#a stream of consciousness that will find its path

[adambomb82]

It's that time again

[tammyhybrid21]

Ingo and the Pearl Clan

(A whole Lot of Thoughts)

You know, I might as well admit it, I’m currently in PLA and SubMas Station. More to the latter than the former, but they kind of go hand in hand truly. So, while I’m here, I might as well make some posts talking about things I’ve noticed in my own funky view and the complexities of interpretation... So here we go some headcanons...

Specifically, I’m going to start with some observations/headcanons for PLA Era, with Ingo and the Pearl Clan, because I have... many strong opinions about them really.

There’s not any particular order to these, nor do I particularly care how clear/concise they are to people not me, it’s more just my thoughts to be gotten down.

Mostly going to be general rambling, organized as dot points but that’s just how I do, prepare for wall of text I am not going to apologise for. Especially since I don’t have game screenshots on hand, nor do I feel like hunting them down for what’s basically stream of consciousness and self-indulgent thoughts. Also I already know a lot of this has a bias, its fandom... it’s supposed to be what we find fun/pleasing.

General Pearl Clan:

Alright, I’m going struggle here, but I feel it’s very important for me to just get a key thing out of the way first. I am very, very attached to the Found Family vibes that the Pearl Clan could have. I’m very attached to how there’s the storytelling in the subtle and unspoken with Ingo and the Pearl Clan. He’s their stranger from nowhere.

And it hurts my soul so much when people make fics where they keep outsidering him. Or worse, where Ingo outsiders himself. Now I know how his dialogue is in game... it’s not exactly showing him settled in Hisui by any means, but it really feels a lot more complicated than just open and shut he’s unhappy.

Purpose, wondering what his purpose here in Hisui is... and then the paraphrase of “Seek out All Pokémon”-- I have some conspiracy glasses on this, beyond just the he was Arceus Plan A theory... But this isn’t the place for that.

But yeah, I have a lot of complicated feelings about Ingo and the acceptance or lack of that he has in the Pearl Clan. But how can I even begin to explain them, I don’t truly know.

I just, I have a lot of emotions but not the words to put it into something digestible. But I really do not like seeing fics where the Pearl Clan is outright hostile... for all they are to us and the Galaxy Team in the game, they have valid reasons for wariness... but also, I have views and ideas on that... a general oddball headcanon that hey... what if Ingo arrived with injuries from other humans?

Or logically... maybe the clan is wary because poachers do be a thing still even in Pokémon Universe.

Seriously though, the fact Ingo is a Warden at all says a lot. Whether you want it to or not, Ingo wearing the Pearl Clan tunic and uniform as well... even if he’s clinging to his past, he’s changed. He’s adapted, I would also like to point at the Path of Solitude and Alpha battles with the FUN NOTE... Those pokémon aren’t in Pokéballs.

While his main team obviously is, and we do see him using pokéballs, it’s not like he’s entirely putting everything in a pokéball

Also this leads to the fun speculation I’ve seen of both SubMas twins having pokéglotism and I would like to say love that. So much.

N handshake SubMas Twins: If you just ask the wildlife if it wants to throw hands, the answer is usually “YES”

No but seriously, his Path of Solitude battles just start with the pokémon out and no pokéball animation... I don’t think those mon are caught either... THEY DON’T EVEN FAINT INTO POKÉBALLS!

I actually have a lot to say about Ingo in the Pearl Clan tunic and clothing, but it’s very hard to put these thoughts into proper words. But it really does say more than people want to acknowledge that he’s wearing it at all. He is adopted, he has adapted. Even with it blending with his uniform... Ingo has found more family and that’s just so important to me. Family can be many things and the Pearl Clan been community and family is just... the best take. They took him in, made him their own.

Okay, but seriously, Ingo’s adapted more than people seem to think. But that’s a mess to try and explain, mess to give any evidence or anything to. But generally, it hurts my SOUL to see takes where the Pearl Clan is only tolerating Ingo because he’s the funny guy that Lady Sneasler picked up. Let him be their funny guy who talks about things nobody not even he fully understands.

The community of it is very important to me.

Even if not perfect, leads me into a bit of a weird point where I feel a lot of Ingo’s not settled feeling that there is in Hisui is just... closure issues. Like the lack of fully knowing what he’s missing, just a longing for it... but it’s like if he did have his memory, it might be both easier and harder... because then he does know, but can he go back? He’s made a new home, new role... Jumping right into it. Anycase, it really feels like the issue is more closure to me. He’s made a home, and does belong but isn’t settled because he can’t reconcile it without the full context.

Also on this, fics where he just drops everything to go Home no hesitation leave a bad taste because it feels WRONG.

More fics where it’s a struggle emotionally, it’s a hard decision, the hardest... in a void anyway

Adore fics where the Pearl Clan hears he has the opportunity to go home and are just SO EXCITED for him.

Love is letting go, and this can go both ways and I just have... a lot of personal feelings about how the twins been separated doesn’t have to necessarily be a tragedy but I need to save it for when I have the spoons.

Actually complicated feelings on him going home at all... but not for here...

Side note, the Pearl Clan and personal space and Ingo. I personally think he would have come already ready to be respectful of it. I project my personal space and tactile issues onto him here, but honestly... with his body language and general attitude... he gives me massive vibes of very tactile but only when he’s the one initiating the contact otherwise we have issues. Also the Pearl Clan having such a thing about touch and contact is just nice I think...

At the same time, love takes where they sleep communally and Ingo’s very bewildered in the middle because help him. Sleep piles as a love language and keeping warm in the weather.

Also for the Pearl Clan, those takes where Ingo is just kind of incidentally the babysitter because he’s good with kids are just... so good. He listens to them, encourages them, and can play on their level when needed... it’s just something I love. Ingo taking care of the kids and also the pokémon of the clan.

Also with the potential pokéglotism take, just imagining the Clan been bewildered and yet fascinated with this is so FUN to me. Like he’s weird sure, but nothing wrong with that.

Side note, I feel like the masking we see in PLA is mostly as a result of Ingo stuck in Jubilife... with Kamado... who I have a MESS of opinions on depending on the day... but most of it is tea regarding the brush over of colonization and Ugh, not for here... Otherwise it’s like, Ingo’s already outside of PLA shown to be kind of insecure on his own... the more subdued twin compared to Emmet and also introvert things.

I don’t know if Ingo visits the settlement a lot, but I do think that’s probably more about the cold and snow than any lack of acceptance... and also just like, there’s a general disconnect with how things regarding the Wardens and their Clans are presented in the game... like do they even interact with their Clans after they become Warden? Ingo feels like he’s just as much involved with the rest of the Clan as Lian or Palina are... Which is to say just maybe sending a letter every so often or popping in randomly to remind people that he is still alive.

I’ll round out this section by saying my headcanon for how long Ingo’s been in Hisui and that’s seven years generally... and the reasoning is simple. I find the thought of Ingo getting the opportunity to find his way home just before he would be declared dead incredibly funny. Like man’s about to show up and pull off the funniest thing in the world.

He lived folks!

Oh actually, here is probably the place to put... I do think that Ingo’s possibly the guy in that Zorua/Zoroark Reveal Trailer... but it’s kind of hard to put into words the full thoughts on this. Is that where the memory loss came from, no. The attitude of whoever is filming in that trailer and their confusion about the “strange device” would imply it’s already afflicting him.

ALSO THE REACTION TO BEEN OUTSIDE, IT’S BEAUTIFUL... Breathtaking, Ingo do you go outside much before been thrown to the past?

I also have other conspiracy glasses for this and other things, but this is NOT the post for those things...

Speaking of Zorua/Zoroark there’s a particular ache in me when I see the Pearl Clan written as assuming Ingo is one... but that’s... an issue for its own post.

I actually think that there was at least a year or even two before Ingo officially became Lady Sneasler’s Warden. Mostly because there are some politics that would come into things. His general unknown status, the fact the clan doesn’t want to be involved in stealing him from his original space. Like, look, I have OPINIONS about this as well.

But what do you do with strays? You take them in and care for them. Ingo got hit with cat redistribution and the Pearl Clan’s dealing. Autism and cat behaviours... 

Also just genuinely, he could not become Warden without been a member of the Pearl Clan. Which goes beyond honorary even if it’s a messy view. He’s one of their family and the Noble Pokémon are family to the Clans as well. They’re all family your honor. And it’s not perfect but why should it be?

Ingo is their guy. Truly the stranger of all time.

Lady Sneasler:

She gets her own section. :3

Obviously, first up, I 100% adore every single take where Lady Sneasler found him first. It’s my most favourite thing. I absolutely love it every single time. Lady Sneasler found a guy in the snow, he’s her guy now. About 75% of the time this is the headcanon that is firmly in the forefront when I’m trying to work on my WIPs... the other 25% of the time, I think it’s incredibly funny to inflict Gaeric with an Ingo event.

Do I need to elaborate? No

The whole fandom seems to agree that Lady Sneasler basically took one look at Ingo and adopted him, and honestly, it’s the BEST headcanon ever.

“LADY SNEASLER DID YOU STEAL A WHOLE GUY?”

Give the Pearl Clan a month or two to realise he even exists for bonus points. It’s the funniest take ever IMO.

Ingo is basically like a kit to her. This is very, very similar to how I view the situation in Rain World with Five Pebbles and The Artificer... in which both parties think that they’re the one who’s in charge... but also not. I think Lady Sneasler can back her claim up somewhat, she’s definitely the one making sure that he actually learns some survival skills, beyond just the Pearl Clan taking pity on him and showing him how to survive.

Lady Sneasler 100% taught Ingo to rock climb like how she trains her Sneaslets... there’s just something in the way his dialogue vibes when he says “You would never expect to be able to climb such sheer cliffs as these, yes? But with Sneasler as an ally, it becomes the work of a moment.” Something about this just... gives me vibes like, she has spotted for him 100%. Also the idea that Ingo learns rock climbing and does it in those shoes SENDS me to a very happy place. Like yes, it’s a pleasing thought.

With the power of aura in pokémon... and adaptation... anything

He is the babysitter of the Sneaslets 100% and that fandom trend of giving Ingo a poison immunity is absolutely a lovely thing. When it surprises people is also very much a fun thing. I like to think he even was predisposed to it... because well, he does have a garbodor on his team pre-Hisui.

Just as a bonus, I think Ingo’s slipped up at least once or twice and called Lady Sneasler “Mama” because she nagged him or something... and her behaviour... also just side note, I feel as though she’s either “Lady” in terms of nickname, or much quieter and only ever internally he’s reffed her as “Chariot”.

Also she is a Noble, fandom taking Kamado’s word as law on the Rides not been Nobles frustrates me to no end. Both groups are described as descended from the blessed pokémon of the original hero.

I would also love to talk about my opinion on letting Ingo be feral hours here, but that probably deserves it’s whole own rant post alongside Emmet. Just know I definitely vibe with Ingo going a bit feral in the mountains with Lady Sneasler overlooking and have OPINIONS about it.

Clan Leader Irida:

Was not actually the Clan Leader yet when he first arrived. I have a few ideas regarding this, but mostly it’s the thought that it’s interesting. The passage of time and change, the fact the Pearl and Diamond Clans are small. The recent ending of whatever war, and Irida is young and new in her role, something the game repeats a few times.

Which for me makes me think she became the Leader just a few short years before the game events. So Irida met Ingo before she was Leader and it was the previous Leader who chose to take him in.

Also just, again, there’s so much of the disconnect that the game has between each area. Irida’s kind of rude moment of introduction with Ingo as well. Their own guy from nowhere, it’s either her implied younger age nineteen-twenty... or just that really did leave an impression on everyone, which valid you know. Just showing up like that doesn’t seem like something that would fade from memory too fast. The kind of event that gets talked about for years...

Also Irida, love her so much, she wants Ingo to be able to find himself again so much, concerned and wondering if we the player could help him.

At the same time, so rude of her to just bring that up like that...

I think Irida and Ingo have such an interesting set of options for relationship. Mutual respect and understanding, or trying to understand each other.

There’s the question of pokéballs as well, but again, I would argue Ingo actually isn’t as clinging to them as it appears. He’s more respectful of the point than you think and the odds he free roams his team for the majority of the time is HIGH. And also Irida at least in Masters does grow beyond her knee-jerk dislike of pokéballs.... especially since you know pokémon can get themselves out of them.

Transport and smoothness, Emmet is having a time when Ingo returns home and why is his brother barely using pokéballs now, Ingo please.

I like to interpret that Ingo already had his companions but not in Pokéballs until Irida became more comfortable... it’s just nice.

Anycase, head of the Ingo support club I do think. They influence each other more than you would think. I have more thoughts but it’s like, this is the kind of territory that’s almost entirely speculative. But also it’s very much like siblings in my head, they probably bother each other and have gremlin moments for as much as they respect each other.

The Other Pearl Wardens(+ Some Melli and Arezu):

SPEAKING OF SIBLING/FAMILY LIKE RELATIONSHIPS...

I have so many thoughts on the general Warden relationships and it’s such a shame that it’s all so disconnected in the game itself. Nothing really touching anything else outside the specific area that it’s introduced and then moved on from. We really have to come up with it ourselves. Which is kind of standard for Pokémon unfortunately, but still, we get some hints I guess. Daybreak does exist... but beyond that.

Ingo and Lian, Autism Buddies. Or just special interest and hyperfixation buddies. I love every fic where they just are like “Same” about rambling. Big Brother Ingo hours here, I know folks love Uncle/Dadding him but-- BUT-- No. Sibling energy is the best energy here, or maybe cousin energy if that’s too close.

Lian has definitely stolen Ingo’s hat at least once, got his own stolen right back.

Cowboy, cowboy

Got that Autism Swagger

Lian reminds Ingo of someone, but it’s just out of reach. Yes this is talking about Clay, and considering they work underground, I do think there’s association. Also the Masters event, Ingo so ready to jump in and help, no hesitation. Maybe not close, but coworkers at least, and Clay likely helped with some of the Subway Tunnels maintenance and upkeep due to crossover... Also incidentally odds of the closeness of some of those tunnels to the tunnels of the Gym.

Also just Lian makes Ingo feel comfortable and it’s echoed right back. They’re autism buddies and both can sit and just vibe together. It’s good.

Calaba is Grandma. Or the one nurse who just knows

She has treated so many injuries. Especially in the early days before Ingo improved his special awareness level, he still struggles with it truly...

Ingo stop ending up in her medical tent challenge level impossible.

She went through her whole outsider issues arc with him. He’s her grandson even if she would never willingly admit it. No, you will not hear it verbally from her. She expresses it through begrudging care and fussing and making sure he is fed... and providing his favourites. She cares so much more than she can ever admit, her pride won’t let her vocalise it.

Good thing Ingo knows

Words are good but there are many ways to show care

Ingo helps her quietly just as much

Calaba knows all his favourites whether she wants to or not

She’s also more than aware of some of his texture issues and has a special set up just for him

Palina is probably the Warden that has the least interaction with Ingo, because well, she lives at the Coastlands... and I think Ingo has Thalassophobia. That just obviously doesn’t mix. As it is they’re the most... strangers to each other of the Wardens. He thinks she sounds nice though-- Also understands her grief, but it gives him nightmares second-hand to hear about what happened to the prior Lord Arcanine.

He absolutely does not know about Palina and Iscan. No, not at all, who’s asking him?

Ingo is one of the few defenders of Palina’s choice to wait for Lord Growlithe to be ready, the loss feels... familiar.

Ingo hearing about Palina Pearl Diving, absolutely awed and terrified of her power.

Palina and Ingo both share a bit of outsider vibes. Gossip is something neither is unfamiliar with. In fact truly, gossip is more the speed they share with each other. It’s kind of awkward in full Warden Meetings because they don’t really talk or meet much outside of them. Each thinks that the other seems polite though.

In my head they’re both kind of scared of the other, it’s funny to me

Melli coming next because they share the Highlands. Also I just-- honestly love Melli, such a disaster of a human being. I think the relationship is something of a mess. Not fully defined, they range from gets along great to god I can’t stand this person between literal hours it feels. Both have spent a lot of time around each other-- closest point of contact.

The torches thing is enrichment, as well as Melli been petty to the PC specifically

Melli categorically struggles to ask for help, insecurity and pride crossloading... Ingo gets it.

Melli and Sneasler both very begrudgingly team up to make sure Ingo doesn’t just die tbh, Melli will bully this man into some self care so help him.

Melli 100% has a one-sided crush

Ingo has also 100% jumpscared Melli at night/in Wayward Cave multiple times. Him and his glowing eyes

Melli is probably deserving of his own post truthly. I will come back to him and Ingo later on. It really is its own post probably...

Gaeric is actually another character who is so interesting in my head. When it’s not Sneasler finding Ingo I like to assume Gaeric is the first one to find him. Gaeric with his big heart and absolute presence. Gaeric honestly deserves to experience an Ingo Event or two, or three. Sometimes of course it’s the other way around, Ingo’s experiencing a Gaeric event.

Gaeric speaks to me in an interesting way actually. Like, he’s related to Wulfric and maybe Brycen implied right? (Also, am I the only one who thinks he looks more like... Brycen, hello?!)-- ANYCASE, For some reason as well my brain goes “Sometimes Ingo mistakes him for Drayden” it’s the vibes.

Ingo has called Gaeric Uncle at least once, he will never live it down.

The dynamic is somewhere between siblings and uncle-nephew depending on the day

TORMENT EACH OTHER

Gaeric will drag Ingo into his exercise routine, whether Ingo wants to be dragged along or not-- Ingo will find ways to torment him right back

Both thinks the other is the weird one, but it’s a good kind of weird

Wrestling wild pokémon challenge

Both will bite honestly

Gaeric can CARRY Ingo... More shocking is when that favour is returnable

Gaeric just has such good energy and I think I need to linger on him more as well, but later maybe. He’s also definitely the first one to find Ingo in Lady Sneasler’s nest tbh. First member of the Pearl Clan to meet Ingo and it sure would be an impression. Who is this guy just chilling with Lady Sneasler hello?!

And then Ingo wrestles a dragon because Uncle Drayden

Finally we have Arezu. Who joins Ingo in Jubilife as one of the two wardens who stays there. Which is also the first time those two really meet, she wants so badly to do up his hair fancy or something-- meanwhile Ingo’s like “I like my hair the way it is thankyou” They’re bit awkward at times.

I also 100% believe their safety was held over the Clan Leaders heads during the Red Sky Incident-- conspiracy glasses

Ingo and Arezu basically just have a very polite working relationship in Jubilife. They basically know of each other and then kind of... vibe. Different circles, it’s nice to be able to at least say hi they suppose.

