEDING  WILLINGLY  ,  JOYFULLY  ,  what  is  love  ,  what  is  a  god  if  not  a  craving  fulfilled  ?  they  are  vibrant  ,  too  bright  ,  a  contrast  so  high  it  hurts  to  look  at  ,  the  humanity  in  them  is  screaming  it’s  loneliness  ,  a  swollen  richly  colored  regret  ,  he  thinks  ,  shut  up  ,  i’m  right  here.  swallows  what  they  offer  ,  the  vulnerability  and  the  concession.  WHAT  IS  YOUR  HAND  IN  MINE  IF  NOT  A  PROMISE  ?  

he  has  tasted  the  harmonies  of  their  throat  ,  the  perfect  machinations  of  them  and  he  is  sick  of  it.  wants  to  be  the  thing  they  scream  when  they  are  hungry  for  love.   to  satisfy  their  hunger.  were  this  an  articulated  scene  ,  PERFECTLY  FOLLOWING  THEIR  SCRIPT  ,  they’d  stand  in  the  rain  ,  both  punishing  and  gentle  in  turns  ,  the  orchestra  would  bloom  with  the  thunder  and  the  lightning.  his  eyes  do  not  stray  from  them  ,  what  is  love  if  not  bearing  witness ?  reaching  out  with  his  gaze  to  affirm  their  existence.  IN  THE  RECKLESS  GRITTY  CHAOS  OF  AN  UNSCRIPTED  WORLD  THEY  ARE  LOVED.  THEY  ARE  SEEN.   to  press  into  their  skin  ,  lips  and  tongue  and  a ghost  of  breath  ,  he  speaks  and  the  sirens  get  louder  ,  swallow  the  sound  of  his  voice.   he  wants  memories  of  this  to  stick  behind  their  teeth  ,  to  wake  them  in  the  dead  of  night.  hungry.  

his  words  the  color  of  a  cautious  dawn  ,  “  an  eventuality  ,  scripted.  the  finale  we  have  all  waited  for.  “  a  hint  of  amusement  in  the  curve  of  his  lips  ,  the  corner  of  his  mouth  ,  rose  tinted  with  indulgence.  “  at  least  you  didn’t  use  that  for  the  vows.  “

[idiocie]

       (   @hdtvtits   )       .       THE GODS CAN HEAR YOU       .                       i,    a  plotted  starter   .

maurice startles awake with an audible gasp,   shooting upright,   straight as an arrow.          SHE  WASN’T  ALONE  IN  HER  APARTMENT.          the blinds are drawn,   but   bright moonlight   still peeks through into her room from between the plastic.          the light that ebbs into her room from beneath her closed door,   however,   is not moonlight.          this light flickers like a code,   calling for her,   brightly,   forcefully.

she pokes her head into the living room,   the electromagnetic static entering her head like water in the ear.          slowly,   she enters,   squaring up to the television screen.          it’s a small set,   a flat - screen,   and good enough for her.          she’s worried it isn’t good enough for   them.            “       HELLO,   MASS  MEDIA.       ”          maurice folds her legs beneath herself,   sitting on the plush,   cheap rug in front of the tv.            “       you still have several hours before the   morning news   is supposed to air.     what are you doing here now?       ”

[synthmama]

@hdtvtits 

“Do you ever take a break?” It must look maddening from an outsider perspective. There are few, but digital billboards of the city still run, miraculously enough. Clad in white and red, the blonde starlet holds a bottle of NUKA-COLA! in one hand, and an astronaut’s helm in the other. Quinn’s cottoned on by now. Enough that she props herself up on the hood of a rusted out car, arms resting on crossed knees as she stares up at the figure. “I mean, really -- keep this up and a girl might start getting the wrong idea.” 

[vorcotec]

@hdtvtits

        Jane rubs her forehead. The words circulate in her head. They even have a jingle. It’s like the commercials of her childhood, complete with benign, bland-faced actors on sound stages, contemplating their advertising puzzle, the soft transitions, black and white, and the voice of a genial, beckoning narrator.

       WHO WILL YOU BECOME IN OUR POST-HUMAN FUTURE?

       CONSIDER THIS: TECHNOLOGY IS MOVING FORWARD RAPIDLY. THE FACE OF THE WORLD IS CHANGING! WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO CHANGE YOUR FACE WITH IT?

       She drags her glasses off her nose to press her hand over her eyes. The questions circulate. The voice. There’s a buzz in her head, like the buzz of an old TV; she remembers her television set as a child, the tubes inside, the static as you approached the glass screen. Jane, don’t touch. She used to think she could crawl inside.

       The drawing in front of her is only half-finished. It’s a dissection. The human cheek flayed open. She’s been curious, lately. About nerves and nerve endings. She’s been thinking about sensation. And muscular control. About how far you could go, with the right set of myoelectric sensors, and if you had the right kind of materials, how realistic you could make something; about what you could do with prosthetics--with replacements--with the face--with the thinnest, most delicate mask--

       WHO WILL YOU BECOME?

       Or could the television crawl inside her?

       The buzz in her head increases until it seems to pour out her ears. Until it fills the room. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut against the flickering glow. “I don’t think I can finish it,” she murmurs to the presence that is the light. “I don’t... Think I can do it.”

[tricksire]

@hdtvtits replied to your posttbh mr. world is hard for me bc like what the FUCK...

ud think media would be able to tell the difference but theyre dumb as a sack of rocks and cant tell the difference between loki with and without a hat and raybans

you’d really think since loki’s modern increase in power is like..... at minimum 50% via media like...... the mcu got ya lad FLUSH but he flips from hiddleston to glover and media like ‘who dis ?????’

