#Consciousness Studies

[imaginalstudio]

You are in me as I am in you. God is in us as we are in God

[shamanflavio]

Shamanism: A Journey Through the Mind, Body, and Spirit Connection

Shamanism, a spiritual practice that spans across various cultures and epochs, serves as a profound testament to the universality of human psychobiological experiences. Through the lens of Winkelman’s (2002) research, we can understand shamanism not merely as a cultural artifact but as a manifestation of innate brain processes, representational systems, and psychophysiological dynamics inherent…

[turiyatitta]

Universal Consciousness

The Unity of All ExistenceIn philosophy and spirituality, the concept of a universal consciousness presents a fascinating and thought-provoking perspective. This idea posits that consciousness pervades every aspect of the universe – from the smallest atom to the vastest galaxy, and even across dimensions beyond our immediate perception. This universal consciousness is not just a passive observer;…

[magdalene-spirit]

Consciousness and energy

[gerardwaysoggytowel]

Favorite tweets from just scrolling aimlessly because I miss this guys stream of thoughts:

[tears-of-taelia]

How many times have we done this, Interceptor? You betrayed me at one point.

composition

[meatlesbeating]

On the Beatles' different reactions to their growing worldwide fame in early 1964:

Already, their fame had transcended their craft; they became the single most popular entertainment story in the world and learned to live their lives in a goldfish bowl. The first concentrated dose of fame in London was a little hard to take. It wasn’t the limousines or the glamorous nights spent table-hopping at the Ad Lib with Mick and Chrissie Shrimpton and Verushka that were hard to get used to, but the omnipresent photographers, the reporters, and sycophants who hung on their every word, who analyzed their every nuance and gesture in the next day’s editions. While the Beatles were a little put out at being spied on constantly, they read all the newspaper accounts of their activities voraciously—Paul in particular didn’t miss a thing—and further took on the characteristics the reporters assigned to them. They became caricatures of themselves, partly because it was the only way to hide whatever privacy was left, and partly because it was expected of them.

John wore his new mantle of fame most uneasily. While Paul and George could bask in the adulation, and Ringo seemed only happily bewildered, John felt slightly betrayed by it all. Here he was, the rebel, the iconoclast, who had become a plaster icon himself. John was being singled out as the great intellect, because of his wit and easy verbal facility in press conferences and interviews. Suddenly, all the wise-ass, mean-tempered humor he had exhibited as a youth that had gotten him into so much trouble was being interpreted as wit. It became, in a way, more difficult to insult people who didn’t know him, because he sounded so pithy and bright.

The Love You Make, Peter Brown (1983)

[nelkcats]

Case Study: Gotham

Seeing all the trouble that the ghosts had caused that year and how much they had affected his city, as a final project for the class, Mr. Lancer let his students investigate a haunted city, and see if it was really haunted or if they were just simple rumors.

It would probably have been considered unethical or dangerous a few months earlier, but in that case they had an important help: the ghosts. Now that they were at peace, and the GIW had been kicked out of Amity (literally, Danny didn't know how, but they couldn't get in, or near the ghosts in general) many of them offered to help with the investigation. Probably to combat their own boredom.

Of course, Danny chose the most rumored city of all: Gotham. He didn't know much about Gotham, as Amity preferred to isolate itself from the outside world and deal with it's own problems, but the stories had reached his ears. Sudden deaths, living cities, crazy clowns, shadow bats and more.

He asked some friends for help and they headed to the city. It was part of his project to explore after all. What he didn't expect was a zombie (was it a zombie or not?) walking in his direction very slowly. He got into a defensive position but the zombie... just steal a tire from Johnny's motorcycle, before start laughing and crying.

That was how he met Jason Todd. And accidentally regained his consciousness. He unfortunately didn't have time to focus on it, so he just dragged him into his investigation.