Bonus the PC/Akari/Rei:

Sibling hours actually.

No but seriously, Ingo has taken one look at the PC and gone “I can torment you with the Path of Solitude” and I will come back to this much later but I really have to admit, the vibes here is sibling torment. Those battles are just such a vibe... same with how he prepares the other paths and challenges.

The fucking, L

Conclusion:

The Pearl Clan loves their weirdo and Ingo loves them back even if there are some issues, but this is mostly me just really, really having AN Opinion.

I also likely will make more in depth dot point posts later on prolly... this is more just spitballing and getting the major points down for myself lol.

[talonabraxas]

“All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.” ― Kabir

Sushamna - Atmanism Talon Abraxas Nadis: The Energy Rivers of Human Body

A student of the great Indian poet Kabir once asked him, “Kabir, where is God?” His answer was simple: “He is the breath within the breath.

” To understand the profound implications of Kabir’s reply, we need to look beyond the physical components of breath—the oxygen, carbon dioxide, and other molecules that stream in and out with our every inhalation and exhalation. Beyond this breath—yet within it—is prana, the universal vital energy that is quite literally the stuff of life.

For those of us who practice yoga, the challenge is to harness this energy so it can fuel our physical, mental, and spiritual development. To do this, we need to look deeply into the mysteries of the mind and the subtle body.

Fortunately, the early practitioners of Tantra voyaged into this inner landscape, mapping the many ways energy circulates within us. Among their most important discoveries were the Nadis, the vast network of energy channels that makes each individual an integrated, conscious, and vital whole.

The Sanskrit word Nadi derives from the root Nad, which means “flow,” “motion,” or “vibration.” The word itself suggests the fundamental nature of a  Nadi: to flow like water, finding the path of least resistance and nourishing everything in its path. The Nadis are our energetic irrigation system; in essence, they keep us alive.

According to many Tantric texts, the human body contains 72,000 Nadis that channel prana to every cell. Some are wide and rushing; others are a mere trickle. When this system flows freely, we are vital and healthy; when it becomes weak or congested, we struggle with poor mental and physical health. The practices of hatha yoga are so effective because they strengthen the flow of prana in our bodies, invigorating the current so that it carries away obstructions that block the free flow of energy.

Because Nadis like the chakras (psychoenergetic power centers), prana, and other aspects of the subtle body—don’t show up under microscopes, medical science has relegated them to the realm of the merely metaphorical. But traditional yogis believe that the subtle body is real and that understanding it and working with it complement and counterbalance the emphasis on gross physical anatomy that predominates our current yoga culture. Night and Day

Three Nadis are of particular interest to yogis. The Sushumna (most gracious) Nadi is the body’s great river, running from the base of the spine to the crown of the head, passing through each of the seven chakras in its course.

It is the channel through which kundalini shakti (the latent serpent power) —and the higher spiritual consciousness it can fuel—rises up from its origin at the Muladhara (root) chakra to its true home at the Sahasrara (thousand-fold) chakra at the crown of the head. In subtle body terms, the Sushumna nadi is the path to enlightenment.

The ida (comfort) and Pingala (tawny) nadis spiral around the Sushumna nadi like the double helix of our DNA, crossing each other at every chakra. If you visualize the caduceus, the symbol of modern medicine, you’ll get a rough idea of the relationships among the ida, Pingala, and Sushumna nadis. Eventually, all three meet at the Ajna (command) chakra, midway between the eyebrows.

The Ida Nadi begins and ends on the left side of Sushumna. Ida is regarded as the lunar Nadi, cool and nurturing by nature, and is said to control all mental processes and the more feminine aspects of our personality. The color white is used to represent the subtle vibrational quality of Ida. Pingala, the solar Nadi, begins and ends to the right of Sushumna. It is warm and stimulating by nature, controls all vital somatic processes, and oversees the more masculine aspects of our personality. The vibrational quality of Pingala is represented by the color red.

The interaction between Ida and Pingala corresponds to the internal dance between intuition and rationality, consciousness and vital power, and the right and left brain hemispheres. In everyday life, one of these Nadis is always dominant. Although this dominance alternates throughout the day, one nadi tends to be ascendant more often and for longer periods than the other. This results in personality, behavior, and health issues that can be called Ida-like or Pingala-like.

Ida-like individuals have lunar, or nurturing, qualities but may lack the verve to sustain a strong yoga practice. They are full of potential, but unless they develop their Pingala side may never manifest that potential in either worldly affairs or spiritual development. Pingala-like individuals have solar qualities: type A personalities, lots of creativity, abundant vitality. But unless they develop their Ida side, they may lack the quietude, introspection, and receptivity necessary to yield to the grace of spiritual awakening.

[canmom]

analogistically

or, the adventure of canmom on lysergic acid diethylamide

Epistemic status: jam session

Two months ago I dropped acid for the first time, which surely explains a lot about recent posting trends on canmom dot tumblr dot edu. It was exactly as extraordinary as you would hope your first time on psychedelics would be. Among other things, LSD kind of acts like an intense reverb filter on your thoughts, boosting the intensity of sensory perceptions in various ways (for e.g. touch, music, colour, edges) and putting your capacity to form associations into overdrive. I did a lot of classic 'on drugs things' like staring very intensely at my hands or a piece of flatbread trying to map my perception into some kind of visual effects filters I might be able to recreate later... my best description is something akin to motion extraction as the primary effect, causing all sorts of little surface details to pop out very vividly as I moved an object.

This, however, is not a trip report; just an attempt to explain some ideas and connections that were formulated while on acid, in a state where my eyes were full of interesting fractals and I couldn't remember the world 'analogously'.

Here's some music to start us off - one of the first things that I listened to during the trip and something which probably informed the very geometric path I went down...

This is a music track that can be interpreted simultaneously as music and, when used to control an oscilloscope trace, as imagery. The whole function that generates it fits on a floppy. The beat of this music basically stayed with me throughout the whole trip, and for a while afterwards.

One of the curious experiences I had during the trip was what the (sadly no longer actively updated) psychonaut wiki calls perceived exposure to the inner mechanics of consciousness. Although it's not listed as a common effect of LSD, and said to be associated with a higher degree of visual effects than I reached, the description does resonate:

Perceived exposure to inner mechanics of consciousness can be described the experience of being exposed to an array of complex, autonomously-generated, cognitive sensations and conceptual thoughts which contain detailed sets of innately readable information. The information within these sensations is felt to convey the organization, structure, architecture, framework and inner mechanics of the underlying programming behind all conscious and subconscious psychological processes. Those who undergo this effect commonly interpret the experience as suddenly having perceivable access to the inner workings of either the universe, reality, or consciousness itself. (...) These specific pieces of information are often felt and understood to be a profound unveiling of an undeniable truth at the time. Afterward, they are usually realized to be ineffable due to the limitations of human language and cognition, or simply nonsensical, and delusional due to the impairment caused by of other accompanying cognitive effects.

Here, it felt like a kind of separating out of processes within my brain: a separation of sensory processing, conceptual thinking, and the word stream operating with a slight delay between them.

I imagined these different elements of me kind of floating in some kind of space, that each one possessed its own space of meaning, and that thoughts were being mapped between the different parts. I imagined that they were all working in concert to make 'Bryn' happen, so much so that I didn't perceive the different parts most of the time, and that they seemed happy with this arrangement. I also hit on a very striking metaphor of thoughts as oscillations and the resonant modes of the brain.

Afterwards, I wondered how much of this was driven simply by inputs - elaboration on stuff I'd been learning about recently, which we'll get into in a bit. I find it hard to be confident that what I perceived was actual 'direct' introspection, rather than a narrative conjured on the fly by my brain when prompted to generate a 'look inside'.

However, even if it was not the direct observation of some kind of 'brain telescope', it certainly gave me a lot of rich connections to think about. So the purpose of this post is to flesh out and record what came to me very intuitively at the time. Although my direct memory has faded a bit, my brain is still oscillating intently (upcoming metaphor) with thoughts inspired by what I explored there.

We're mostly talking about human brains here, but I will be talking about AI stuff as well, largely as a provocative counterexample.

Prior to the trip I had recently watched 3Blue1Brown's video on how LLMs encode meaning with high-dimensional vector embeddings and the 'attention' mechanism:

To try and summarise briefly, the meaning of a token inside an LLM (and various other types of machine learning system) is an incredibly high-dimensional vector of associations. By combining information from elsewhere in its inputs, the LLM is able to alter its encoding to take into account which specific nuances of a word are relevant here, its grammatical role in a sentence, etc.

How exactly a concept is encoded is essentially entirely relative: a vector can be said to encode a concept because it activates other nodes in the network that correspond to that concept (insofar as, by the time that it percolates through the LLM into its final output, it generates tokens that a human will associate with that concept). It can also come in degrees, rather than being purely binary. The correspondence of individual nodes with concepts can be identified using techniques like sparse autoencoder dictionary learning, which let you find neurons strongly connected to a certain concept which can be 'pinned' to force the LLM to behave in a certain way. And they can also be in a 'superposition' of corresponding to multiple concepts that would be relevant to humans.

Crucially, the 'space' of concepts that a given LLM understands is entirely specific to that model. You can't tale a vector inside Claude and directly convert it into a vector that works for DeepSeek. You have to figure out a mapping between the two spaces.

So let's talk about spaces, and then we'll talk about language.

Spaces & thought-oscillations

Perhaps not surprising as creatures who spend our lives navigating 3D environments, one of the most versatile recurring metaphors in maths and physics is an abstract space.

In physics: you have regular physical space where particles might live; you have phase space, the high-dimensional space of all parameter values and velocities accessible to a system; you have Hilbert space, which is the infinite-dimensional space of all states of the quantum wavefunction; you have Minkowski spacetime of special relativity and various curved spacetime manifolds of general relativity which can be parameterised in multiple ways; you have frequency space accessed by a Fourier transform... Other fields have their own spaces; biology has its own phase space describing populations for example.

In my current field of computer graphics, spaces abound just as much. In rasterisation, you define your verticex positions in object space, then map them to world space, and project them into clip space before the projective-geometry perspective divide finally maps them into screen space (where various further algorithms can take place). But we are far from done! We must also keep track of the UV space over the surface of an object, and the tangent space defining directions along the surface for certain kinds of anisotropic effect. A lot of graphics calculations involve mapping points in one space into another space. It's linear algebra all the way down, baby. Even more abstract spaces like all the different colour spaces are there.

One interesting area where spaces come up is the study of oscillations. For many oscillating structures, from something simple like a string on a violin to something complicated like a building, you can decompose the motion into a combination of pure, sinusoidal vibrations known as normal modes. You do this by turning the system's equations of motion into a matrix and finding its eigenvalues and eigenvectors. Remarkably, these form a basis, meaning that you can break down the system into a sum of eigenvectors, evolve them independently, and then add it back up.

Now, let's return to machine learning, and its feature spaces. In an LLM, the feature-encoding vectors evolve in discrete steps passing through layers of the LLM. High-dimensional vector spaces also show up in neuroscience, for example when using electrode arrays to monitor the activity of neurons.

However, inside a brain, the whole system is temporal in nature, and you have all kinds of feedback effects, which means you could imagine these 'feature vectors' not as static things but as oscillations.

I imagined a thought as something like a spiky little blob oscillating with various overlapping modes. Well, I'm a 3D artist, let me make a picture of that for you. Let's make it a demo even. Let's go to Switzerland and spend a weekend trying to make a visual representation of something I saw on LSD. That's a cool thing to do.

This is a superposition of spherical harmonics, all given different frequencies. The (infinite) set of spherical harmonics forms an orthnormal basis for functions on a sphere, so if you took each component of one of those ultra high dimensional vectors as the coefficient of a spherical harmonic, you would get a unique bumpy shape.

Funnily enough, I was inspired by code that was written for displaying data from MRI imaging, although that is pretty much entirely a coincidence because there it represents something quite different, the diffusion of water molecules.

With this metaphor in hand, we can imagine recurring patterns of thought (ranging from comfortable turns of phrase to traumatic flashbacks) as something like the resonant modes of a system. They are easily excited by random impulses, and slow to die out. Conversely, other types of thought might be heavily damped. Much like a violin bow provides a whole bunch of noisy excitations which ultimately end up exciting a string's resonant modes, the noisy sensory input would get distilled down into oscillations.

The idea of considering the movement of neurons through some kind of phase space is not so outlandish. In fact, recent research has been investigating the topology of 'subspaces' explored by neurons in the brains of mice, as discussed in this video (yes I've been watching a lot of Arsem's videos lately...)

However, the exact meaning of any of these hypothetical 'modes' is entirely contextual. We might be able to say 'this mode is stimulated when you receive sensory input with the colour red' for any given brain, or even section of one brain.

But to map the oscillations in one space into another space, we need to have some kind of common interface. Perhaps for adjacent regions of the brain, we could go 'directly', with one functional unit of neurons wired up to excite corresponding oscillations in another.

But what about brains that are only connected by whatever you can pass through the physical world inbetween them? Sound, images, etc.? How can you create a correspondence there?

Language

Writing has been described as a kind of telepathy: we encode our internal world into a series of symbols (either as images or sound), which are then decoded to generate a thought in someone else's brain - one that is notionally equivalent.

But what is the nature of that equivalence? It isn't that it will make the exact same pattern of neuron firing in your brain that it did in mine. After all, you have a completely different neural network that has learned different inputs. So there is some kind of mapping from one space to another: the pattern of activity in my brain and the pattern of activity in your brain are related in some way.

We all know that the meaning of sounds in language is pretty much arbitrary. It's built by associations: you have learned that the symbol-sequence 'red' corresponds to this colour's internal representation [assuming your monitor is not calibrated in a really weird way].

And insofar as we have broadly similar sensory and bodily experiences, it is possible to build up this mapping of associations between words, sensations, and whatever other internal representation exists in our brains. It's also a feedback process, spawning all sorts of social constructs by giving them names and acting as if they exist.

However, language does more for us than this.

A moment of introspection: I personally experience an ongoing verbal 'stream of consciousness' most of the time. How this manifests more concretely is that words come to me rapidly from 'somewhere inside'; if I am speaking, I might consider briefly whether they are the 'right' words before saying them.

Internally, I might consider a thought that occurs to me and decide that I do not agree with it, or just think about a sentence I have thought as a kind of 'object', as if I am perceiving it from a different vantage point. It seems to be impossible to consider a thought 'as I am thinking it'; only after it has entered into memory can I 'observe' it.

When I was on LSD, I perceived a kind of 'separating out' of the 'inner', nonverbal process of thought and the linguistic stream. There would be a delay in which the linguistic stream would be waiting for input, and would have to kind of 'spin its wheels' and fill space as it waited for something concrete to encode. This separation was quite delightful, since I am not used to perceiving it in such a way. Other times when I was on LSD I had a vague sense of multiple thought streams occurring in parallel, of switching tracks to bring one or another into salience (something covered here on the psychonaut wiki). I'm not entirely sure if these 'seemed verbal'.

This suggests to me some kind of feedback cycle, of thoughts bouncing between the 'language space' and the broader 'conceptual space' of the rest of the brain. Speculatively: my brain might encode something into language in order to store it while it thinks about something else, for certain more 'sequential' forms of thought, or to activate resonances with linguistically-encoded things. By bouncing thoughts in and out of 'language-space' it might be able to perform different kinds of thinking/computation.

Expanding the space

One of the more intense images that occurred to me while I was jamming with all these ideas of spaces and oscillations was the thought of how new ideas get encoded into the space as I encounter new things and learn. I had recently made two friends, and I had the idea of new dimensions appearing: first a direction that was associated with my friends as a pair, and a secondary dimension that encoded the differences between them.

Each of these 'dimensions' would be associated with other concepts by the dynamics of the neural network.

Visually, I imagined a line extending out from (something that represented the space), and then dividing into another line. I think this is kind of what is meant when the psychonaut wiki speaks of 'intrinsically understandable' geometric representations: I knew exactly what this line was supposed to mean, but it would hardly be clear if I drew you a picture.

Exactly what that 'adding of dimensions' would mean on a physical level I can't tell you. I don't think it's like my brain was literally growing an extra neuron that would specifically be stimulated by thoughts of my friends, like the now-famous 'golden gate bridge' neuron in Claude. Internally, it all presumably exists in some nebulous state of superposition with all sorts of other ideas. Maybe you could extract a vector associated with that concept by some kind of statistical bullshit if you had somehow access to the states of all the neurons, but we don't. Do we?

...well, I thought we don't. Actually we pretty much do have access to individual neurons in mice. We can do all sorts of crazy shit like make their brains transparent and attach glowing proteins to specific neurons that are activated when a specific memory is stimulated. That is fucking insane. We are literally living in an age. Here's Arsem again:

The idea of 'engrams' as the physical correspondents to memory is nearly a century old, but now we can actually physically observe them.

So, you develop a new concept-association, and a certain subset of neurons get tagged to that concept and excited when it comes up. We mentioned these 'subspaces' up above: presumably that is what could be said to grow an extra dimension. If I have a conceptual dimension that is 'associated with my friend M.', presumably there is a set of neurons that correspond to her, and another set of neurons linking them to various concepts that I associate with her, my memories of what she looks like, etc. etc.

I get a strong sense that the more things that I encounter, the larger my internal 'space' of concepts becomes. But these feature dimensions don't seem to be 'independent'. I suppose what I'm approaching obliquely and fuzzily here is the idea of covariance, and the covariance matrix seen in techniques like principal component analysis. Or something to do with the subspaces mentioned above.

The role of prediction and roleplaying

The thing language models optimise for is to generate something that is contextually appropriate and consistent. This results in a curious behaviour akin to 'roleplaying', where the model will respond as if it's 'in character', according to a premise set up in a prompt.

I previously talked about the 'free energy' model in neuroscience, in which the brain is constantly attempting to predict the next sensory input. There, the main point was in the creation of art: that a lot of the interest we have in artworks comes from its delicate balance of predictability/unpredictability.

However, I think the brain is also predicting something even more significant: itself!

Viewed in another light, an LLM generates a variety of contextually plausible tokens that it might continue along, and then it selects one. The form of its selection is to pick one at random. However, what if it was not random? What if there is some process that views the prediction output and goes 'yes, that one?'

When I am talking, ideas of things to say will come into my head. I will have just a moment to decide whether to let them come out my mouth or not. Or, I will think a thought in my internal 'stream of consciousness', and then conclude that 'yes, that is good' or 'no, this appals me, I won't say this'. We could say that the process that is generating the stream of language is attempting to predict whether I will find it agreeable, or interesting, or relevant or some such thing.