[abjecterrora]

hdtvtits replied to your post: sure you may be verified on tumblr but are you...

i am verified in the many eyes of the mass media thank you

yeah but ur an outlier and should never be counted

[realitv]

fighting the urge to change my url but will i ever get as good as hd tv tits? no, 

[hebelieves-a-blog]

you know just bc im a robot doesnt mean i dot have feelings. look at my legs shadow. aren't they nice legs. don't i have nice tits??? aren't i sexy shadow????

                    dark eyes follow the curves of their body . they take note of the skin made visible to him . but he doesn’t take it as a gift . gifts ought to be given freely, without expecting anything in return . every inch of media seems to be there to FOOL HIM . distract him maybe       ━━      to bait him . his gaze drags across her waist slowly, unabashedly ; but shadow’s eyes only seem to spark with something similar to interest when meeting media’s own stare  . they were so used to WATCHING OTHERS , shadow couldn’t help but wonder if they enjoyed being seen . not watched : SEEN .        ❝   those legs aren’t yours .   ❞     the ex-con finally declared, remaining seated, staring at the god in his TV screen with a beer in his hand . he’d blame the steady beat of his heart and the lack of nervous sweat on the alcohol .        ❝  they’re nice legs .   ❞     shadow admitted , offering the televised thighs another glance . he blinked . when his eyes opened again they were boring into media’s . they were usually beautiful . the imagery they offered always aimed to please their audience . but they had no distinct form ; shadow didn’t know WHO they really were . media, to him, was a collage of every pretty image to ever grace a screen . kept together by glue , lacking a real skeleton of their own . JUST A COMBINED EFFORT OF NUMEROUS DIFFERENT TV STATIONS birthed into something that only looked like flesh . shadow shook his head .        ❝  but they’re not yours .   ❞    

[auroramorte]

hdtvtits replied to your post: gonna get meself blocked and reported but i kind...

i liked them too but the writers dont have any grasp on what lore there is for the new gods and what they did directly conflicts with how theyve handled other aspects like ok writers

right? they could be super interesting if the writers had any clue what they are doing ag writers: here have a new media and a new tech boy!!! media and tech boy:

[gloryshound-archive]

@realitv​  ( hdtvtits )  gets a starter because i have high muse and they have to put up with me  +  abigail hobbs. 

         𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐓𝐎  𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑  𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓  ?    the  stirrings    of    father  in  her  blood  ?  whispering  ,  see  ?  see  ?    her  first  blood  came  not  from  the  blossoming  of  womanhood  but  from  biting  her  tongue.  does  she  ask  for  forgiveness  for  what  she  is  or  what  she  is  not  ?    WHAT  TO  DO  WITH  ALL  THIS  REGRET.  what  she  became  or  what  she  didn’t.  indecision  settled  over  her  ,  the  heat  of  an  unbaptized  summer  ,  leaking  golden  light  ,  she’d  stepped  beyond  the  door  to  watch  the  sun  kill  itself  against  the  horizon.  a  backdrop  of  blood.  at  her  feet  a  stain  ,  black  ,  too  fresh  to  be  called  a  scar.  she  saw  a  bird  at  the  hospital  ,  half  dazed  and  dying  ,  glass  walls  and  fragile  bones.  her  reflection  looked  back  at  her  ,  not  because  it  was  beautiful  but  because  ,  it  too  ,  was  breathless.  

she  mother’s  the  grief  in  her  ,  of  her  ,  beside  her.  a  shadow  ,  she  holds  it’s  hand  and  let’s  the  looming  tree line  reach  for  her  ,  dark  hands  reach  and  with  the  sun’s  blood  filling  the  sky  she  thinks  she  could  reach  back.  blue  eyes  ,  a  bright  sky  ,  cornflower  ,  pastels  ,  the  beginnings  of  a  bruise  too  shocked  to  begin  finds  red  mouth  and  she  shakes.  has  been  shaking.    “    i  didn’t    ---    this  is  private  property.    i  don’t  think  you’re  supposed  to  be  here.    “

[00111110]

hdtvtits replied to your post:

media vc: i love all of my children. the renaissance. baroque. dadism. surrealism. romanticism. impressionism. and -looks at smudged writing on their hand- macaroni art

wrong,  I’m  mankind’s  greatest  achievement. 

[tricksire]

@hdtvtits replied to your post: how mcu loki came to be  loki, turns to media,...

media made the norse pantheon part of the mcu as a favour and has regretted it ever since

loki, pulling the EXACT SAME BULLSHIT HE’S PULLED SINCE THE BCE on media: 

[realitv]

zayphora replied to your post: the deepfake is finished and im fucking...

WHOA that looks rly cool

i can finally deepfake media rogers and media leia now..... 

[willbeshot]

@hdtvtits

                     There he sits--  Glass of wine in hand, one leg crossed over the other, the god of industry appeared completely relaxed; seemingly not caring about the chaotic state of the world around him. He might have been partially to blame for it, after all it was he who helped to usher in the modern era, but why would he care? No matter how dangerous things became, he remained completely calm. Humanity relied upon him. After all, industrialism was everywhere one looked-- He was everywhere one looked. Reaver was industry, and ridding yourself of his ever tightening grip was next to impossible.

“Ah, there you are,”

                    He would muse before taking a sip of his preferred beverage; never once bothering to look the other’s way. Like industrialism, there was nothing patient about Reaver. If he wanted something, in the case his desire was company, then he expected it right that moment.

“I was wondering when you would show up. I’m pleased to see that your schedule isn’t so busy that you’re unable to make time for little ol’ me.”

[synthmama]

welcome to a 4 hour informercial abt why you should tolerate me (only 6 small payments of 1,999,999,999.99 to make me shut up)

       oh, for – i just want to know how bandersn.atch ends,

[hebelieves-a-blog]

HEY DADDY,