[coquelicoq]

i can't stress enough that outside of this one moment in rogue protocol when murderbot wants to kill a human for betraying its sort-of clients but settles for the next best thing of menacingly hovering a drone in her face for 26 seconds while she's frozen in place by her armor, for the rest of the first four books mb is really only using drones for security purposes and doesn't have the time or inclination to be performing close-range facial analysis:

in ASR it doesn't seem to be all that familiar with drones outside of maybe using them to set a perimeter. it exhibits several other uses of drones as events escalate, but they're all related to protecting itself and its humans and getting intel on EvilSurvey. at no point does it mention watching a human with a drone; it's all "using drones to draw fire" this and "sending drones flying off in the wrong direction as a diversion tactic" that. et cetera.

it has no access to drones whatsoever in AC from what i can tell.

in RP it uses Ship's drones to record conversations between wilken and gerth, but it's not a participant in those conversations and it doesn't even watch them in real time. it also forgoes getting a good look at their weapons via drone because it thinks they would notice. later it takes control of a station drone to watch (from afar) their first meeting with don abene & co., but miki notices the drone and almost catches mb because of it, which freaks it out. then it hacks the combatbots' drones, but other than the aforementioned 26-second intimidation of wilken, it's too busy doing actual security work to use them to look at people.

in ES it accesses drones many times, including to observe its humans, but it only seems to actually control a drone to look at something one time, and only in order to zoom in on a suit logo. so at no point could it conceivably be directing a drone to get up in somebody's face, since it's just piggybacking on drones as they go about their normal business.

it does use cameras to watch people in the first four books, but in a much less obvious way: either it's using fixed cameras that are built into habitats/hoppers/whatever, or it's accessing mobile cameras (suit cams, station drones) but not controlling where those cameras go or what they're pointing at.

it's interesting, because while drones can be startling or intrusive, on the flip side, cameras that don't move don't draw attention to themselves and thus may make it easier to forget you're being watched (plus you have no way of knowing if that particular camera is being monitored at that moment or if it's just recording for later analysis). so in a way, having a drone in your face actively signals to you that mb is paying attention to you. it's making mb's gaze visible in a way it might not otherwise be. this changes the dynamic from "passive surveillance for datamining and threat assessment purposes" to "person actively choosing to pay attention to you in real time". one of these is covert and the other isn't; one of these holds the possibility of interaction and exchange and the other doesn't. maybe it puts a drone in your face to show you it cares.

[c0mbatchameleon]

@jegulus-microfic April 25, prompt: headlights, words: 458

He’s been sitting out on the curb down the street from his house for maybe 10 minutes when headlights and the thrum of an engine cut through the still, 3am darkness. Bag in his lap, burning in his throat; as the truck pulls up to a stop in front of him, Regulus is acutely aware of what it means once he steps inside.

It’s an ending, he thinks. It’s thick layers of dust lining the shelves in his bedroom—how quickly a room can become a relic. Can become ruins. Stale and rotting, a place where life only exists in past tense. In other words, a haunting.

To be fair, the haunting long precedes this—this crux, this threshold. To be fair, it was always more rot than anything else. To be fair, he can’t recall the last time the dark green walls enclosed something truly alive and breathing and not soured by the state decay. After all, it’s only been him for years now.

But Regulus thinks he remembers a time, just one time, when the room was much bigger than him, was everything; a time when a woman who, much the same, was much bigger than him floated into the room like an angel or an apparition, and, having heard his cry in the middle of the night, brushed his hair back behind his forehead with her ever-sharp nails and a whispered promise that everything was okay. He thinks he remembers believing it, then. He thinks it might have been a dream. He had never known his mother to be gentle.

And now, to open the door and cross the threshold is to relent, to find finality in the fact that he never will. He’ll never find out if something soft underlay all that ice-hot flame and sharpened teeth and barbed wire. And he’ll never know if it was a dream. And he’ll never know her, or him, or the home and the ghosts that haunt it, in the way he so desperately tried to.

His lifelong fight. And surrender is only a couple steps away.

Before he can take them, the driver’s side door opens with a click that pierces through the oppressive quiet this street has always known. And there he is, backlit by the single dim yellow streetlight like something holy, something divine, circling around the front and stopping at Regulus’ feet with an outstretched hand.

A hand. An offering. An end. A beginning.

When Regulus takes it, lets James pull him to his feet, let’s him take his bag and the weight on his shoulders to store in the backseat, he thinks that some endings might not be so bad. That maybe, some fights are worth giving up.

He thinks he wants to live.

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Magic for the college witch

In honor of finding out I am set to graduate in December with my associates in science I have decided to celebrate with you all by sharing my tips and tricks I used to help pass some of my classes! Each tip will be sorted into circumstances as to where they may be applicable. Please enjoy, and congrats to all my future grads!