In other words, I am continually engaged in an elaborate performance of 'Bryn'.

On LSD, I had the curious sense of how all these functional elements I was dimly sensing within my brain were acting in concert to produce 'Bryn'. I had the strange and honestly very comforting sense that they were all happy to play a role in generating this persona. I don't know how much credence to lend to this idea.

When I enter a new social context where the rules are unfamiliar (such as a kink scene, c.f. everything is roleplaying except roleplaying which is improv), I become temporarily compromised in my ability to perform the contextually appropriate character. I need to get a sense of the dynamics of this new space - in other words, my brain must develop its prediction-model. It is, in other words, very much like learning to play a new game. (I'll read you eventually, Wittgenstein.)

Depending on context, depending on which set of dynamics you are attempting to predict, different memories will become more or less able to be drawn up through the associative links. Feedbacks are possible; hence 'flashbacks', emotional and literal, where the memory becomes so furiously excited that it shuts out everything else for a while. But this also shapes what sort of person the brain predicts you will be (and thus gives you the option to be) in a given moment.

Compression

Prediction, game-playing, and performance are all facets of this constant process of updating my internal representations - in other words, adjusting the resonances and dynamics of those neuron-interaction spaces. The brain 'wants' - generally tends - to simplify and abstract. In other words, it wants to compress - to discern underlying patterns so it can store its information and generate predictions more efficiently.

So it will try to relate unfamiliar new things to familiar types, and then, where necessary (e.g. because of an extended interaction with a person or a thing), flesh them out with additional details - which is to say building out a subspace for that thing to vary within.

When I was first transitioning my gender, I had a pathetic tendency to view all these interesting new women I was meeting as instances of the same type. It made me embarassing; I was viewing people as a category, not as individuals. Now many many years later, probably the subspace for thinking about all the different trans women I know is one of the larger ones in here. Perhaps other information has been forgotten (dissolved into noise) to make room for it.

The more time I spend with someone, the more specific associations I can build with them.

The more I can get a sense of the dynamics of their inner meaning-spaces.

Initiate feedback loop

So we encode high-dimensional oscillating thoughts into a stream of language-associations in order to excite analogous thoughts in the brain of another person. But of course, that person will have their own associations. Different memories and ideas will be excited by that word. I can only dimly predict how my words will be perceived.

But communication is not hopeless. Because we can ask for clarification. We can pass messages back and forth. Clarify the shapes of each of our thoughts.

The specific ideas I use for introspection, whether or not I'm under the influence of a powerful substance like LSD, are all influenced by the history and the models my brain has built. I like physical science metaphors, obviously. I am a creature who can't help but think in the language of dynamical systems, feedback loops, networks of interacting elements, fluids (hehehe), component parts, parallel processes, games, and of course abstract spaces...

Perhaps it is a worldview that is proper to this moment in the story of the superorganism!

This post represents the most complete effort I've made so far to encode the 'working model' I have of the shape of thinking into language. But the things I am talking about are very abstract, and the direct experiences I refer to are only really available to me - I can only hope that my words excite something analogous in your mysterious meaning-space.

Listen to me banging on about oscillations though. Might as well go full hippie and call it vibes. You can take the girl out of Glastonbury, but...

Postscript

The other image I had while I was on that LSD trip was of each brain existing somewhere in a void: each a constellation of connected parts, which only occasionally get so lucky as to brush up against another such structure and glimpse another mind. Each one trying desperately to roleplay itself in the face of chaotic input and its own inscrutable behaviour. As many people do when they take this stuff, I felt a sort of empathy for everyone, even - especially - the people who had annoyed or troubled me. A glow that lingered long after.

I do not think I am anywhere near done with this quest to understand what the hell I am, or what any of us are for that matter. It's impossible, isn't it? To somehow find a model of the universe and all within it so elegant that it can fit inside here and so rich it captures all that complexity. Authors to read, conversations to have (hii), sensory and emotional experiences to flesh out the spaces.

But before all that... or running through all that... is of course, well, other people. You lot. Endlessly mysterious creatures who continue to fill this hungry, vibrating brain with strange oscillations. Have you considered yourself as the nucleus of the fractal patterns evolving within the ~800,000,000,000,000,000,000 human neurons, and all that we accumulate around us? I don't know, is that a silly metaphor? Do you like it?

"The net is vast and infinite".

That's all we've got for tonight, folks. We've been canmom - love you all, thanks for listening!

[sadnymi]

"My Dreams Are Just Dreams... Until They're Not" modern Mattheo riddle × reader [ chapter three ]

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language,childhood trauma ,abusing, cheating ( not the main characters)

Please understand that from this chapter onwards, the story will delve into darker themes. I urge you to pay close attention to the trigger warnings provided.

words: 2,216

Reading Time : 8mins 26sec

Summery: A week at my best friend's beach house, surrounded by our friends as we meet her soon-to-be fiancé's companions, marks a turning point where the very fabric of my beliefs begins to unravel. It's during this week that I encounter the boy who incessantly appears in my dreams, blurring the distinction between the world of my subconscious and the tangible reality before me. Matthe Riddle emerges as the poison I willingly imbibe, a curse that feels akin to a dream, weaving its tendrils into the very essence of my being.

[ Gif is not mine ]

Red – the hue of blood, the symbol of power, the embodiment of pain. All I could see was red, engulfing my vision in a swirling, crimson haze.

“ you can’t hide forever princess “

Close your eyes and breathe he can’t hurt you- if you can’t see him that’s mean he won’t be able to see you

“ comon , daddy hates waiting princess, he’s going to punish you when he finds you “ shut up - shut up - shut up

Then I hear it—the sound of his steps, each one drawing him nearer and nearer.

“ he’s not coming you mean nothing to him you know? Why would the heir of the most powerful house care about someone insignificant, someone so worthless like you “

“ liar “ I screamed and then it was red all over again all I saw was red

I jolt awake, gasping for air as the tendrils of the nightmare slowly release their grip on me. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, echoing the frantic rhythm of my dreams. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I take deep, ragged breaths, trying to ground myself in reality.

I sit up in bed, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the nightmare. I run a hand through my disheveled hair, trying to calm the racing thoughts in my mind.

" must not fear," I repeated

" | must not let it consume me, fear has no power if he did not find a body to take “

I rush to the window, desperate for a breath of fresh air to quell the turmoil swirling within me. But as I peer outside, my heart lurches in my chest at the sight of him, his gaze locking onto mine. A wave of uncertainty washes over me, leaving me paralyzed with indecision—uncertain if this encounter is real or merely a continuation of the haunting dreams that plague my nights.

Fingers trembling, I hastily pull on my hoodie, seeking refuge in its familiar embrace as I make my way downstairs. Each step feels heavy with apprehension as I navigate the familiar path to the spot where I last saw him standing outside my window. My mind races with questions, my emotions tangled in a web of fear and longing.

As I reach the spot, the air around me feels charged with tension, thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions. I stand there, searching the darkness for any sign of him, my heart pounding in my chest as I grapple with the overwhelming rush of emotions that threaten to consume me.

"Please, tell me I'm not dreaming," I implore, my voice trembling with fear as I search his eyes for reassurance.

He appears bewildered but responds softly, "You're not dreaming, love."

The weight of his words offers a brief respite, but the turmoil within me refuses to be quelled. "What's wrong with me?" I whisper, tears threatening to spill over. "Something is wrong with me."

The floodgates open, and I succumb to the overwhelming wave of emotion, tears streaming down my cheeks in front of him. I despise my vulnerability, yet I cannot suppress the torrent of fear that grips me—the echo of the monster's voice from my nightmare still clawing at the edges of my consciousness.

"I... I don't know what to do," I manage to say between sobs, my words barely audible through the tears.

Suddenly, and with surprising swiftness, he enfolds me in his arms, drawing me close until I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my chest. The warmth of his embrace offers a fleeting sense of familiarity, a small respite from the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf me.

As I bury my face in his chest, the tears continue to flow, unchecked and unbidden. Despite my efforts to maintain composure, I find myself crumbling under the weight of my fears and insecurities.

But he holds me steadfastly, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm raging within me. With each gentle stroke of his hand against my back, I feel a measure of the tension begin to ease,

In the safety of his embrace, I allow myself to release the pent-up emotions that have been consuming me, to surrender to the vulnerability that lies at the heart of my fear. And as he continues to hold me, offering silent reassurance and unwavering support

Stepping back slightly to meet his gaze, I find his hands still wrapped around me, offering unwavering support in the midst of my emotional turmoil.

"I... I think we know each other," I begin, my voice trembling with uncertainty. "I know you said we don't, but I can't shake this feeling. It's as though I've known you before, as though we're connected in some inexplicable way. I can't explain it, but I feel it deep within me. Maybe it's from another life, or maybe there's something more at play here. But I know you—I feel like I always have."

His touch is gentle as he wipes away my tears, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes my breath away. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving only the two of us standing together in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

And then, with a softness in his voice that sends shivers down my spine, he responds, his words carrying the weight of unspoken truths and hidden desires.

He gently suggests, "You should go back to sleep and rest. Let me take you to your room, love. We can continue this conversation when you're feeling better."

Feeling vulnerable, I murmur, my voice barely audible, "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

He meets my gaze with unwavering sincerity. "I think many things about you, but questioning your sanity is not one of them."

With his reassurance echoing in my mind, he guides me back inside the house, his steady presence a source of comfort in the darkness. But as we reach the doorway to my room, I hesitate, a wave of unease washing over me at the thought of being alone.

"I don't want to go back to my room," I admit, the words tumbling out in a rush. The thought of being alone in the darkness fills me with an overwhelming sense of dread, and I cling to him, desperate for his presence to chase away the lingering shadows of fear.

He pauses, gently brushing the hair away from my face before speaking softly, "Would you prefer to stay in my room instead?"

"Can I?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper, unsure if I'm crossing a boundary by accepting his invitation.

"Yes, you can," he replies with a tender smile, his voice a gentle caress that soothes my nerves. With a grateful nod, I acquiesce, allowing him to lead us both to his room.

His room is a sanctuary of simplicity and cleanliness, a haven of tranquility amidst the chaos of my thoughts. The soft hues and minimalist decor create an atmosphere of serenity, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

As he guides me to the bed, his touch is tender and reassuring, his fingers lingering against my skin as he tucks the blankets around me with care. With delicate precision, he begins to play with my hair, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.

His touch is intimate yet gentle, his fingers threading through the strands with a tenderness that speaks volumes. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation, allowing myself to be carried away by the warmth of his touch.

"I feel bad, it's your bed," I murmur softly, a pang of guilt tugging at my heart as I acknowledge the intrusion.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in closer. "Don't worry about that, love," he murmurs huskily, his voice sending a shiver down my spine his lips brush against my cheek with a feather-light touch, eliciting a soft sigh of contentment as I close my eyes.

As I finally begin to drift into a peaceful slumber, cocooned in his embrace, I feel his lips press against my forehead in a gentle kiss. "Sleep well, my love," he whispers softly, his words a promise of comfort and security.

In the hazy borderland between wakefulness and sleep, I feel his lips tenderly brush against my forehead in a gentle kiss. catch the faint echo of his words something that sounds like how he’s going to fix everything whispered into the stillness of the night..

As I wake, I find myself enveloped in a sense of peace that has eluded me for far too long. There's no lingering fear, no remnants of the nightmares that used to haunt my sleep. It's been a year since I last woke in terror, a year since the darkness of my dreams consumed me

"You're awake," he says, his voice breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

I turn to him, the memories of what I said to him flooding back, and my smile fades as I blurt out, "I'm so sorry, Mattheo. Oh my God."

He sits beside me on the bed, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions. "It's okay, love. It was just a nightmare. You were terrified, but it's just the fear talking. There's no need to apologize."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. "I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling ashamed of my panicked reaction.

"Don't apologize, it’s okay “

"I must have scared you," I murmur.

He smiles, his eyes warm and understanding. "Believe me, it will take more than that to scare me."

I glance at the clock and realize how late it is. "Oh, God," I mutter again , feeling a surge of panic at the time.

"You looked so peaceful sleeping," he says softly, his words tinged with affection. "I didn't want to wake you up."

I want to tell him how grateful I am for his presence, how his calming influence eased the terror of my nightmare. "It's been a while since I slept like that," I admit quietly.

"I must go and get ready if I want to go to this party," I say, reluctantly tearing myself away from his comforting presence.

I rise from the bed, casting a shy glance towards him, my lips curving into a smile. "Thank you," I murmur softly, feeling the warmth of his nod and the softness of his smile drawing me in.

As I make my way back to my room, butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Relief floods over me as I reach my room, grateful that no one witnessed my departure from his room. Yet, as I settle in, anxiety grips me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. I try to distract myself, my thoughts wandering to someone with black hair and captivating eyes.

Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, closing my eyes and savoring the memory of his soft lips against my cheek. It's a fleeting moment of solace in the midst of my tumultuous emotions, a reminder of the undeniable connection that binds us together.

After a quick shower, I begin to prepare for the day ahead. Deciding on an off-shoulder, short red dress, I carefully slip it on, relishing in its vibrant hue. Sad started to put some makeup on couldn’t help but wonder what mattheo would thought about my look

I heard a knock on the door, and Sarah entered, concern etched on her face. She inquired if I was alright and mentioned that I had missed breakfast.

“ you sure you’re okay baby ? “

I smiled “ yes , never been better “

"You look amazing," she remarked with a smile.

I returned the compliment, "So are you. Green is definitely your color."

Sarah grinned, adjusting her emerald dress. "Thanks! I was a bit hesitant about it at first, but now I'm glad I chose it."

"It suits you perfectly," I assured her, admiring her confidence.

As we continued chatting, Sarah's presence brought a sense of ease to the room, and I felt grateful for her

“ I will be waiting for you downstairs “ I nodded with a smile

I frantically searched for my small bag before making my way to join the group. Suddenly, I heard it—a sound that chilled me to the core. It didn't sound like a dream; it was too real, too sinister.

Driven by an inexplicable force, I followed the sound, my heart pounding with fear. It led me to a door I hadn't noticed before. Hesitating only for a moment, I pushed it open, plunging into darkness so deep I could scarcely see my hand in front of my face.

And then, I saw them—three monstrous figures from my nightmares, lying in wait for me. Their eyes gleamed with malice as they fixated on me, sending shivers down my spine.

The pain and terror I thought I had escaped flooded back in an instant, threatening to overwhelm me. Among them was the source of my deepest nightmares, the embodiment of all my fears—my stepfather.

"You kept daddy waiting, princess," his voice echoed through the darkness, dripping with menace.

Paralyzed with fear, I could do nothing but stare at him, the realization sinking in that my nightmare was far from over.

Tag list:

@hereticdance

[cheiii]

Ningguang x Fem Reader

An awful scare and jealousies

Days turned into weeks as you traversed treacherous paths and faced formidable adversaries in your quest for knowledge. Each step brought you closer to unraveling the secrets of the past, yet farther from the warmth of Ningguang's embrace.

One fateful afternoon, amidst the ruins of an ancient temple shrouded in mystery, disaster struck. A hidden trap sprung to life, ensnaring you in its grasp with merciless efficiency. Pain seared through your body as you fought to free yourself, but the damage was already done—a jagged wound marred your side, bleeding profusely despite your desperate attempts to staunch it.

Alone and far from civilization, you staggered through the wilderness, every step a struggle against encroaching darkness. Your vision blurred, the world spinning in a haze of pain and exhaustion. Just as hope threatened to slip from your grasp, a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman with ethereal beauty and a calm demeanor that belied the urgency of the situation.

Yelan, the adeptus known for her healing prowess, found you crumpled amidst the rocks, her expression a mask of concern as she assessed your injuries with practiced efficiency. "Hold on," she urged softly, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil in your mind. "You're going to be alright."

In the sanctuary of Yelan's secluded sanctuary, nestled amidst towering cliffs and cascading waterfalls, you drifted in and out of consciousness. Her skilled hands worked tirelessly to mend your wounds, each touch a testament to her dedication and compassion. Through fevered dreams and fleeting moments of lucidity, you found solace in her care, grateful for the reprieve from pain and uncertainty.

Meanwhile, in the Jade Chamber, Ningguang's heart grew heavy with worry as days passed without word of your whereabouts. The hum of the celestial palace seemed dimmer, its splendor dulled by the absence of your laughter and warmth. Determined to find you, Ningguang marshaled her resources as Tianquan, leveraging her influence and knowledge to uncover clues that might lead her to your location.

Days turned into nights as Ningguang scoured the land, her mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. Her advisors and allies worked tirelessly at her side, their efforts fueled by the unwavering belief that love would prevail against all odds. Through sleepless nights and restless days, Ningguang never faltered in her quest to bring you home.

Finally, a breakthrough—a traveler's tale of a wounded soul found in the depths of Liyue's wilderness, tended to by an adeptus of unparalleled skill. With renewed hope and a heart heavy with relief, Ningguang set out once more, her path guided by the faint echo of your presence.

In the sanctuary of Yelan's refuge, you stirred from the haze of pain and delirium, your senses sharpening as awareness returned. Yelan's face loomed into view, her concern etched into every line of her delicate features. "You're awake," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress against your ear. "You've been through quite an ordeal."

Weak and weary, you searched the room with feverish urgency, your heart yearning for the familiar presence of Ningguang. "Where is she?" you managed to whisper, your voice raw with emotion as you struggled to sit up against Yelan's gentle insistence.

"She's coming," Yelan assured you, her gaze softening with understanding as she offered a comforting embrace. "She'll be here soon."

Minutes stretched into hours as you waited in the tranquil sanctuary, the anticipation nearly unbearable. And then, as if conjured by sheer force of will, Ningguang appeared in the doorway—a vision of grace and determination, her eyes ablaze with relief and love.

"Ningguang," you breathed, your voice a prayer on your lips as tears of gratitude and exhaustion streamed down your cheeks. She crossed the room in swift strides, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

In that fleeting moment, amidst the warmth of Yelan's sanctuary and the unspoken bond that linked the three of you, Ningguang's possessiveness flared. She wrapped you in her arms, holding you close with a fierceness born of fear and love intertwined.

Yelan observed the reunion with a mixture of understanding and unspoken longing, her respect for Ningguang's claim evident in the depths of her eyes. Yet, beneath the surface, a flicker of admiration for you flickered—a silent acknowledgment of the strength and devotion that had drawn Ningguang to you in the first place.

Together, the three of you navigated the delicate balance of emotions, forging a bond that transcended jealousy and possessiveness. In the quiet sanctuary of Yelan's refuge, amidst the echoes of healing and renewal, you found solace in Ningguang's embrace—a sanctuary where love triumphed over fear, and the promise of tomorrow shimmered with boundless possibilities. After the ordeal in Yelan's sanctuary, you finally returned home to the Jade Chamber with Ningguang by your side. The journey back was filled with quiet moments of reflection and gratitude, each step a testament to the bond that had grown stronger amidst the trials you had faced together.

As you settled back into the opulent surroundings of the Jade Chamber, the familiar sights and sounds welcomed you like an old friend. Yet, despite the comfort of home, an ache lingered in your heart—a longing for the intimacy and closeness you had experienced with Yelan, and the unspoken tension it had stirred within Ningguang.

One evening, as the moon bathed the Jade Chamber in a soft silver glow, you found yourself alone with Ningguang in her private chambers. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and lingering desires, the memory of Yelan's touch a ghostly presence in the room.

"Ningguang," you began, your voice a hesitant whisper as you watched her pour over scrolls and manuscripts at her desk. She glanced up, her gaze piercing yet softened by the love and concern that bound you together.

"Yes, my love?" Ningguang replied, her voice a gentle melody that resonated deep within your soul. You approached her slowly, the weight of your confession heavy on your tongue.

"I missed you," you confessed softly, your eyes searching hers for understanding and acceptance. "But... I also missed the... intimacy we shared."

Ningguang's expression softened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she composed herself with regal grace. "I understand," she murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of longing and determination. "Tell me... what happened with Yelan?"

A mischievous spark lit up within you as you saw an opportunity to tease Ningguang playfully. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it," you began coyly, your voice laced with feigned scandal. "She's quite skilled with her hands, you know. And her healing techniques... well, let's just say she has a way of making one forget about pain altogether."

Ningguang's eyes widened slightly, a hint of possessiveness flashing in their depths before she masked it with a composed facade. "Is that so?" she replied coolly, though a hint of curiosity lingered in her tone. "And what else did you and Yelan get up to in that secluded sanctuary of hers?"

You leaned in closer, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you reveled in the effect your words had on Ningguang. "Oh, you wouldn't want to know," you teased, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's just say... she knows how to make a person feel very, very appreciated."

Ningguang's facade cracked ever so slightly, a mixture of amusement and possessiveness flickering across her features. "Is that right?" she murmured, her voice husky with desire as she closed the distance between you, her hands finding purchase on your hips. "Perhaps I should show you just how appreciated you are here, in my chambers."

Before you could respond, Ningguang captured your lips in a searing kiss, her passion and longing pouring into the embrace. The heat of her touch melted away any lingering doubts or insecurities, leaving only the raw intensity of desire and love that bound you together.

In the quiet sanctuary of Ningguang's chambers, amidst the opulence of the Jade Chamber and the lingering echoes of Yelan's sanctuary, you found solace in Ningguang's embrace—a sanctuary where love triumphed over jealousy and possessiveness, and the promise of tomorrow shimmered with boundless possibilities.

[marvelmusing]

Someone Special

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Vampire!Darklina x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: After becoming lost in the forest, you begin to lose hope for your survival. Then you wake in a warm house with two beautiful people doting on you.

Warnings [18+]: soft!dark warnings, reader doesn’t consent to being turned but she deals with it pretty well, dub-con because they both subtly use compulsion on the reader, brief mentions/allusions to sex, dub-con nudity (changing the readers clothes while sleeping), mentions of injury and death, blood consumption, usual vampire themes, biting, etc.

My Masterlist

Shudders wrack through your body as you stumble over a slippery log. The heavy downpour of rain has made everything slippery, and you’re concerned about the scrape on your calf.

Rainwater might wash the steady stream of blood away as soon as it blossoms to the surface of your skin, but the dirt and foliage from the woods clings painfully to your wound and you worry that it might become infected.

The pain in your hands has numbed, minor wounds from another fall rendered almost unnoticeable due to the coldness of your fingers. Drawing yourself closer together, you wrap the soaked fabric of your coat tighter around your body as you shake.

Sunset might have already happened, but with the dark clouds and thick tree branches shielding your view of the sky you have no way of knowing if night has already descended upon you.

The forest is dangerous at night. Everyone knows that.

Hopelessness has your body shaking with pathetic little sobs as you search around you like a helpless puppy looking for its mother.

You don’t know what to do.

Every muscle in your body aches with the tension of walking for so long and shivering in an attempt to conserve whatever limited warmth lingers in the centre of your body. All you want to do is collapse into a warm bed and sleep for eternity.

Even just lying on a dry patch of land seems appealing for a brief moment. But then reality hits you. Curling up amongst the undergrowth seems much more painful than poetic to you. If you stop now, hypothermia will claim you. Unless some beast in the forest finds your weakened body and decides to maul you to death.

Finding a smoother patch of grass is a godsend for your sensitive feet, as pain now shoots up your legs with every step - especially your wounded leg. If you could see properly through the lashing rain, you might have noticed that the grass looks like a subtle pathway. A secret path, that very few know about.

Dark patches sparkle over your vision and you struggle to tamper down your panic as you realise you might lose consciousness soon. Standing still, you lean against a tree, frowning when you spot a shadowed shape in the distance. It almost looks like a house.

Then your vision goes dark.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fingers thread gently through your hair, a soft humming guiding you into consciousness.

A crackling fire is the first thing you see. Burning away underneath a huge ornate mantelpiece made of what looks like marble with shimmering gold meandering through the textured stone.

Glossy hardwood floors glisten under the firelight but a thick rug protects you from the chill of the floor as you become aware that you’re sitting on the ground.

Plush velvet cushions surround you, supporting your body as you lie with your head tilted back onto someone’s lap as they sit on the seat of the sofa that your back is leaning against. There’s a soft blanket draped over your body, though you still feel rather numb and therefore unable to enjoy the luxurious texture.

Opening your eyes fully, you tilt your head back further to see the person who’s still playing with your hair.

She’s beautiful.

A delicate oval face with creamy skin that glows warm with the flicker of firelight that dances over her features.

Dark hair hangs loose over her shoulders, cascading in casual waves, almost entwining itself with the pretty lace at the bodice of her nightdress. Black ribbons tie the front of it together, and you force yourself not to stare at her breasts as she leans forwards.

When you look back up towards her face, you find her dark eyes already on you and the breath halts in your throat as her pink lips curl into a soft smile.

Then she glances over to the other side of the room.

“Sasha, she’s awake.”

Blinking in confusion, you look over in the direction of her gaze.

It takes everything in you for your jaw not to drop at the sight of the man sitting in the armchair by the fire.

He sits relaxed, his long legs widened over the width of the leather chair, and you swallow hard at the sight of his trouser clad thighs. His clothing looks a little damp and some strands of his dark hair cling to his forehead.

A crystal glass sits on his thigh, cradled loosely by nimble fingers before he raises it to his lips and swallows down the contents without removing his pitch-black eyes from you.

He stands and in this moment you feel so tiny, sitting on the floor with this beautiful woman still smoothing back your hair and this breath-taking man towering above you.

He moves closer before he stoops down to examine your face intently. His eyes are even darker up close, threatening to swallow you whole.

“Hello, little one. How are you feeling?”

Shivering, you tuck yourself closer towards the fire. His question has brought back your awareness of your own body and the aches and pains have returned. But one feeling overrules all the others.

“Cold,” you whisper.

He hums in understanding.

“I know,” he says gently. His voice is smooth but there’s an edge of command there that has you listening to every word. “We can’t warm you up too quickly, or you might go into shock.”

“Are you hungry, my lovely?”

The question comes from the woman above you and before you can answer you’re tipping your head back to admire her again. There’s a haziness in your eyes as you nod, and she hums with a pleased smile.

“Let’s sit you up.”

Before you’ve even processed the man’s words, he’s hooked his arm underneath your legs, drawing you up against his chest. He places you down beside the woman, draping your legs over her thighs and you moan softly at the warmth of her.

Without any prior thought, you bury yourself against her, nuzzling your face into her chest and the hollow of her throat with a small sound of pleasure. Arms curling around her body, you shudder at the flood of warmth spreading over your skin.

It’s then that you realise how little you’re wearing. Just your underwear.

A flustered blush rushes over your cheeks, burning your body as you feel the weight of their gaze on your almost naked figure.

Then you realise that the underwear you’re wearing isn’t even yours. It’s a matching sheer lace set, delicate black patterns curling perfectly around the shape of your breasts, adorned with intricate gold embellishments at the edge of the cup.

Feeling the tension enter your body, the two of them exchange a glance, a wordless conversation conducted within a few seconds of eye contact.

“Do you remember what happened to you?”

The woman’s voice is soft and soothing as she brushes her fingers gently over your cheek. A shiver runs through you as you shake your head.

“Aleksander found you out in the woods.”

At the sound of the man’s name - Aleksander - you turn to look at him.

He meets your gaze steadily and you notice that his clothing is almost dry now. But you remember the dampness you had seen clinging to his hair.

“If it wasn’t for your heartbeat, I would have thought you were dead,” he says. His gaze turns fond as he looks at the woman. “My Alina is rather fond of strays, so I brought you home.”

Shakily, you draw in a breath and come to terms with how lucky you got, completely ignoring the comment about strays, though the woman - Alina - scoffs lightly at Aleksander. She gives him a pointed look that you don’t understand before she returns her attention to you.

“All of your clothes were either ruined or soaked through,” she explains. “And skin to skin contact is the best way to get you warm.”

As she strokes her palm over your thigh your eyes flutter closed, nodding in agreement. Her touch is electric, warming you down to your very soul.

A pair of arms wrap around your waist, Aleksander pulling your lower body flush against his hips. He must have rolled the sleeves of his shirt up at some point because the bare skin of his forearms is hot against your stomach.

Alina picks up a bowl from the small table beside her and your stomach groans at the scent of something rich and savoury.

“Slow sips,” she instructs you.

Nodding, you lean forwards as she holds the bowl to your lips.

The delicate porcelain is warm against your lips, and you sip tentatively at the creamy red soup. There’s a sweet tang to the liquid and you swallow down a larger mouthful eagerly. After a few more you lean heavily into the bowl, whining when it’s pulled away from you.

As you try to follow the bowl, a firm hand settles at the back of your neck, keeping you pinned in place. Pouting, you frown petulantly in protest.

Alina raises a brow sternly at you which immediately softens your features into something more apologetic.

“Just hold still and take what we give you,” Aleksander murmurs in a low voice.

Once you nod in agreement, Alina returns the bowl to your lips.

Aleksander’s hold on you remains unwavering, allowing you to sit with your mouth open and accept the warm liquid that Alina pours down your throat. All the while, he whispers soft praises into your ear.

“There’s a good girl. Swallow it all down for us.”

There’s a warmth in your stomach once you’re finished, making you feel warm and sleepy. Eyes fluttering heavily, you sink down against Aleksander’s chest.

Once Alina has placed the bowl aside she draws you into her arms, allowing you to brush your nose against the ribbons on her nightdress before you settle your cheek onto the patch of her bare chest.

Her heartbeat is steady and rhythmic, a perfect unfaltering beat that lulls you closer to sleep.

Aleksander’s hands sinks into your hair, squeezing gently at the back of your neck to relieve the tension there. A small moan of pleasure catches in your throat as you begin to drift off.

Their voices are low as they talk with one another. Whilst you can hear their words, understanding them is hard, and reacting is even harder, so you remain still as sleep begins to settle into your body.

“Happy with this one, Alya?”

A soft hum of agreement and then you feel her fingers stroke gently over your cheek.

“She’s so sweet. Our little baby.”

There’s the sound of a kiss being pressed to Alina’s forehead.

“I’m assuming the spell worked?”

“She’s consumed blood from both of us. With the ordeal she’s been through it’s likely the entire turning process will pass while she’s asleep.”

Aleksander breathes out a wide smile.

“After all these centuries. Our own little fledgling vampire.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There’s a dryness to your throat and lips as you wake and although they aren’t comfortable feelings the ache in your stomach has you forgetting those discomforts instantly.

Whimpering in pain, you writhe against the mattress you’re lying on, nudging into the people sleeping on either side of you. Aleksander and Alina.

He wakes immediately, noticing your distress and how your nails are inching towards your body to scrape at the uncomfortable feeling crawling over your skin.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, his voice gravelly from sleep. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

A shudder rolls down your spine at his command and you whine in pain. He breathes out a small sigh of realisation and relief fills you - at least he understands whatever is happening to you.

“Alya darling, wake up.”

The woman beside you grumbles quietly but soon her eyes are open, looking over at you.

“Is it feeding time?” she mumbles sleepily.

For some reason, Aleksander doesn’t need to nod for her to understand what is happening. But you’re still clueless.

With wide eyes, you watch her unlace the front of her nightdress, revealing her soft breasts. She shuffles backwards, propping herself up against some pillows as Aleksander takes hold of your chin.

“Open your mouth.”

With a frown, you do as he says, allowing him to tilt your head back and press his thumb against your face - just over the spot where one of your canines meets the gum.

There’s a sharp pain in the front of your mouth and Aleksander holds tightly onto your chin to prevent you from closing your mouth as your canines extend into fangs.

Aleksander smiles, tilting your head from side to side for him to admire your new pointed fangs.

“Oh Alya, look at how cute they are.”

Alina’s expression is filled with delight which softens into something more doting as she observes the confusion and pain in your eyes.

“Come here, my lovely.”

That’s all the encouragement you need to bury yourself into her open arms. Frightened whimpers prickle in your throat that she soothes away with a few gentle strokes to your head.

Cupping the back of your head, she guides your face down to be level with one of her breasts.

“Take a bite,” she instructs you.

Shaking your head, you try to move away but Aleksander is there, cradling the back of your head to keep you close to her breasts. Somehow, you can hear her heartbeat, as steady as it was last night, thrumming beneath her skin.

Whilst you don’t fully understand what is happening, what the two of them have done to you, the thought of hurting Alina stops you from doing as she said.

“It’s soft here,” she explains, giving her breast an enticing squeeze that makes your mouth water. “Easy enough for a little baby like you to feed on - and it feels good for me.”

That convinces you further, but you still look up to meet her dark eyes. She nods in reassurance.

Leaning forwards, you allow Aleksander to hold the majority of the weight of your head as you relax enough to sink your teeth into Alina’s breast.

She moans at the painful sensation, humming softly in pleasure as you begin to draw blood from her.

The hot liquid fills your mouth in a pleasant stream, enough for you to drink leisurely, suckling on her skin. Sighing in relief, you curl up in her lap with your legs draped together on the opposite side of her body.

The pressure of Aleksander’s hand at the nape of your neck helps keep you grounded in the moment, letting you enjoy the taste without pondering the implications.

Alina strokes her hand over your stomach, giving you small affectionate scratches every now and then which sends a shiver over your skin.

Occasionally you trace your tongue over her nipple, capturing drops of blood that have lingered there.

They both praise you constantly, telling you how well you’re doing, how sweet you look in Alina’s arms, how perfect you are for them.

Once your eyes close for a long period of time, and you find opening them again to be too much effort, they begin talking to one another as if you’re no longer in the room suckling on Alina’s breast.

“She’s making a mess of herself, Sasha.”

Too consumed by drinking, you don’t react when Aleksander lifts your leg up, parting your thighs so that they can both examine the sticky mess of arousal glistening there through the thin strip of fabric they had chosen for your underwear.

“I’ll clean it up once she’s finished feeding.”

“Our poor girl must be so desperate,” she remarks suggestively.

“No, Alina,” he says firmly. “It’s too soon after the turning. It would overwhelm her.”

She sighs, the motion of it rocking against your face though it doesn’t disrupt your feeding.

“But Sasha, look at her.”

Her fingers brush over your cheek and make a small happy sound at the affectionate touch. Aleksander’s lips press against your temple, and he inhales the scent of Alina’s blood eagerly.

He guides you into releasing her skin from your fangs and you whine at the loss of your new favourite treat.

“I know, sweet girl. My Alina tastes good, doesn’t she?”

Mindlessly, you nod in agreement.

“But I want you to go to sleep now, little one.”

He draws you into his arms, enveloping you fully into his embrace and you melt at the feeling of finally being warm and safe. Blinking heavily, in mere seconds you’re falling fast asleep.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When you wake you’re alone.

Frowning, you sit up in an unfamiliar bed. It isn’t the same bed you had been in with Aleksander and Alina. That bed had been large, the headboard carved from thick dark wood, and there had been black sheets over the mattress.

This bed is almost the complete opposite. It is a large bed, but that is the only similarity.

The bed is circular, with a beautiful white canopy that hangs down from the ceiling to drape over the side of the piece of furniture. The fabric is almost transparent, made from a fine netting material that has been decorated with shimmering silver threads in the pattern of different constellations.

There is no headboard, just a low metal border surrounding the entire bed that would make it difficult for you to climb out by yourself - though not impossible. The bars of metal are interwoven together mimicking delicate vines.

Up above, where the canopy begins as a small circle, a beautiful collection of crystals dangle in mid-air, casting tiny rainbows onto each other and the soft netting of the canopy.

“I hope everything is to your liking.”

For some reason, you don’t startle at the sound of Aleksander’s voice, as if you had already subconsciously noticed his presence. Turning your head towards him, you watch as he steps further into the room.

“What did you do to me?” you ask in a whisper.

He regards you for a long moment.

“I think you already know.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you nod. Despite the panic in your chest, your heartbeat remains steady, as does your breathing. That must be a side effect of becoming a vampire.

“Why?”

Something glistens in his eyes, as he walks slowly around the bed. Then he stops. There’s a distance in his gaze as he speaks quietly.

“Alina and I cannot have children. We have had countless friends over the centuries. Some decided to become like us. None of them survived.”

Slowly, you edge closer towards him. He brushes the fabric of the canopy aside and you realise there have been several openings cut into the material. The soft whiteness of the netting makes his dark features stand out dramatically.

“There’s something different about you. Something special.”

Confusion fills your eyes, and you shake your head, looking away from him. Concern fills his features at the sight of your distress, but you manage to speak before he can ask you what is wrong.

“I’m not special,” you protest quietly. “There’s nothing special about me.”

“I told you that you were almost dead when I found you.”

Remembering sitting by the fire between the two of them, when Aleksander had explained that he found you alone in the woods after you lost consciousness, you nod.

“The only reason I found you was because your heartbeat was so strong. Your body was ice cold, rigid with exhaustion, and your leg was infected, but your heart wasn’t giving up.”