Reminder: In dorms and such you wont have access to many tools, but if your living in an apartment things are less strict. every time you see candles and such if you live in a dorm replace it with either electric candles or even colored stones you can rub together or place in a grid!

Registering for classes

Often times we try to register for classes as soon as possible, especially when you are an incoming freshman. When it comes to getting accepted and starting the process congrats your here.

Set up registering appointments on lucky number days, during the new moon, or on Mondays and Thursdays because those times represent readiness and preparation

Manifest getting good classes and teachers by sending off a prayer out to the universe

Do divination when registering opens to see if a teacher is a good fit or not (Also check out rate my professor)

If you are having trouble establishing classes, or just cant seem to get that *one* class you need, light a blue candle and put mint at the base of it to promote an opening

If your facing a situation where you are trying to get into an exclusive class (this also works if your presenting a thesis) put a sugar packet under your tongue to sweeten your words and make you more convincing

Getting to class on time

The commute anywhere can be a really hard thing to do, whether your commuting from a dorm to a classroom or city to campus it can be hard to be on time or find the motivation to show up to class

To motivate yourself to go to class keep a carnelian under your pillow to help you rise in the morning

Keep a consistent schedule, not only is this helpful psychologically but magically consistency helps build up magical energy towards motivation

enchant your walking shoes (or get heelies) to put pep in your step and always be on time when walking. You can optionally put a sigil in your shoe

enchant cars to avoid red lights by charging your keys in full moon light

Light a green candle before important days to make sure your morning commute runs smoothly

Setting up magical space in the dorms

Most dorms don't allow things like candles or flames, heaters, strip lights, etc. With this in mind people assume it must be hard to create a magical space without some of the key items, but we do have solutions!

Instead of regular candles, use electric ones as votives on deity altars

Instead of incense use MILD essential oil diffusers like lava stones in the corners, or a defuser. Bonus points if you use a dehumidifier

Chances are you wont have a lot of space, so opt for small placements on desks via mini figures and small stones

Set up sachets around your space and put them in clothing areas, not only do they smell good and keep moths away, they act as magical protection

Start working on energy based practices like meditation or enchantments with only your body

Navigating relationships

College can be a hard time, your adjusting to life without the friends you grew up with, most people start their dating life, and friends begin to come and go as you go through classes. Don't restrict what you experience

When you brush your teeth, enchant it to represent you 'speaking your truth' and 'biting back' so your protected from people who have bad intentions or are deceptive

When at parties and such put a sigil of protection on your left thigh, this represents protection from people looking to harm you

blow cinnamon at your door, or use a light cinnamon essential oil wash to invite new people and opportunities

Keep amber under your pillow or by photos to maintain friendships and help you let go of ones that no longer serve you

wear silver to repel energy vampires or people who are looking to use you

Studying success

Studying and how effective it is will depend on you and how you like to study, there are hundreds of posts online that look at how to find your study style, this more focuses on magic you can do for memory retention

Chew mint gum during studying AND during your test for memory recall

Draw sigils on your physical flash cards to make the information easier to retain

On the third of each month save that day to brush up on all information from the class, not only does this prep you for the final but this day is Athenas ritual day

Study the most on Wednesdays as they represent wisdom

Use a shungite worry stone during studying and testing to help keep your mind focused and stress free before tests

Test taking

Test taking can be a really hard part of college, I know it was for me. We do a lot of things to help prepare but what can we do during a test?

Create a sigil of good luck on top of your exam

Wear green on exam days

Eat and drink something enchanted (I swear by a snickers and a red bull) before a test for good luck

Create a superstition like a lucky shirt or pair of socks after your first good exam grade

Wear gold accessories to enhance your test taking skills, and speed up your test (Great when you are being timed)

Mental Health

Your mental health in college is very important, it can be hard being separated from your home town or family and just know that it does get better. College is a mix of emotions, from the loneliest point in your life, to the most social. You will be navigating new challenges, new feats, and its important to take care of yourself. Seek out the college mental health resources available to you like counseling as needed. you matter!

Use words of affirmations when you wake up and before you sleep to remind yourself you matter, my favorite is from the help "You is smart, you is kind, you is important"

Carry rose quartz and carnelian on you for self love and energy

Before bed drink lavander tea for rest and revitalization

Pray over your food to nourish your spirit as you go through college

Write down letters and petition to the universe for stability and how you feel.

I hope you all have enjoyed! Again, congrats to all my future grads, and I hope you all can come with me as I journey to getting my bachelors

Tip Jar

[flllourish]

[starstruckodysseys]

running circles around everyone you know —

completed, 1.1k words

There’s a lot of things Dang’s not good at, but running? He’s been doing that his entire goddamn life.

(or: what are choices to an action movie hero? what’s an action movie hero to a regular ass guy?)

read here on ao3

[trybard]

hey. if youre struggling to draw transparent/shiny things, try bringing out the shape by really focusing on the reflections, ok? things like glass and shiny metals get their shape by reflecting light/the environment around them. i love you

[astrobei]

Something’s wrong.

It’s a quiet afternoon in Will’s room. Mike is here, and this simple fact should be taking precedence over all else. It would be, on any other day — a day where it wasn’t off-puttingly quiet outside. On any other day, it would be all he could focus on.

Not that it’s not important. Mike is here, sprawled haphazardly across him, limbs akimbo like he couldn’t even be bothered to right himself before the need to bodily press every square inch of himself up against Will’s torso suddenly overtook him. It’s endearing, is what it is, even though Mike’s feet are dangling off the side of Will’s bed — they’re getting too tall to be able to lie down like this, side by side and taking up all the room they could possibly want. He’s got his cheek pressed up against Will’s sternum, arms wrapped so tight around Will’s stomach and lower back that it’s bordering on uncomfortable.

Endearing. It’s endearing, the need for proximity. The need for closeness, for touch, for reassurance. Mike wasn’t like this before. Not to this degree, at least. Will pretended to be annoyed by it at first, but the façade hadn’t even lasted a day before he cracked. He needs it too, and they both know it — the rhythmic push and pull of Mike’s breathing. Feeling Mike’s heart beat steadily against his own, separated by a meager few inches of blood and muscle and bone. The kinesthetic weight of a body against his own, grounding him on his off days — days where his pulse is perpetually panicked and off-kilter, threatening to fly away entirely, rendered unsuccessful only by the shape of Mike’s shoulder blades under his palm. The cotton of his flannel button-down, worn soft with use.

Grounding things. Real things. Safe things.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Mike’s foot twitches, suddenly and gently against where it’s pressed up against the line of Will’s calf.

It’s a quiet afternoon, and Will feels off, down to his bones.

Mike might be falling asleep.

Will smiles, hides it in the soft curtain of Mike’s hair where it’s brushing over his neck. Cups a hand around the back of his head and wraps his other arm around his shoulder — tighter, tighter, like Mike might just get up and walk away if he doesn’t. For all his pretending, Will is like this too, now: desperate, a little needy, selfish in small, ordinary ways. Too quick to worry when a call goes unanswered. Too quick to fuss over cuts and scrapes and bruises. He hugs too tight and he kisses too hard and he gets unsettled by quiet, calm afternoons.

He wasn’t ever like that before.

Mike twitches again — so delicately that it’s almost like an afterthought — then his arms tighten around Will’s midriff.

That feels intentional. Even if it hadn’t been. Things with Mike feel intentional. Purposeful.

Even if he is — you know. Asleep, a little.

Will’s room is comfortably warm; the late summer sun has been hiding lately, and the sky isn’t blue, exactly but at least it’s not red anymore — dark and rolling and angry. It’s still, and it’s quiet, and it’s peaceful for the first time in a long time — a long time—

—and still, something’s wrong.

“Will?”

Mike shifts, just slightly, just enough to lean his head against Will’s collarbone and look up at him. He catches the edge of Mike’s expression like it’s a secret, a glimpse of wide eyes, a little confused.

Will peers down at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t,” Mike says, even as he blinks heavily. He rolls out his ankle, bumps it against Will’s and keeps it there, stretches long and languid, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will says. If Mike stays like this, if he doesn’t look up any farther, maybe he can get away with it.

Mike doesn’t sound convinced. “You sure?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and pushing himself up, just enough to be able to look at Will better. “You seemed…”

He trails off. Will tucks a stray strand of hair back behind Mike’s ear, from where it had been falling loose and down into his eyes. “I’m sure,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep!”