At the mention of your leg, you look down, lifting up the edge of the nightdress you’re wearing to examine the skin there. Nothing. No trace of a wound. No scar. Not even some bruising. Whatever they had done had healed it completely.

“I couldn’t leave you there. Not when I knew that I could save you. However slight the chances may have been.”

A tear traces its way down your cheek as you remember that this is the man who saved your life. Without him, you would have died in the woods. Even when you arrived at their house, you would most likely have died if they hadn’t turned you.

“Thank you.”

“You won’t be able to leave the house for a while - for your own safety.”

You nod in understanding. Being a vampire will take some adapting to but at least you have Aleksander and Alina to help you along the way. He opens up the nearby wardrobe, a tall piece of furniture painted white and silver.

“As a result, the majority of your wardrobe is filled with sleepwear. I hope you don’t mind, but Alina is rather fond of nightdresses, and we wanted you to be comfortable. If there’s something else you would prefer-”

“No,” you say quickly. When Aleksander turns back to you a blush warms over your cheeks and you play with the delicate hem of the dress. “I like them. They’re very pretty.”

“You look very pretty in them.”

The warmth on your cheeks burns hotter in response to his words which gives you the courage to ask him,

“Would you pick one out for me to wear today?”

A softness fills his eyes as he nods slowly.

“Of course.”

He reaches for a clasp you hadn’t noticed before, allowing him to open a section of the bars surrounding your mattress like a gate. He must see the mixture of surprise and disappointment on your face, accompanied by the confusion you’re feeling. This bed isn’t a cage, why are you disappointed?

“What’s wrong?” Aleksander asks.

“Nothing.” He lifts a brow sternly and you look down as you admit, “I thought you were going to lift me out.”

Once your gaze lifts shyly to meet his, Aleksander closes the gate and extends his arms towards you, curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture. Moving on your knees, you shuffle closer to him.

He lifts you in one smooth motion and you cling tightly onto his shirt as you become momentarily airborne. His hands are firm on your waist, and he gifts you a little kiss on the tip of your nose once your feet return to solid land.

It doesn’t take him long to pick out another dress for you to wear. As he considers his options, you admire the sight inside your wardrobe. Lace and silks and sparkling embroidery. All for you.

Aleksander asks if you want to dress yourself, but either he or Alina must have changed your clothes twice already since you arrived here, so you don’t mind him removing the dress you had slept in to put you into a new one.

His selection for today is a short black dress made of silk, adorned with white lace at the hem and the underside of your breasts. There’s a small bundle of ribbons near your cleavage, to keep the dress closed at the top.

“Do you know how to tie the ribbons?” he asks.

Looking down at the complex tangle of ribbons on your bodice, you frown and shake your head. Aleksander smiles kindly, stepping forward to tie them himself.

“Alina will be more than happy to teach you. I will admit I’m far better at undoing them.”

When your gaze snaps to his he gives you a boyish wink and your cheeks flush with warmth once again.

Once he’s slipped a matching black robe over your shoulders and retrieved a rather fluffy pair of slippers for you to wear, Aleksander takes you by the hand and walks you through the house to find Alina.

Aleksander seems to know exactly where she is, though he doesn’t mind stopping so that you can admire the large windows that overlook the grounds of their estate, or the ornate carvings along the staircase, or the portrait of the two of them that sits tucked in a corner.

When you reach the library, your jaw drops.

Aleksander chuckles softly at the spellbound look on your face.

Bookshelves tower high above you, with thin ladders attached to tracks dotted around. You’ve never seen so many books in your life. The majority of them are leather-bound, though you do spot some more modern looking titles tucked away in a darkened corner.

Huge windows illuminate the space, cool daylight casting rays over the reading nook which Aleksander is directing you towards.

Alina sits perched on a velvet chaise sofa, an open book lying discarded on her lap in favour of looking at you. She smiles widely when your eyes meet.

“How are you feeling, my lovely?”

Looking down shyly, you squeeze Aleksander’s hand before you murmur,

“Good.”

He nudges you towards Alina and soon you’re settled by her side with one of her arms around you, whilst the other traces over your bare thigh as she admires your dress.

“This is pretty,” she says in a quiet voice that makes you shiver.

“Thank you.”

She turns towards Aleksander.

“How did I know you would pick one of the black ones?” she remarks teasingly, her eyes sparkling as she watches him sit down on the chaise opposite you.

“You must be a psychic, Alya dear.”

She grins at him. Then she turns back to you, smoothing your hair aside as she asks,

“Do you like everything in your room?”

“It’s wonderful. I love it.”

She practically beams at your words.

“We’ve been collecting pieces over the centuries, waiting for someone special to have them.”

Glancing over at Aleksander, he meets your eyes and nods in reassurance. You are special.

It must have been so lonely for the two of them, to only rely on each other, failing to extend their family beyond themselves for centuries.

“Would you tell me about them?” you ask her, nestling against her side and propping your head onto her shoulder.

She lights up immediately, telling you about how your bed was made in 18th Century Shu Han and that the canopy was handmade by a half-Shu designer who lived on the Ravkan border.

Aleksander smiles fondly at the sight of you listening so intently whilst Alina talks happily about the room the two of them have been assembling for centuries.

They’ve waited a very long time for you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 76 (2/3)

Meridian

I briefly gained consciousness to find the rubble cleared, fires all around, people scrambling through the carnage. Corrupted machines pulling Hades' processor core along the village road, glowing red, spelling the end of everything. I couldn't keep my eyes open. Head spinning, pain coming back all at once. I fell unconscious again.

The next time I woke, Teb was there, exclaiming his relief that I'd survived where so many others had fallen. I asked after the Spire, and my worst fears were confirmed. The Eclipse had already dragged Hades to the top of the Alight. There was still time—there had to be. Surely the transmission to wake Faro's machines would have been obvious, unless it was something only the machines could sense. Unless they were already coming and I was too late.

I was in a lot of pain, but I had to keep going. There was no time to see who had survived the storming of the village gates.

I raced through the burning village, its upper levels falling down around me. The docks were on fire. There weren't any citizens left down here, thankfully, just hunters and soldiers trying to hold back the tide of corrupted machines.

Uthid was among them, fighting a herd alongside Nil. I took an opportune strike as I passed by, but I had to keep moving. They urged me on as well. I trusted that they could hold their own.

I swam across the river and ran to the foot of the Alight, where I fought a Scrapper off Aluki before it could shred her. She seemed right in her element, relishing the fight as it raged on. I continued up the path to the Spire, most of its paved stairs and bridges destroyed by the Eclipse blasting the path behind them.

As I climbed up the ruined road, a huge eruption of red light spread in ripples from the tip of the Spire, tinging the skies and ejecting comets of Hades' infection across the lands. Everywhere the signal touched, it would call Faro's machines up from the earth, activating their biomass conversions systems, stirring Horuses from their long sleep.

I feared then that I was too late, that I may as well sit and wait for the tide of the swarm to reach me, but I analysed the outgoing signal as I climbed. It was only Hades' initial activation of the tower, hooking into the Faro bots' chain of command and integrating itself with it. With the master override in tow and connected to my Focus, it was able to parse this process quickly and relay it to me in simple terms. It would take time for Hades to fully take control of Minerva's tower network and wake the machines permanently. For now it was only channeling its own power through them. Without Hades, the Faro machines would fall, provided I worked fast.

To my great relief, Erend, Varl and Talanah were alive and well at the top of the Alight, taking refuge by the caved-in remnants of the towers at the arena entrance, restocking their supplies. They told me how the Eclipse and their machines charged through, dragging Hades with them and inserting it into the base of the Spire. The Eclipse's numbers were overwhelming, and they were forced to pull back after sustaining many losses. Most of the Nora and the Vanguard stationed here didn't survive. Sona still lived, though she was gravely injured, unable to get up.

I resupplied along with them, and warned them one final time to turn back. There was so little time left, and I was beginning to doubt my chances. I couldn't stand watching the three of them die just to buy me more time in a fruitless effort. This was my fight; my purpose. Part of me knew they'd never turn away willingly. I led the way up over the rubble into the grounds beneath the Spire, with my three closest allies beind.

There it was: Hades, latched to the stone base of the Spire like an ulcer, wrapping its red tendrils up around the metal and through its inner mechanisms.

Hades detected me as I entered the area, patching into my Focus and surrounding me in streams of red light as its low, grating voice spoke inside my head. Still called me 'entity'; said I was expected. Said I couldn't win. Spoken like a true over-confident villain. It called one of its Deathbringers to defend it—though thankfully its biomass conversion faculties were damaged beyond repair.

There was no getting around the Deathbringer, and I didn't know how long the master override would take to work its magic once slotted into Hades' processor core. It demolished the columns and balustrades around the arena with ease, targeting me alone. Hades called upon corrupted machines to join the attack, and I told Erend, Varl and Talanah to concentrate their efforts on those machines, leaving me free to take on the Deathbringer.

I targeted its guns and drew its fire, goading it into overheating and exposing its cooling rods. Three nocked hardpoint arrows destroyed them in one shot, and soon the machine was forced to expose its larger vents, overheating faster and faster as we fought. I had to tie down a couple of errant corrupted machines to keep them off me, but for the most part my allies kept them busy. In the background, my Focus continued counting down to the moment when Hades' activation of the Faro bots would be absolute and irreversible. I tried not to focus on the numbers as they ticked on, closer and closer to failure.

As soon as the Deathbringer went down, I sprinted for the Spire. Hades made one final, feeble exclamation, 'system threat detected.' The very same words it spoke the first time it saw me through Olin's eyes. Not just a threat anymore; I was its death. Hades' own actions made sure of that.

I thrust the point of Sylens' lance through the glass eye of its core and let the master override take control from there, threading down through the blade and into Hades' processor.

The machine released a wave of shock, and though I cried out in pain, I held on, forcing the connection. Then a hologram surrounded me, blacking out the skies and turning the earth to a grid of glowing purple. A voice spoke to me—a machine voice, like those I've encountered in so many ancient facilities. It asked me for identification, and I spoke her name and rank: Elisabet Sobeck, Alpha Prime. Her image appeared, far larger than life and radiating blue light. Expressionless, motionless, staring forward. I reached up to her in some deep instinct, wishing she would look down and see me there, and speak.

The master override recognised my clearance and Elisabet's image dissolved into that of the Spire as it purged Hades from the tower's internal machines. The panels plating its sides fanned out in points, letting shoots of blue light free to soar and counteract Hades influence where it had spread to Faro's machines. It never even made it to the other towers in the global network. In that, Faro's plague was rendered dormant once more. The illusion dissipated.

Back on the mesa in the light of day, a beam of blue light ran up the centre of the tower, reaching up into the clouds. I wonder what myth the Carja will make of that. The smoking, dim red glow of Hades was swept away, falling like embers. Destroyed, unable to ever force its will onto Gaia again. The Eclipse's machines were deactivated as well, and the corruption faded from their slaved machines. Off they ran into the wilds, now once again taking orders from their old global program.

The shock expelled by the lance was still rattling through me, adrenaline beginning to subside, pain and exhaustion kicking in. I staggered out onto the edge of the mesa to face the palace of the sun. I could just make out Avad on the balcony, watching as the Spire sealed itself and dimmed back to dark metal.

I spotted others moving on the mesa as well, too distant to distinguish, and down in the burning ruins of the village below. People leaving their homes, crowding at the railings on the city's south eastern face to raise their arms and their voices in victory. The sun broke through the clouds for the first time all day. If I didn't know better, I'd think the sun really was some sort of sentient entity that favoured us in battle.

I told Erend and Varl that the battle was won, let them think that this was the end of it. They deserve to celebrate this victory—Varl, for conquering his fear of tribal taboo and enduring the Eclipse's attacks, and Erend, for putting his grief for Ersa aside to lead the Vanguard bravely. When they went to leave the Alight, along with Talanah, I told them I'd be after them soon, resting for a while in the fresh light. Thinking of the celebrations and religious admiration that was sure to await me in Meridian, it took some time for me to drum up the courage to follow them.

Down the Alight and through the burning Maizelands to the only elevator still in operation after the battle, the one on the entrance bridge far from the fighting.

The bridge was nearly empty, but the noise from the city beyond was raucous. Cheering, chanting, singing, the music of strings and steel drums. It was like approaching Mother's Heart all over again, harbouring a deep knowledge that I didn't belong amongst what was happening inside.

The Oseram were already deep in their ale flasks, eager for me to join them. Everyone was vying for my attention and I wasn't sure where to go. The palace? But that would only lend credence to the Carja's religious rumours.

In the Sun Ring, many soldiers and citizens stood in prayer. Thanking the sun for lighting their way to victory, or something of that calibre. For them, this marks the end of a long civil struggle. For me, it's just the beginning.

The temple facing the Spire was full of worshippers as well. The Sun Priests were there, singing their usual hymns to their holy tower, which had just opened up and spewed light into the sky. More proof of the Spire's holy connection to the sun's light, probably. Irid thought so, and was ecstatic about this new revelation when I spoke to him. Then he tried to call his fellow priests over to incorporate me into their ceremony. I slipped away as fast as I could.

Many in the city seemed to be moving toward the Hunter's Lodge. Cheering droves of them, in fact. I suppose Talanah will be there, but Erend likely returned to report to Avad. I doubt the Nora would have made the trip, even in the glow of camaraderie that came with victory. I suppose I should join in the festivities, at least until it becomes too much to stomach.

[focsle]

This may be a strange question, but is there any prep you think someone should do before reading moby dick? Or just anything worth bearing in mind for it? Especially for someone whos only read a small handfull of books that old

Hmmm I don't know exactly but here's my stream of consciousness answer to this hahaha.

I don't think it's a book that requires necessary prep to jump into (though it's always helpful and enlightening to hear other people's thoughts and analysis about it while you're reading). As far as the age of the book, a lot of people tend to be surprised at how modern and humorous the language is, though it's very dense and winding. I think it's a book that asks you to spend time with it--it's not one to skim. It has, mostly, very short chapters though that help make what it's saying digestible. But if you're jumping into it expecting an adventure novel about hunting a white whale, that's not gonna be it! I describe the process of reading Moby-Dick as watching a man unravel his soul in front of you for hundreds of pages. It's all his meditations and grapplings thrown out in the open. And maybe, in witnessing one man's soul unraveling, you can find little pieces that resonate with your own.

I think it's always good to bear in mind the time in which it was written: 1840s into the 1850s United States: rapidly industrializing, a period of European immigration in ways the country hadn't seen in the decades prior, the continued violence and land theft wrought upon indigenous people in growing westward expansion and idea of Manifest Destiny really making itself felt in a white American identity, a country extremely polarized and filled with tension around the institution of slavery and fugitive slave acts also destabilizing the lives of Black people in free states, and ultimately a nation fast on its way to hurtling into Civil War. It's a critical decade when it comes to the path of the country and I think many of the questions Moby-Dick raises arise from its time. And that time, if you ask me, feels startlingly close to our moment right now in a number of ways. I think the 2020s will be just as critical a decade. I'm rambling now, forgive me. Call me Ishmael. And also that it was written during the golden age of whaling, where it was one of the largest economic sectors in the country and so much of the energy and product consumption was linked to it. Whaling was a Big Deal, and so many of the issues mentioned above are inherently woven into the industry. I feel like an 1850s American whaleship was very much a male microcosm of its own country. And I think the Pequod in Moby-Dick reads that way as well.

Getting a cursory sense of Herman Melville too can also give an insight into this work. Because--this is perhaps controversial of me to say from a Literary Analysis standpoint but--so many of his books are autobiographical to some degree. He puts a lot of himself into them, I think. I think his personal experiences, at least to some degree, inform the sort of questions he asks and conclusions he reaches in the book.

The book has a LOT of references ranging from the historical to the biblical. There are podcasts that dissect Moby Dick chapters (tho I'm bad at listening to podcasts so I can't recommend a specific one). Power Moby Dick is a meticulously annotated virtual copy that can give context where needed.

Historian Nathaniel Philbrick wrote a book called Why Read Moby-Dick. He's the one who called the book a metaphysical survival manual which I think is such an apt way to describe it and the way I perceive it too. The book however was published in 2011 and has a very like.....Liberal White American 'Obama Is President So The Trajectory of the Country is All Lookin' Up From Here We're All Good Now' skew that, especially today, reads rather flat. But there are still interesting things he brings up.

Very silly, but there's also a book called Our Daily Breach by Dennis Patrick Slattery that engages an examination of each chapter through a personal lens, if that's your sort of Thing. If you're a Journaler.

Anyway! Read how you like! I think one can go in blind and when stumbling across something that feels confusing or intriguing, can follow that thread after reading the chapter. But it is an interesting novel to hear other opinions on (and man have the opinions been written. Throw a stick on jstor and you'll find 8 million essays), because it's a very weird book that can be read so many ways and mean so many things.

[bookreviewcoffee]

Mrs Dalloway Virginia Woolf.

"Aren't we all prisoners? She read a wild play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell and realised that it's the same in life - we all scratch on the walls."

In "Mrs Dalloway" you will find a stream of consciousness where the feelings and thoughts of the characters intertwine, creating a tight knot that seems to require someone to cut it in one fell swoop, so that its constituent parts fly apart and an invigorating gust of air rushes in, penetrating into all the corners of the soul, sweeping away from its path the stone blocks of the established, overlapping years, clearing the space and launching a new process, where it is possible to make completely different decisions, rethinking the life lived and forming the outlines of the future. It is curious how the author accommodates so many characters in one day, penetrating into their inner workings and extracting the course of their thoughts, while combining the characters so that they are cleverly woven into the general framework, without being knocked out of what is happening by an absurd puff. The work raises interesting questions, among which I would like to highlight the following: life and death - the joy of being on the planet and hopelessness, lack of emotion and desire to live, understanding and superficiality of perception of the problem by others; love and its manifestation in all its diverse spectrum, which affects a person, changing it, breaking and supporting; is it possible other development of the situation than what is predestined? Virginia Woolf knew what she was writing about, diving and pushing off the dark deep bottom, surfacing on dry land, which, in my opinion, adds to the genuineness of the work.

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 2: The Entity

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

A terrible screech reverberated through the damp atmosphere of the mines, disrupting the entity's steady stream of collective thought. The creature felt itself being violently exorcised from the comforting hum of whispers that cradled its mind as the noise vanished into a void. Pain swiftly road in as the being fell, slim body tumbling to the ground and it's legs erratically writhed--as if attacking an invisible predator whose maw held it in a vice grip and shook it's precarious form like a ragdoll. 

A low-frequency noise shook through the cavern, sending waves of agony coursing through the entity's delicate limbs. Unlike the mild discomforts it had occasionally felt, this sensation cut deeper--tearing at the very fabric of it's being by shredding away any and all cohesion. It's instinctual urge to flee from the torment was overridden by a paralyzing agony, building into a crescendo that didn't allow for confusion to fully root itself into the creature's subconscious. Seconds felt like hours as primal screeches left its tender form. For the first time in it's life, the entity had a fleeting thought about it's predicament--wondering when and if this feeling would stop. 

Suddenly, the invisible hand that strangled the entity went dormant. As the creature came to, it recognized two sensations: the hot liquid of its own blood, and the loudness of it's own vibration. Disoriented, the entity scratched into the ground--sending out a distress call through it's body, but received no response. A cold feeling traveled through it's appendages, realizing it could no longer hear the singular voice of it's brethren.

The collective consciousness that nourished its life was gone. 

The hive had perished. 

And somehow, it was alive--but barely. 

Slowly, an instinct dawned upon the creature that it didn't have much time left to live. Not when it's body had been mangled by rocks that broke off from the roof of the mines, leaving only two legs for the entity to crawl on.  Nearby, several of it's kind lay motionless, having suffered the same fate. 

Tilting it's head up, the creature gazed at the ceiling of the cave and tilted. Though lacking eyes, it could sense the play of light against darkness in the world. A grey fog began to cloud the entity's vision as it pieced together a briefly synopsis of how it had lost it's limbs. A giant stalagmite piece that had once been the foundation of it's nest had shattered, taking with it many brethren--young and old. Quivering, the creature lowered it's gaze and took in the withered forms of it's kind forever frozen in place. The grey matter within it's vision flickered like a tiny flame, igniting the creature's need to find salvation. The desperation in its movement had no bounds as it limped then slowly began to move away from the carnage. 

The creature scurried past debris with great struggle while it sent out weak pulses through tendrils at the base of its form. Each vibration echoed into the darkness, searching for a heat signature that would indicate a potential host. As the minutes ticked by, the entity could feel its strength waning. The bleeding had grown worse, and all color in its vision became monochromatic. At the edge of a precipice, a faint aura similar to pink pierced through the thick greys of it's sight. The entity stopped moving, looking up as it's mind began to puzzle together the silhouette of a slumped human not far away. The creature summoned the last of it's strength and propelled itself toward the source with an unwavering determination. 

Upon reaching it's destination, the entity halted in its tracks. Cautiously, it approached the human's legs and poked at the persons right leg. There was no reaction. Emboldened, the creature gave a small shove, then two, then three. Nothing. The entity stepped further out from the shadows to get a gander. The heat signature coming from the human that the creature followed was no longer present--the pink aura had vanished. 

A sensation akin to despair began to grip the entity as it was faced with limited options. On a primal recognition, it knew merging with a corpse was suicidal--it's kind needed something alive to siphon energy from, not a lifeless vessel. The creature understood its body was now in the final throes of shutting down, looking for a secondary host was off the table. It was either accept it's fate, or take a chance. 

The entity's tendrils squirmed, and sent out one final pulse to gauge it's surroundings. As it slowly spun and looked around, it's attention went back to the corpse. The tiniest noise of a heartbeat shimmered through the creatures mind, and a layer of pink fizzled in and out of its sight.  The entity wasted no time as urgency flooded its senses, frantically searching for a way inside of the human. 

Attempting to pry the mouth open proved futile, lacking the strength with only two limbs at it's disposal. The creature poked and explored the human's nostrils. While they were an easy way in, the structural integrity of the hosts skeleton would come at a cost. It decided to scatter around the torso, and suddenly detected a strong metallic scent. The smell activated the creatures predatory drive as it deeply hissed--shuddering to keep impulse under control as hunger battled against the need to survive. The entity dug it's remaining two appendages into the flat grain texture surface of the humans jacket, using the material to hoist itself up the back as it followed the trail of blood. 

Coming upon the upper back, the creature stumbled upon a deep wound that traversed the spine. There was no further hesitation as the entity used its two limbs to widen the narrow cut, and began to wiggle its way into the body. As the hole widened, the muscle and flesh of the corpse was chilling to the touch. It briefly paused to settle into the sensation, catching a familiar scent that took the creature by surprise--there had once been another like itself here, a long time ago. Although curiosity came, the entity's one track mind overruled any further exploration into the thought.

Finally reaching the hardiness of bone, the creature nestled itself, finding a home base within its host. The tendrils on its back began to elongate and slither, establishing connections by coiling around the spine and gluing itself to every rope of the nervous system. Once linked fully to the brain and heart, the creature sent out microscopic electrical pulses to generate heat within the cold ligaments--mouth secreting fluids to aid in healing damaged nerves and muscle from the wound that had been inflicted upon the host. As it finished, the creature left a thin veil of a membrane covering the hole--ensuring secondary pathway for breathe.

Now came the challenge: giving a dead brain a reset. 

The pulses the entity emitted began to grow in strength, and the fingertips of the host trembled. Lifeless eyes fluttered open and shut, rolling into the back of the skull as second later the body jerked with increasing violence. The convulsions propelled human from a seated position to falling against their left side in a fetal pose. Wheezes of air emerged past cold lips, trying to draw in breath like a fish out of water to no avail. The entity could feel its existence teetering on the brink. With the last of its reserves, it directed all energy toward kicking the heart awake and darkness began to consume the corner of the creatures consciousness. A cacophony of unfamiliar sounds swirled against the entity like a blanket of mist. The entity couldn't fathom what was being said as it lost all sense of self. 

"Leone? Maybe there looking señoring for some time miss game, Sanza!" "OK. It's Dulcine? Maybe missing señor some canza!" "You know?" “Leon!” “Help…Ashle Pright?" "You'rescue lookine? Maybe lookinge, re lookinge, ressing foring someon!” “Help…Ashley.” "That hurts, re then come señoring someon!” “Help…Ashle there time here missine? Maybe time." "..Peonea! Let us ring some some some time some canza! Let us game." "OK. It's game Pancessing some." "There cho Panza!" "OK. It's game." "Then come."    "...People can change, right?"  (1)

The movements came to a grinding halt, the body motionless and still--a silent figure in the cavernous depths. 

A gentle gust of wind whispered through the mines, stirring strands of hair across the body's face. 

Grey blue eyes snapped open--vibrant gold rings encircling pupils wide with awareness. 

Lungs gasping with an unearthly heave, the creature--the plaga parasite--took its first breath as a human being. 

After hours of navigating through the mines, the plaga emerged from the mouth of a cave by way of crawling, and gazed upon the outside world for the first time in its life. A wordless awe struck its eyes, taking in colors that painted the landscape in hues it couldn't have ever imagined. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, and the plaga lay in the dirt, the entity felt paralyzed--not knowing where to begin in this new place. 

Weeks passed. 

The process of acclimating proved to be a grueling ordeal for the plaga--grappling with both intricacy and limitations of the human body. Mastering functions like walking and breathing were a chore, requiring days of trial and error--along with a few close calls of suffocation--before establishing a routine to adjust lung capacity. There were also clumsy missteps that nearly cost the creature its second life. On the eighth day, the parasite was in the thrill of learning to run in an upright position and balancing its body's weight by adjusting the hips, that it forgot how to brake. As the creature nearly slipped off the edge of cliff into a giant body of water, it was reminded of the hosts fragility--that despite the imposing size and appearance, the bodies of two-legged mammals had many weaknesses that could easily be exploited. 

Eating presented its own challenges. The parasite had to learn how to satisfy the needs of a bigger stomach that required consistent nourishment. Hunting small life forms did little to satiate the upkeep needed on the host, and the plaga yearned for something substantial. The entity resorted to scavenging by feeding upon the corpses of its brethren's hosts. Cannibalizing wasn't an unfamiliar concept and was quite natural for the species, but one day after chewing on the flesh of a leg, a peculiar thought left the plaga nauseated--the realization of the inherent wrongness in consuming something that resembled itself. Accustomed to viewing the world in absolutes, the plaga was taken back by the emergence of second guessing its choices. 

The creature stopped eating the dead, going back to hunting animals and the occasional insect. 

During its explorations through the woods, the plaga encountered a few of its brethren alive and well in their hosts. However, appearances were greatly deceiving for the entities within were far from intact. When the creature attempted to communicate through vibrational wavelengths, it was met with hostility. The other plagas attacked without a second thought. After escaping and surveying its brethren for a time, it became evident to the plaga that its siblings had been drove to insanity--leading them to easily dispatch and destroy one another, consumed by their lack of synchronicity with not only the bodies they inhabited but with the hive mind. The voice of the one known as Saddler, was long gone. 

Later, in the middle of grappling against one of its kind that took the shape of an old woman--whose rabid spewing of blood and bile painted a macabre scene--the parasite found itself fighting not only with a physical adversary, but also with an intrusion of vocals that belonged to the human tongue. The words--simple and raw--repeated in its mind. 

Hurt…hurts…

Caught off guard by the unexpected surge of human sensations, the entity barely registered the force that sent its body crashing to the ground. Feeling its sibling attempting to drag it off into the woods and finish what it started, instinct kicked in, driving the plaga to mutate its host’s teeth and fingertips--transforming them into deadly weapons to fend off the attacker with fatal bites and slashes. As the frenzied struggle subsided upon killing the intruder, the body slowly reverted to its human base, leaving the creature breathless. Thirst gnawed at it's throat, driving the plaga to sprint toward a nearby trough--senses ablaze with needing relief. 

Drink…wet…

Ignoring the grime at the surface, the parasite plunged its head into the murky water, gulping down the liquid with desperate fervor. As the cool water eased physical discomfort, a flood of words and images clouded its mind. 

“I didn’t come here to create monsters!”

“Dr. Serra, you knew exactly what you signed up for when you were brought onto this team.” 

“No, no te atrevas, joder. This wasn’t part of the deal!” (2)

“And yet you still use our resources--”

“Don’t you dare try to pull that false equivalency shit--!”

“Our test subjects--which we painstakingly procured mind you--for your experiments without a second thought! I seem to also recall your recent signature approving for three more Jane Does so you can fulfill your curiosity about a certain bug near and dear to your heart.” 

“....Those Jane Does signed the consent forms because they are already one foot in the grave with nothing to lose! I’m not forcing anyone to participate in my work! If there’s even a small chance my research can save them I--!”

“You know the outcome of what will happen to them, regardless of good intentions.” 

“....”

“Don't pretend to be a man of moral high ground, Dr. Serra, when your hands are stained with blood while in the pursuits of pushing the biological envelope. We as a team are all in this together, for the betterment of--”

“Humanity…something that I think we’ve forgotten, being cooped up in this damned lab!” 

“....”

“....”

“Team 6 is close to completing the project ahead of schedule, all because of your tinkering with the Nemesis organism.” 

“And hypothetically, what if I were to step down?” 

“This is not a game…You will fulfill your end of the bargain, Luis. If you care to receive the funds for your eradication project to help that little shit hole of a village you crawled out of.”

“I see we’re resorting to cheap shots now, eh?”

“You’re quite fortunate Umbrella hasn’t discovered your secret. But know this, Dr. Serra, its not a matter of if but when the plagas are found. If not the company, someone else will come along and exploit what you hold dear.” 

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, hm? I’m sure you have other fascinating engagements to stress about, not the “shit hole of a village” I crawled out of.” 

“Your sarcasm will be the death of you one day.” 

“Es mejor que lo que el destino te tenga reservado, chief.”  (3)

“....I want results, Luis. Get to work.” 

Pulling its out from the trough, the entity frantically gasped--heart thudding deeply against its ribcage as the present came back online. In between a fit of coughs, the creature looked around the woods with paranoia in its eyes, fearful that if it closed them, it would see "the other place"--the strange room with a long hallway. The bright lights above comparable to the rays of the sun without the warmth. The aggressive female. How he felt so small when speaking to her. How he both understood and didn't understand a single damn vocalization that left the lips of humans. 

Furrowing his brows, the plaga pushed away the thoughts. Now wasn't the time to be consumed by precarious sensation, not when he was being hunted. He needed to gather his bearings, and leave the area. 

Slouched against the trough, he adjusted onto his knees and cupped his hands together to scoop out more water. As the cold liquid settled against his fingertips, he couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the ripples. A look of awe spread across his face, captivated by the gentle undulations that spread outwards like hushed whispers. His mouth began to form into a smile, the nerves in his lips twitching from having not performed such a reaction before. The feeling irritated him, but he couldn’t help himself. Neurons fired off in his brain.

He liked this very much. 

Something unsettling caught the corner of his eyes as the ripples began to displace. There was an eye, looking right at him. He gasped and tumbled backward. The heavy beat of his heart ached. Sweat pooled around the base of his neck, small hairs standing at attention. A chilling thought of something grotesque emerging from the water raced through his head. He had been fearful before. Every creature had a healthy amount of that--even plaga--but he had never been spooked. Well, his mind had never tricked him into being spooked. 

His mind. 

He swallowed at the concept. 

When nothing burst from the trough, he cautiously crawled over. Quivering, he dared himself to look upon the waters surface and was met with a face. Like before he scurried back, and like before, nothing came of it. He didn’t know what this thing was, but he was getting fed up with its antics. 

With an angry brow, he once again approached the trough and looked down. This time, staying still. Peering through the murky surface the water rippled gently under the weight of his reflection as he leaned in closer. His gaze lingering on a pair of blue orbs that seemed to hold a world of emotions within them.

As he blinked, he realized who he had been looking at this whole time.

Little things began to pop out to him as he continued to stare. How his dark hair was tousled and unkempt, some strands stained with blood and debris. How the sharp features of his jawline were peppered with facial hair. The little bump where his nose was curved. The small faded vertical scar just barely under his left eye. With cautious touch, his right hand reached for his face, and he began to run his fingertips against the dull patch of pink--the texture a smidge thicker than the rest of his skin. His blackened veins that slithered under his flesh pulsed in tandem with a deep thunder that rolled through his body. His hand retreated from his cheek and he pressed a palm to his chest. 

He…art…

There was no concept of attachment in his species--not for each other, and especially not for the animals whose bodies they'd use to fulfill their natural order. He had seen himself as a separate soul from the body he inhabited, and yet here he was experiencing self-consciousness for the first time. 

His fingertips clenched around the dirty fabric of his shirt, applying a small amount of pressure against his skin, right where his heart would be. 

Mi..mine…?

Months passed. 

Strange conversations from "the other place" began to emerge. The episodes at first quick and sporadic, happening in moments of pause, a hunt, or battling what remained of his brethren. Off putting at first, he grew fascinated toward the concept of words and what attachments the sounds had to things in the world. After the last of his siblings had been disposed of, did he find the courage to explore human settlements. He spent a week just admiring the architecture alone on each and every house, making connections to how intricate the dwellings were to how his nest once was, and played with the concept of imagination--visualizing how humans might’ve carried themselves in places like this. 

In that time, he became more adept at hunting. No longer succumbing to frenzy when hunger struck, he behaved like a shadow. Carefully charting his course and building up tension before making his strike. Regardless of the progress made, the aftermath remained messy. Once he tasted blood, he couldn't combat his predatory drive to consume. Being in the body of a human somewhat amplified the impulse. The only thing that separated man from bug was the need to be cautious--to plan carefully, before diving in. 

Bu…bug…

That word...it bothered him a great deal, and he didn’t understand why. 

“Give us a push, Sancho!” 

“Luis, no te vayas muy lejos. No quiero que te hagas daño, hijo.” (4)

“¿Otra vez Don Quixote? No es que quiera reprimir tu diversión, nieto mío, pero tal vez deberías leer algo sobre la fauna local del pueblo. Llegará un momento en que tendrás que cazar tú solo.” (5)

“Medicine that will help you suppress the progress of your…problem.” 

“I’ll make it cheap for you!” 

“Mi papá dice que a tu abuelo no le queda mucho tiempo en este mundo.” (6)

“Todos dicen eso…”

“Luis?” 

“¡Tiene que haber otro pueblo, otro lugar que pueda ayudar a mi abuelo!”

“¡Está prohibido!”

“¡No me importa! Si tienen medicinas... medicinas de cualquier tipo que puedan ayudar, ¡no puedo quedarme aquí sin hacer nada!”

“Luis, tu abuelo está en batalla con un demonio. ¡La medicina que buscas no puede curar eso!”

“¡El abuelo no está luchando contra un demonio, idiota! ¡Sólo está muy enfermo! ¡¿Cómo puedes seguir creyendo en supersticiones incluso después de descubrir que hay un mundo más grande fuera de este lugar?!”

“¡Porque tengo fe, Luis! Es verdad, no soy tan listo como tú, diablos, ninguno de nosotros los niños lo somos, ¡pero este es nuestro mundo! ¡Tenemos que respetar que las cosas son como son!”

“Bueno, este no es el mundo en el que elegí nacer, ¡y al diablo con cómo son las cosas!”

“¿A dónde vas?”

“¡Voy a encontrar al padre Méndez y le convenceré para que me deje salir a buscar un médico!”

“Gah!” He slammed down a letter he had been teaching himself to read, almost breaking a table in the process. While image after image flooded his brain, his fingertips duck into the back of his scalp. The full sentences devolved into tiny murmurs, as if they were being squeaked by a horde of rats. 

Catching his breath, he gulped. A small growl left his throat at seeing the damages he caused. It was such a trivial thing--something that shouldn't have gotten under his skin, but he was irritated by his own actions. 

"The other place" was becoming problematic, disrupting his general contentment everyday now. He couldn't understand how humans didn't lose their heads over having an uncapped barrel of consciousness flowing in like wine. The content was strong for a creature such as himself who was used to not having thoughts of his own--being one with a singular collective. 

Speaking of humans, he grew more curious about his host. There wasn't anything left in the corpse when he took over, an individual mind that is. The heart may have been pumping its last rounds, he sensed it himself, but the person who once had domain had been long gone. That didn't stop him from imagining what his host was like as a person. He learned how to read various scribbles left behind on parchment, if only to help him understand the consciousness that once dwelled in this body. That and to understand what this...Don Quixote was. It annoyed him a great deal, but the word seemed to have value to his host--enough to warrant further investigation. 

Though the euphoria of the collective dwindled with time, he remembered the faint voices of his brethren through the hive network--and how there was an imprint of humanity that managed to pierce the veil before disappearing. He recalled exploring the collective in his nest a long time ago, wondering what it was like to share a body with another living thing. Thousands of voices told him how it took great effort to ignore the extra sound, and how they slowly encroached upon the consciousness until it went elsewhere.  He wondered if that elsewhere was "the other place" he kept visiting. He found himself with more questions than answers the longer he dwelled upon it. 