“You were,” Will laughs. “You were twitching. Like a cat.”

“I don’t twitch,” Mike insists, then pauses. “Do I?”

“Sometimes,” Will admits, then presses a kiss to the top of Mike’s head. “When you’re really tired. I think it’s cute.”

“Stop,” Mike mumbles, but he lowers his head back to Will’s chest. “So mean to me.”

“I called you cute!”

“Mean,” Mike says, sounding like he’s halfway back to sleep already as he snakes an arm back around Will’s chest, hand resting lightly on the side of his throat, just over his jaw. He tangles their legs together, the sheets going wrinkled and bunched up under them. “So mean.”

Will smiles. “Sorry,” he whispers. He glances down at the mess of black hair in front of his face, runs a careful hand through it. Again, and again, and again. Mike makes a small noise, content and pleased, and presses in closer, like he’s trying to vanquish whatever minute semblance of space might have been left between them. “I won’t be mean again.”

It’s a joke, obviously. Still, Will traces apologetic circles into Mike’s back, into the gentle dip between his shoulders. He maps out the planes there, tries to commit them to memory by touch alone, the way he can feel Mike breathe in — slow, hesitant — and then out again — faster, like he’s collapsing back into Will’s body.

The circles give way to shapes, any that Will can think of. Then lines, curved and looping around his shoulder blades, his upper arms. He trails fingers up the back of Mike’s neck, where the cotton of his shirt gives way to a more organic warmth, and scrapes his fingernails lightly against the skin there. Drops another delicate kiss to the sliver of Mike’s forehead where his hair is parted as it falls around his face.

Mike lets out another pleased noise, half-coherent and probably involuntary, and his hand twitches lightly on Will’s jaw. Will bites back a smile, and stares straight up at the ceiling.

Will was never good at this before either — taking the things he wants. Letting himself have things he wants. Something is turning over in his gut, warm and viscous and slow, with each moment of touch he lets himself have, in this newfound, selfish way — through Mike’s hair, down his arms and back up again. Over his back, his shoulders, trailing fingers up his cheeks. He rubs circles into Mike’s temples, watches his brows unfurrow — for once in his life — and his expression go slack with contentment. He wants to touch the corners of Mike’s mouth too, where they’ve turned downwards, vulnerable, half-pressed into Will’s shirt.

He does. He can.

It’s a novel thing, for him, having someone be this close. Having someone be this close just because they want to be, because they trust you.

Will doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s never felt this before, the urge to hold someone so close that all the bad things go away. The urge to touch, the urge to lie here until entropy takes them.

There are no bad things anymore, though. It’s a quiet afternoon, and it’s calm, and it’s peaceful, and—

Will stops.

His hand stills on Mike’s back.

Oh, he thinks, still looking up at the ceiling. Oh.

“Will?” Mike stirs again, and he’d definitely been right on the precipice of sleep this time, judging by the way his voice is dragging on the single syllable. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers, a little incredulously, as realization dawns upon him. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry too, a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.”

Mike taps a slow finger against Will’s cheek and peers carefully up at him. “What is it?

“I,” Will starts, then stops. He’ll sound ridiculous if he says it. Ridiculous and pathetic and— “Nothing,” he says anyway, despite every molecule of better judgment in his body. “I’m just— I’m happy.”

Mike pauses. “Oh,” he says simply, cheek still pressed to Will’s chest. He sounds a little caught off-guard, in a good way. “I— that’s good. That you’re happy.”

The weird feeling in Will’s gut bubbles up, up, and over. “Yeah,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice even. “I am. You make me happy.”

At this, Mike looks up. His expression is a bit startled, like a deer in headlights. “What?”

Oh, god. Will swallows. He looks back up. “I just,” he says, “I’ve never— I’m happy. And I don’t know when— I don’t know if I’ve ever. Been this happy before, I mean. Before everything. Before—”

You, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, but it goes implied.

Mike is silent.

The weird feeling starts settling back into Will’s stomach, slow and steady like molasses. Shit. That was, objectively, probably a weird thing to say. It was, right?

Oh, god.

Will blinks, once, twice, thrice in quick succession, and keeps his stare fixed on the ceiling.