Two Legs--what he referred to himself as-- one day found a copy of Don Quixote in the village library. He couldn't put it down after the first page. 

For a moment in time, he felt another presence enjoying the moment with him. A little vibration beating in tandem with his heart. 

Lu…is…

More time passed. 

Two Legs stood in front of an old house that had seen better days. The stain of the wooden panels had faded into a grey suitable for a tombstone, the last of the windows cracked. It was a hollow shell of a building, a body that had no heart to keep its fire alive. The front door, weather-beaten stood slightly ajar--held in place by rusted hinges that had lost their sheen. 

Clenching his jaw, Two Legs reached out and grasped the doorknob. It was rusty and cold under his fingers, sending a tickle up his spine. He gave the door a tentative push, but it resisted, groaning in protest as if reluctant to allow entry. Gritting his teeth, he used his left shoulder to apply more force. The door creaked loudly, its hinges screaming as dust and debris shook loose from the frame--cascading down into tiny clouds that caught the last rays of sunlight streaming through the broken windows. With a final heave, the door swung open with a long and mournful wail. Two Legs stumbled forward, catching himself against the doorframe. He coughed as dust particles itched the inside of his nostrils and sneezed twice. 

The house was silent and the air was heavy with a smell that resembled mold and petrichor. He stepped over the threshold, shoes crunching a layer of debris scattered across the floor. Eerie shadows danced along the walls as the dim light from outside barely penetrated the gloom. He blinked and a thin translucent membrane emerged near his caruncles, shielding his eyes as it cast a greenish glow over the blues of his irises that glowed in the dark. He slowly turned his head, observing how the interior was an unsettling still frame of a life once lived. Dust-covered furniture sat askew, cobwebs draped like tattered curtains across the corners of the room. The wallpaper nearby peeled in long, curling strips--revealing bare rotting wood beneath. 

Two Legs made a fist--scared of how familiar the scents and textures were to him despite having never set foot in this place until now. The last house in the village he hadn't visited. A part of himself wanted to turn and leave, no longer wanting to satisfy the curiosity he had grown attached to having after reading enough books that outnumbered the hundreds of siblings he once shared a nest with. Nevertheless, his visions from "the other place" wouldn't let him be satisfied. He needed to know Luis--this name that the people from the other side called him, and he knew this house held the answers. 

The floorboards creaked ominously under his weight. Every sound amplified in the silence. Each scratch and groan echoed through empty rooms and corridors. Two Legs moved methodically, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched despite knowing all too well he was the last of his kind here.

The last one...

He pushed the thought away. 

The stillness felt like it was closing in around him, pressing down on his shoulders as he made his way down a hall and came upon a rustic room. It was more well-kept in comparison to the rest of the house. Upon entering, his eyes were immediately drawn to a tattered table near the center. Scattered across the surface were remnants of someone's once-vibrant curiosity: an old microscope, several dusty test tubes, and a collection of brown bottles with faded labels. Nearby an ancient fireplace stood--the insides pitch black from years of use. On top of the mantle were a couple picture frames haphazardly placed next to an instrument that seemed out of place in the somber setting. 

Two Legs ventured over to the little stringed instrument given how it stood out like a sore thumb. Unsure of what to make of it, he plucked one of the strings and a piercing sound reverberated against his ears. The vibration rocked his body and startled him. He almost fell backward, bumping into the table. A picture frame clattered to the floor. 

Muttering a curse under his breath, he crouched down and picked up the fallen frame. The glass was cracked, but the black-and-white photograph inside was still visible. He winced as a a shard nicked the tip of his finger, blood gently pooling down as he flipped the picture and glanced over it. The image depicted an older gentleman, standing beside a young boy. The child had his hair slicked back--his forehead exposed--and was dressed in formal attire with a big bow obscuring his neck. As Two Legs examined the photo, a flicker of recognition sparked within him. His heart raced as he studied the older man, trying to connect the dots. 

Two Legs felt his mind melting into "the other place" as the decrepit house was suddenly consumed by thousands of black dots that clouded his eyes. He suddenly felt the sun. How it hung low in the sky, casting a warm hue over the edge of the village. . 

Luis sat on the front porch steps beside his Abuelo, watching as the older man cleaned his shotgun. He noted how his weathered face was softened by a gentle smile as he blew off mud from the stock. 

“She had a heart as big as this village,” Abuelo said. His eyes looked as if he had been taken back in time. “I know you’ve been having problems with your peers lately, but your mother--she’d be so proud of you, Luis. Proud of how smart you’ve become.”  

“Even though I’m the reason she left us so soon?” Luis murmured sadly. 

“Boy, don’t speak ill like that.” Abuelo forewarned. He cleared his throat upon realizing he startled his grandson and breathed through his nose. Furrowing his brows, he continued. “It wasn’t your fault, Luis. It never was. The people who say otherwise be damned. Its as I said, her heart was as big as this village. One day, it just became too large for her body. I thank God though that she left a piece of herself behind. So I can keep seeing her eyes looking back at me.” 

Luis couldn’t bring himself to contradict the old man. He had been told time and time again in the village that he resembled his father, from his skin tone, his facial structure, even the sound of his voice. He tried to suppress a smile that crept up on his lips, feeling a bit of pride swell in his heart at learning he had gained something physical from his mother.  Once more though, the shine in his eyes dwindled. 

“You never told me about papa, what happened to him.” Luis murmured, almost bitterly. 

Abuelo let out a deep breath as he put down the gun at the small table in front of him and began using a cloth to wipe his hands. “Sometimes when adults let fear get to them, they lose faith. When that happens, they end up creating a demon that gives chase. It makes them forget what matters, so they go off looking for it in a blind fit--not realizing back home they had everything." 

“Demons…You know I don’t believe in the texts anymore, right? I haven’t for a long time now.” 

“I’m well aware,” Abuelo nodded. There was a look of defeat in his eyes before he continued. “I am not smart like you, nino. I teach from where I understand. I teach from here,” he pointed at his heart, watching Luis. He carefully got up from his seat, picking up the gun with his right hand as he approached his grandson and placed an arm on his shoulder. “Remember, no matter how big your mind grows, you should let the heart speak first to people. Even if it hurts. Do you understand?” 

Luis nodded, absorbing every word. He loved these moments with Abuelo. In a way, he could place himself in his mothers shoes when she was a child, looking up to her father for wisdom and strength. Moments like this connected him to her, despite her presence no longer being of this earth. 

Later that day, they set out for a hunting trip. Luis--eager to prove himself--ran ahead into the dense forest. The thrill of adventure coursed through him as he weaved between trees, the world around him a blur of greens and browns. The moment he spotted deer tracks, his eyes lit up as he spun around to holler back to his abuelo, but soon realized he was alone. The forest felt different now--darker, more intimidating. He heard a rustling behind him to the left, and turned to see a wolf ten feet away, it’s eyes locked onto him.

Luis’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared into the creatures orbs. It wasn’t that beautiful golden hue he had seen in books. No, these eyes were clouded in madness, darting erratically in their sockets. Foam bubbled from its snarling jaws, flecking its muzzle and dripping onto the ground. The animal's breath came in harsh, ragged pants, each exhale accompanied by a guttural growl that drove all other noise in the woods away. 

The wolf's ears lay flat against its skull, and its tail lashed out in agitation. As it prowled closer, its lips curled back to reveal jagged, yellowed teeth. It didn’t take Luis long to realize there was something incredibly off about this animal, and as his little heart pounded deeply against his chest, he suddenly remembered all the verses from the holy books he had been forced to read since he could walk. 

Luis blinked, and the wolf charged. 

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed him, tossing him aside just as the wolf coiled its body into a spring and lunged. Luis hit the ground hard, his cheek scraping against a sharp rock. He watched in a daze as his Abuelo aimed and fired--the shot echoing through the trees. With an agonizing yelp, the wolf fell lifeless. 

Abuelo approached cautiously, bending down to check the animal. As he did, the creature lunged with a final burst of energy, sinking its teeth into his arm. With a scream and grimace, Abuelo pulled out a knife and quickly ended the wolf’s suffering for good.

Luis shook hard, clutching his bleeding cheek as tears welled up in his eyes. The sight of his grandpa’s wound, how warm his blood felt against his fingers, the violence—it was too much. He barely noticed how his Abuelo limped over to him. 

“It’s okay, Luis,” he said softly, pulling the boy into a comforting embrace. “We’re safe now. I’ve got you, boy. I got you.”

In between sobs and holding onto his Abuelo for dear life, Luis turned his head and gazed at the wolf's corpse Through the gaping hole where bullet met flesh, he saw at first what he thought was a snake slinking out from the wound, jittering about. His eyes widened, and Luis was petrified as the "snake" stretched out toward them and finally fell limp against the carcass.

“Abuelo…” Two Legs grip tightened around the photograph. He could almost feel the older mans arms around him, hear his soothing voice. The scar on his left cheek seemed to throb anew from the memory. 

“Gr..Grandpa.” 

As the present began to emerge back into reality, his mind whirled in a storm of confusion. The old man, he was Luis’s grandfather--yet the memories were vivid as if he had experienced the wolf attack himself. Brief images of fire came to him, and he breathed heavily; remembering a time long ago when the very house he stood in was engulfed by flames. 

Two Legs thought back to the moment he discovered the word “bug”, recalling the strange discomfort it evoked. Slowly, as his mind replayed the tendril emerging from the wolf, he made the connection: the term “bug” referred not only to the insects he had seen under rocks and in dirt, but also to creatures like himself--the plaga--with their many legs and segmented bodies. Realizing this, he understood why the word made him feel nauseous. Humans used it derogatorily, reducing its kind to mere pests--monsters. Just like the thing that slithered from the wolf. The thing that led to this house being set aflame, when Abuelo became sick. 

Luis himself saw plaga as beasts--unsettling creatures he harbored an intense fascination for if only to understand why his grandfather had to die. 

The intensity of this revelation compounded Two Legs emotional turmoil. He was grappling with feelings and concepts that were entirely new, caught between his own identity and the remnants of the human he inhabited. 

“Many legs,” He whimpered to himself with quaking breath. “I have…Two. Two Legs. I am Two Legs. Not Luis, I’m Two…I’m Two…”

In a desperate attempt to ground himself, he focused on his breathing, trying to calm the rapid pounding of his borrowed heart. The rational part of himself knew that these were Luis’s memories, Luis’s emotions, but another--the part now intricately entwined with the human’s body and mind, couldn’t help but share in the profound sense of loss and love for a grandfather he never knew. He was drowning in Luis's grief. The sensation of losing someone who had been a cornerstone in his life was too much to bear. 

Two Legs tried to think back to the collective consciousness of the hive out of desperation. The memories were distant--faded even. Like a dream slipping away upon waking. He only recalled a vague sense of unity--the encompassing feeling of belonging to something higher than himself. How good it felt. A painful epiphany dawned on him. His own individual mind was emerging, and the memories left over from his host, Luis, were encroaching--blending together and erasing memories from the hive. 

Two Legs had never screamed before. 

As the existential crisis took hold, he began to make noises--soft and guttural, then louder and more desperate. The sheer intensity of his emotions, the confusion, the grief, the loss of identity, built up inside him until it exploded. He screamed louder and louder, the sound echoing through the abandoned house. His body violently shook, and in his anguish, he broke the table nearby--falling to his knees.

Tears streamed down Two Legs face while he clutched the picture to his chest. The photograph trembled in his hands as he stared at the faces. Abuelo--so familiar and yet so alien--seemed to stare back with a mix of sternness and warmth. The young boy with his slick hair and large forehead, dressed in school attire with a big bow hiding his neck, was undeniably Luis.

And now, he was Luis too. 

A part of him was. 

In that moment, he was neither fully parasite nor fully human, but something in between.

He sobbed as his body curled into a fetal position, and screamed again until his throat burned. 

“Una limonado to go.” 

“Gracias,” Two Legs took the cup from the man across the counter and turned around. His eyes scanned for a spot to sit down in the cafe, and he eventually settled on a small corner table near one of the windows. 

For the past few years, he had been living as Luis--constantly balancing his parasitic instincts with the need to blend in with humans. At first there was a deep learning curve, to where he experienced embarrassment many times. A memory of being chased out of a public river bank naked while catching fish briefly insulted him. He felt his cheeks flush. Even a year later, he didn’t quite understand why humans were so offended by their own bodies, but it didn’t take long to recognize it had everything to do genitalia. That was still something he was getting used to, how different things were in that department. 

Taking his mind off the incident, Two Legs eyed the lemonade he purchased; noting how the color looked like piss. This was something Luis enjoyed during the warmer months, something he hadn’t tried yet. The struggle with his identity remained a daily battle, but the small differences between himself and Luis helped Two Legs stay grounded. He loved Nutella. In fact he was certain he could eat several jars in one sitting and wouldn’t so much as get a stomach ache. That was a treat Luis had always found too sweet. He also enjoyed writing, a hobby Luis admired but never pursued despite his love for literature and neat penmanship. Little variations like these kept his mind from melting away at the seams.

Two Legs carefully picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, taking a small sip. The bitterness hit him like a car going too fast over a speedbump. He nearly spat it out until reminding himself that there were people present, and reluctantly he swallowed while pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to encourage saliva to wash down the rest. He shuddered as his brows furrowed. Not even the aftertaste of the sugar could get rid of sour texture and how pungent it was. 

“Mierda..” He cursed under his breath. “Good waste of euros, eh?” 

Although disappointed in the experience, Two Legs took to heart that this was another thing that separated him from Luis. Clear as day now, he had proof that Luis was more of a savory guy versus the parasite having more of a sweet tooth. Nevertheless, Two Legs understood why Luis appreciated such flavors. It was strange to both love and despise a preference, but such was the nature of this weird mesh between two entities. 

Letting out a breath, Two Legs looked out the window--mostly people watching, while he thought back to the village; wondering what had become of the place. Around the time he left, outsiders began to drift in. He stuck to hiding, not wanting to show himself to the world but that became problematic when said humans stumbled upon plaga spores and thus became a new generation of infected. He already felt isolated from what remained of his original hive, but with this younger brood, he was more alienated given his disposition. The rare times he tried to approach, they didn’t sense his frequency at all. 

There was also the looming threat of powerful people investigating the area. Two Legs remembered seeing officials with a logo that said Tricell on it through a thicket of trees, and how it made him wary for good reason. The knowledge that Luis possessed--what he now possessed--was too dangerous to give away to such creatures.

Aside from Umbrella, this was an organization that wanted Luis’s intelligence at the hem of their operations while he was in college. Despite the company leading him to his fate, Two Legs felt in his gut Luis was right to choose Umbrella in the end, given how Tricell would’ve kept him chained in more ways than one. Luis’s ambition was like that of a wild horse, something that couldn’t be broken. Not when he was determined to achieve his ends. Tricell never would’ve given him an inch, especially regarding his private research into Las Plagas--which he tried and failed to hide from the world at large. The memory of Luis and the chief from Team 6 crossed his mind. Two Legs blinked and pushed it aside. Thinking about his own goals, there had to be other parasitic beings such as himself out there in the world. Finding another hive he could join would be heaven on earth--for he could become a part of a collective to where he'd lose his individual consciousness. 

Being human, with it’s multifaceted emotions, was overwhelming. Two Legs was self aware to understand an entity like himself had no business nor entitlement to this sort of life--as much as a part of him had been enjoying one of natures most bizarre experiments: a parasite living like a man. He knew Luis well enough to know even he would find a twisted humor to the whole damn thing. 

He noticed his black veins popping up on his right arm. Letting out a small gasp, Two Legs looked around to make sure no one was gazing, and made a quiet exit with the lemonade in hand which he promptly tossed into a nearby garbage can. 

As Two Legs stepped out into the world, a familiar sensation buzzed within him. His parasitic tendencies stirring temptation as he glanced at the people passing him by. Over time he had grown fond of human cuisine, savoring the complex flavors and textures they enjoyed. This new appreciation had gradually shifted his dietary habits. However, the urge to stalk and chase could not be entirely ignored. On the occasion, he would succumb to his needs and would hunt humans to satisfy his predatory drive. He was very strategic about the ordeal--selecting prey carefully to avoid detection. While Two Legs didn't feel guilt, he was curious to see how long he could withstand against his impulses. It was now day 36, and he had a sinking feeling he had reached the threshold. 

“I shouldn’t have tried the lemonade. It cursed me, damn it.” He whispered to himself with a laugh, shaking his head in defeat as he looked down at his right palm. His fingers twitched again, and more of his parasitic trait began to show through. 

Later that evening, as Two Legs attempted to settle down in a private room, his urges boiled over. The motel’s thin walls couldn’t muffle the sounds of life; and he could hear the breaths of the guests in the adjacent rooms, each one amplifying his hunger. While he salivated, he began to hear the heartbeat of every living creature in the vicinity. The pulse of their blood a symphony calling his name. His stomach churned in a twisted knot, a burning need clawing at his insides. Knowing he wouldn't last much longer, Two Legs slipped into the night--prowling the dark streets to sniff out his prey. Mind drugged on pure drive, Two Legs knew the first person he set his sights on, he'd kill them. All rational thought was as good as dead.

Two Legs could feel frustration boiling in his blood hours later. All he could see was red, and there was not a damn soul in sight. He was about to take his anger out on a nearby crate until a scent slithered up his nostrils. At first it was musky, then it descended into a sweet texture. It reminded him of vanilla, and something floral with a smokey undertone. The potency was enough to where he had to stop walking just to take it in. 

Two Legs felt goosebumps travel up his arms--having not smelled a combination like this before. It nearly took his breath away. Before he could savor it any further, a surge of adrenaline kicked him hard and he ran toward the source. 

Coming upon a bridge, his senses zeroed in on a figure nearby. Someone walking alone. The steady thump of their heart drew him in like a fish to bait. He waited for his moment--for a single frame in time in which his prey would turn their back. He had it down to a science, where relying on stealth alone was no longer necessary. He could clap out the seconds in tandem with the thumping noise of his preys heart in his ears. 

One foot went in front of the other, and the person turned on cue. Without hesitation, Two Legs emerged, a blur of motion in the darkness as he made his strike. The person however was not as defenseless as they seemed. He noted how fierce they were, landing a few hits that nearly busted his nose. The pain only fueled his hunger and need to subdue. He quickly compromised them by pinning the person to the ground.