“Will,” Mike says at last, from somewhere below him. He lifts his head off of Will’s chest, tufts of black hair swimming into view. “Can you— can you look at me, please?”

Oh, god.

Will looks down. “Yeah?”

Mike looks— wondrous, maybe, which is a bit dramatic, but it’s true. “Really?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound freaked out or anything, which is a good sign, but— “I do?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers. “You do. Like, really happy.”

Happy seems a bit diminutive, if Will’s being honest. Whatever this feeling is runs much deeper than that — past contentment and comfort and satisfaction. Ease, maybe. Safety would be closer.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Mike’s cheeks flush a brilliant pink. He splays his palm across Will’s cheek and asks, in mild disbelief, “Is that what was bothering you?”

“It wasn’t bothering me,” Will says quietly, tugging at Mike’s wrist and sitting up, just slightly, leaning back against one elbow. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t,” Mike says simply, and lets himself be moved. “I could tell. I just— I thought it was something, you know. Worse.”

“What?” Will laughs, and Mike’s expression softens in relief. “Like what?”

“I don’t know!” Mike exclaims, but he’s smiling too. “I just— I could tell, and I didn’t— I don’t know. Never mind.”

Will pushes a strand of hair behind Mike’s ear again, the same one that had been falling back out the entire time they’d been lying together. “I’m sorry if you worried,” he says quietly. “I just— I didn’t know what it was. I’ve never been this happy before.”

“Will,” Mike starts, expression earnest and searching. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Sorry,” Will adds, for good measure. Maybe Mike is, like, totally freaked out. “No pressure, or anything.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mike says immediately, frowning. “Never apologize. I just— I’m happy too. You make me happy. Really happy.”

“Well that’s good,” Will jokes, but it comes out halfhearted. “I should hope I’m not making you sad.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Will.”

“Sorry,” he says on instinct, then immediately bites down on his lower lip. “I mean. Yes. Yeah.”

Mike gives him a look, exasperated and a little fond. “I mean,” he says, then leans forward, all the way back into Will’s space, “you make me happy too. I don’t know when I’ve been— me too, I mean. Me too.”

“Oh,” Will breathes out, in awe, a little bit, of a lot of things — the deepening flush across Mike’s cheek, the ease with which the admission comes tumbling out of his mouth. The simple reciprocity of it bowls him over, like maybe Mike thinks about this, when Will doesn’t know — just how happy Will makes him. “Okay.”

Mike eyes dart between his own. “That all you have to say?” he teases. “Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say?” Will asks, teasing back, a little, but also asking a little truthfully. He’s not the greatest with words, but he’s also not stupid — he understands the implications, here, of what it means to feel so happy around someone that it feels like you’re admitting to something bigger by just saying it. He knows what he’s implying, and he knows Mike is picking up on it, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words — the way his soul feels like it’s stilled inside of him, somewhere, no longer restless or jittery or perpetually keyed up.

He wonders if Mike feels like that too.

The thought, suddenly, is too much.

“Nothing,” Mike says, after a moment. He pauses, then presses a fleeting kiss to Will’s cheek. “Nothing.”

“Mike,” Will says, suddenly, then grabs a hold of Mike’s wrist again. “I— you know that I—”

He feels overwhelmed, a little frantic. He’s sure it’s coming through in his voice. The rest of the sentence hangs there, suspended in midair between the two of them.

Love you, Will thinks. I love you. I love you.

He needs Mike to know.

Mike can’t ever know.

He looks away again, like maybe Mike will be able to tell exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at him.

“Yeah,” Mike is saying. “It’s okay, Will. I know. Me too. Obviously.”

Will relaxes. Thank god for plausible deniability. “Okay,” he says instead, feeling a smile split wide and exhilarated across his face. He feels like he just ran a marathon, and it isn’t until he lies back down that he feels it. The adrenaline, sweet and thick and palpable in his veins. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Mike echoes, then settles back down on top of him. “Yeah. Cool.”

Will tucks his chin over the top of Mike’s head, running a soothing hand over Mike’s hair. His heart is beating so fast that he’s sure Mike is able to tell. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly. Mike lets out a noise that might be a laugh, and tucks his face into Will’s neck.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Everything feels perfectly right.

[mewnyan]

into the bojanverse