Feeling his brain drugged on the high of taking down someone that actually challenged him, Two Legs let out an animalistic growl near their ear; letting them know without words that he won in the end. His mouth fell open and he began to mutate his host, revealing long lateral incisors, medium sharp canines, and short yet pointed bicuspids. Just as he was about to sink his teeth into the human, they let out a whimper. The sound pierced through his drunken haze.

He remembered the searing agony when he lost his legs as a parasite.

He heard Luis’s voice and that of another. 

“You know this means we’re almost-” 

“Almost what?” 

Two Legs watched through Luis’s point of view as hot pain shot through his back, lighting up every single nerve. He let out a whine--warmth filled the back of his throat, and he gagged as blood emerged past his lips.  His entire body froze as if a shark breached the surface and sunk its teeth into his flesh, and now it carried him down into the depths as he fell forward. Each shallow breath was a tortuous effort as his lungs filled with blood, choking him down as his mind faded in and out of time. 

The screams of squirrels and other animals Two Legs considered lesser prey items rocked the back of his subconscious, recalling when he hadn’t killed them swiftly enough, leaving them to squirm against his teeth as he carelessly mashed. 

Sufrir...to suffer…

The memories coalesced into a profound understanding. One that was visceral, and hit him in the core. It bothered him how it took so long to realize what he had put so many through--that not even Luis’s own sins against others he had experienced could’ve revealed this to him. 

Luis himself would’ve suffered to see his body be used to kill like this. 

The frenzied look in Two Legs eyes softened as he examined his quarry, realizing it was a female. With shaking fingers, he found himself gently touching her hair, trying to comfort in the only way he knew---drawing on Luis’s memories of using touch to convey an apology. The action was instinctive, a blend of his own burgeoning empathy and Luis’s influence. Even as he knew this, it puzzled him.

Suddenly, she kicked him in the abdomen, catching him off guard and scrambled to her feet. Too stunned to give chase, Two Legs watched her disappear into the night. The predatory drive that had been so overpowering moments ago was now gone, replaced by a hollow feeling.

He sat back, breathing heavily--having lost his appetite. 

“Joder…” He grimaced, and slowly rose to his feet and dusted off his pants.

Two Legs eyes fixated on the woman's silhouette in the distance, and he took a step forward, only to feel a weight against the side of his skull. He fell forward, thudding hard against the ground. His world growing black as he heard a series of voices whisper in and out of time. 

"Are you sure that's him?" 

"Si, positivo."

"Hopefully he's in one piece by the time we reach Soldado. Remember, alive and well." 

What the fuck...?

It was the last thing Two Legs thought before he succumbed to the dark. 

Notes: 1. I used a gibberish generator to translate the following into the incoherent words Two Legs hears: "That hurts, you know?" "You're here looking for someone? Maybe some missing señorita?" "OK. It's game time." "Then come, Sancho Panza! Let us rescue the Princess Dulcinea!" “Leon!” “Help…Ashley.” "...People can change, right?" 2. No, no te atrevas, joder No, don't you fucking dare 3. Es mejor que lo que el destino te tenga reservado, chief It's better than what fate has in store for you, chief. 4. Luis, no te vayas muy lejos. No quiero que te hagas daño, hijo Luis, don't go too far. I don’t want you to get hurt, son. 5. ¿Otra vez Don Quixote? No es que quiera reprimir tu diversión, nieto mío, pero tal vez deberías leer algo sobre la fauna local del pueblo. Llegará un momento en que tendrás que cazar tú solo Don Quixote again? Not that I want to stifle your fun, my grandson, but perhaps you should read something about the local fauna of the town. There will come a time when you will have to hunt alone. 6. The conversation between young Luis and a villager: “My dad says your grandfather doesn’t have much time left for this world.” “Everyone says that…” "Luis?" “There has to be another town, another place that can help my grandfather!” "It's forbidden!" "I don't care! If they have medicine… medicine of any kind that can help, I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” “Luis, your grandfather is in battle with a demon. The medicine you seek cannot cure that!” “Grandpa isn't fighting a demon, you idiot! He's just very sick! How can you continue to believe in superstitions even after discovering that there is a bigger world outside of this place?! “Because I have faith, Luis! It's true, I'm not as smart as you, hell, none of us kids are, but this is our world! We have to respect that things are the way they are!” “Well, this is not the world I chose to be born into, and to hell with the way things are!” "Where are you going?" “I'm going to find Father Méndez and convince him to let me go out and look for a doctor!”

[talonabraxas]

Galactic Eye of Sirius Talon Abraxas

“We are a delegation of light beings of the Galactic Federation holding frequency at the sixth density, and ours is a group of 144 representatives which includes: illuminated earth souls, Ascended Sirians from Satais, of these we are three primary speakers working through our channel Trydjya, Christed Extraterrestrials, Ascended Dolphin Beings and the Great Whales, Ascended Masters (The Overseers), Angelic beings (the Guardians) and the Masters of the Aghartan Leadership.

Our purpose is to elevate consciousness of the multiverse in which we take part, serving where we can and gleaning what we can of what lies before us. Those who precede us, in turn, help lead us into the bright light. So is the process of soul climbing higher in the journey of infinite return, a process without beginning and without end.” --The Sirian (High) Council

Our Spiritual Sun, Sirius

The nature of our galaxy and especially its magnetic field gives off streams of energy from stars traveling in specific directions, either up or down the galactic arm in which they are embedded. Stars are polarized to other stars, either negative and positive, some receiving energy, some sending out energy, all of which travels on the path of the magnetic field lines.

Recent findings reveal we are "downstream" from the Sirius star constalation in the part of the galactic arm that our solar system resides in. God is the bringer of life (energy) and light, and Sirius fits the description perfectly as an erergy provider.

Sirius has 7 planets. The Binary star system Sirius. The prosession of the two suns "our sun and serius" is every 24,000 years. Paleo Helium is at 12,000 years. The days of Noah was 24,000 years ago during at the last star crossing. There are different names for the procession. The Golden Age and Yuga Cycle "Catya Yuga".

It's a place where time ends and begins again. It's the birthplace of all mythos. The Dog star is directly associated with Isis "The mother goddess". The trinity Herself, Osiris, and Horus. Even the dung beetle is in perfect alignment with our sun and the sirius star "Let's make the dung beetle our master navagator".

Sirius is located in Canis Major. The star gives off a beautiful blue haze and has been revered by almost all civilizations. The sun behind the sun or the black hole sun is Sirius. The true source of cohesion within our sun is thru the core star. Sirius is said to keep the spiritual world alive.

The Grand Illusion is that the spiritual light rays from our sun are being amplified from Sirius "like burning a board with a magnifing glass". "Is not God in the height of heaven? and behold the height of the stars, how high they are! Job 22:12".

Sirius "A Triple Star System" is the Source and the Center of our Galaxy. It is the Nucleus, or White Fire Core, of our "Cosmic Egg". The God Star Sirius is a Focus of the Great Central Sun in our sector of the Galaxy.

The Sun behind the Sun is the Spiritual Cause behind the physical effect we see as our own Physical Sun and all other stars and star systems, seen or unseen, including the Great Central Sun.

The Sun behind the Sun is perceived as the Cosmic Christ. The word by whom the Formless was endowed with form and Spiritual Worlds were draped with physicality. Sirius A, outshining our sun 10 to 25 times over with only the mass of two suns.

“We are a delegation of light beings of the Galactic Federation holding frequency at the sixth density, and ours is a group of 144 representatives which includes: illuminated earth souls, Ascended Sirians from Satais (7), of these we are three primary speakers working through our channel Trydjya, Christed Extraterrestrials, Ascended Dolphin Beings and the Great Whales, Ascended Masters (The Overseers), Angelic beings (the Guardians) and the Masters of the Aghartan Leadership.

Our purpose is to elevate consciousness of the multiverse in which we take part, serving where we can and gleaning what we can of what lies before us. Those who precede us, in turn, help lead us into the bright light. So is the process of soul climbing higher in the journey of infinite return, a process without beginning and without end.”

[fafnir19]

Hunter Prince - Part II

My days as Zarik's loyal companion have melded into one continuous stream of events, each blending into the next. The towering spires of Zarik's tower cast long, ominous shadows across the surrounding forest, and I find myself feeling increasingly enmeshed in Zarik's web.

"Hunter, you have proven yourself resourceful and dedicated," Zarik intones, his voice like velvet wrapped in silk. "I have a proposition for you." "What is it, Zarik?" I reply, feeling a familiar prickling of apprehension in my chest. Though I've grown accustomed to Zarik's whims, I can never predict what path he will lead me down next. Zarik's emerald eyes sparkle with anticipation. "I have decided to take you as my apprentice in the art of magic." My heart stutters in my chest. "Your apprentice?" I ask, bewildered. "But I am no magician. I am but your humble companion." Zarik's smile is enigmatic. "You underestimate yourself, Hunter. Trust me, with my guidance, you will exceed your own expectations." Under Zarik's tutelage, I immerse myself in the world of magic. His expertise is awe-inspiring, and I prove to be a quick learner. However, despite Zarik's teachings, doubt still lurks within me, shadowing my every step.

"Zarik, I must admit, these past few weeks have been enlightening," I said as I fed the firewood into the hearth, the flames dancing in the dimly lit chamber. "Indeed, Hunter. You've shown great dedication in your training," Zarik replied, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. "I am impressed." I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude at Zarik's praise. "Thank you, Master. I am honored to be your student." Zarik leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "However, there is one thing that still troubles you, Hunter." I furrowed my brow, wondering what it could be. "What do you mean, Master?" "Your self-confidence," Zarik said, his voice gentle. "I believe I have a solution that may help." I tilted my head, curious. "What solution?" Zarik's lips curled into a sly smile. "I have in my possession a potion that will not only boost your confidence but also enhance your charisma and libido." My eyes widened in surprise. "Is that even possible?" "It is, Hunter. And I believe it's just what you need to reach your full potential," Zarik said, his tone unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, I nodded. "Alright, I trust you, Master." Zarik retrieved a vial from a shelf and handed it to me. "Drink this, Hunter. But be warned, the effects will be immediate." Without further hesitation, I gulped down the potion, feeling a surge of warmth spreading through my body.

Surprisingly, Zarik's words rang true. I felt a newfound sense of confidence surging within me, and the world seemed to shimmer with new possibilities. "That's impressive, isn't it, Hunter?" Zarik commented, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Yes, Master. I feel like a new man," I replied, marveling at the change within me. Zarik stood up, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Now, I believe it's time to put your newfound confidence to the test." "How so?" I inquired, eager to prove myself. "I want you to embark on a mission to gather dragon scales for our magical elixirs," Zarik explained, his tone serious. "However, you must wait for the dragon to leave its cave before transforming into a falcon and retrieving the scales." I nodded, bracing myself for the task ahead. "I understand, Master. I won't disappoint you." With Zarik's instructions in mind, I transformed into a falcon and soared towards the dragon's cave, my heart pounding with exhilaration and nerves. As I landed inside the cave and reverted to my human form, I quickly located the gleaming scales and began to gather them. However, just as I finished, the ground rumbled, and the dragon returned, startling me.

In my panic, I stumbled and hit my head on the rocky wall, darkness enveloping me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself staring into the piercing eyes of the dragon, who introduced himself as Frerryr. "I didn't mean to cause you harm, young one," Frerryr spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "But your injury was dire. I had to intervene." I watched in awe as Frerryr shared some of his own lifeblood, using the magical dragon blood to heal me completely and establish a bond between us. Riding on Frerryr's back, I returned to Zarik's tower, where I recounted the astonishing encounter to my Master. Zarik listened intently, his eyes bright with fascination. "Frerryr as your companion? This is remarkable, Hunter." "Yes, Master. I couldn't have imagined a more extraordinary turn of events," I replied, still reeling from the experience. Zarik's lips curved into a knowing smile, and he reached out to stroke my cheek tenderly. "You've proven yourself to be quite exceptional, Hunter." As I gazed into Zarik's eyes, I couldn't help but acknowledge his magnetic allure, a newfound awareness stirring within me. "Master, I..." I stammered, unsure of how to articulate my thoughts. "Shh, Hunter. There's no need for words," Zarik murmured, his voice low and soothing. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and I find myself drawn to him in a way I never imagined possible. "Hunter, it would be a shame for someone as handsome as you to limit yourself to pursuing only one gender," Zarik muses, his voice laced with a captivating allure. "I have augmented the confidence potion to broaden your preferences. Come, let me show you." With a delicate touch, Zarik guided me to the bed, his actions conveying a silent invitation that I couldn't resist. He pulled down my pants, spread my legs and places himself in between. His cock was leaking precum and he rubbed it against my hole. Suddenly he shoved into me. He asked whether I like it but I could just moan in pain and pleasure. He remarked with a smirk:" That's good. The first time is important as it determines your position towards me. For me you will become a bottom and you will willingly spread your legs whenever I desire it!" My mind spined and I felt a desire to fuck pretty boys and beautiful women. But with Zarik it was different: I needed him in me and I wanted to suck his cock so bad.

From that moment on, I found myself not only serving as Zarik's hunting companion but also sharing his bed -with him and other pretty boys and gorgeoues women-, reveling in the newfound intimacy and connection. As I lay beside Zarik, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow upon us, I couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment and belonging that I had never experienced before.

[tomfoolies]

begin again

ship: corporate affairs words: 722 a/n: finally, here's the tomja s4 finale fic that i promised!! i actually wrote most of this all the way back in june when i finished my first rewatch, so it's about time i posted it <3 definitely more stream of consciousness kinda writing than what i usually do, but i had fun with it and i hope you like it too :3

--

Tom did it. The impossible, the unachievable. Something he once thought he’d never want to do, let alone be capable of doing.

Once again he was at a crossroads, two distinct lifes ahead of him. A lot of those happened in these past few years, he muses. Constant choice-making, choosing sides, chasing coattails and proclaiming his usefulness to anyone willing to take him on. But the hunt has grown stale, apprehensive, even terrifying in certain moments. 

He looked around the place, one pretentious establishments amongst the others, recalled the time he sat across Kendall, in a situation all too similar; being wooed for his loyalty that seems to have always felt easy for others to win, because he should’ve felt lucky that he was even being wanted in the first place. He looked at Mattson, the man who had now revealed his plans to him after what he thought was just something for entertainment, for evaluation. In his mind, Logan’s dead body on the airplane floor, a divination of things to come if he decided to walk down that path. I grind because I worry – it’s the truth, and it would’ve been the death of him. 

On the surface, his fears, his makeshift predictions. And at the heart of it all, her. 

“You know Sonja would respect you much more if you decided to help me out…” The memory of Kendall’s words resurface, the way he flashed the information like valuable cards in the intensely complex game they’ve played for years now without ever really knowing the rules. “Because she already did just that. Didn't she tell you? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

He hadn’t given Kendall the satisfaction of being surprised. Of feeling some sort of betrayal. Of thinking about it, even if only for the briefest of moments. But he knew he’d get fucked, Sonja knew he’d get fucked. It wasn’t a viable choice. 

Sonja waits for him at their apartment, but anticipation and trepidation greet him first when he unlocks the door. Only after that comes her, in her anxious stance with her arms crossed, her shuffling walk. She'd turned in her resignation just a few days ago, waiting for this moment and its consequences with baited breath. The dogs feel the tension too, gingerly pad over to smell their dad to see if he’s changed. If he’s still the same Tom from before. 

Watching her now, with a dizzying sense of freedom in his chest he doesn’t ever remember feeling, he knows that today’s choice wasn’t one to begin with. Ironically, when it’s exactly what she taught him; the knowledge that he always has an opportunity to choose differently. But maybe with it, also the ability to know when there is only one road to take. 

She doesn’t have to ask. He gives her his answers with honesty that still humiliates him sometimes. 

“He wanted me to step up, take on the mantle. But I said no,” he says, and watches her face change. From confusion to clarity. “I'm done.”

Just like the first time, their beginning that feels so long ago that they must've lived lifetimes since. When he came to find her after a fight that left him reeling and relieved and with the taste of deliverance, telling her he’d ended things with Shiv. Sonja had been waiting for him, the tension between them had come to a standstill and had to be resolved. They’d both felt it, and everything around them conspired to make their collision happen. That time it ended with her body against his, as fast and as fervently as possible with the realization that there is something between them that can’t be quelled. 

Perhaps later tonight they will do that, too. But now her arms wrap around him and she sighs her relief into his collarbone and he buries his face in her hair. Caught in a moment where it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world gone somewhere else at last. 

She pulls back to look at him, almost like seeing him in a new light, cradling his face in her hands and then she’s pulling him under and he takes to it gladly, their foreheads touching. 

Something unknown yet great is right at his fingertips. He decides to grasp it with both hands.

[yoki-doki-then]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Perpetuity

TW - Pet death, 'willfully dying' but happily, Endwalker Ancients stuff

In white robe, an ancient of Etheyris sits, hind on her heels. Beneath her, flowers of fading hues are crushed, the unlucky few to accompany her to the star. She breathes easily, smiling, stroking gently the feline familiar on her lap. The beast struggle to enjoy her company, its own draws of life ragged and cruel.

"There, there," says the ancient. It's a strange term for one with such a youthful mien, so few years to her life compared to the other white-robes. "I'm sorry this form's end is cruel. But it was nice while it lasted, yes? Did you enjoy it?"

The beast cranes its head ever so slightly, looking its master lazily in the eye. That much was a struggle. Though, there was no pain in the effort; that had been blissfully denied. There's love in the gaze the pair share, and the pet nuzzles its head against her belly.

Hey smile lingers, though the upward nudge of her cheeks loosens a millisecond stream down her features. "I'll be right there with you, and when the time comes for us to be born again, we'll find one another. Such is our design. So please, don't worry. Don't fear. It's okay."

A few of her peers had disagreed with the motion of letting her life fade alongside her work. Apparently, it wasn't the first time she'd done this. "Nini," they had pleaded. "It's far too early to go. Linger still. For a day. A week. A month. A year. An eternity." Their words were more passioned and less obvious than that, but that's what she heard. And she did feel for their pain. But a time had come. A time to say goodbye. Better to declare it now than wait until they grew bored of her. Better to dream of the next time they should be so blessed as to cross paths.

"Death is just an end," she says, more to herself than to the beast she makes her magic still. "From an end, a beginning. Everything was once another. The only thing we treasure, really, is consciousness; isn't it?" She feels her pet's final breath against her fingers, and she sighs. "It's that end which we fear. It doesn't really matter what comes after, the idea that this... ends. That is terror. I feel it every time I ponder too deeply. But the truth is, well, eventually, something new will happen, even if we don't remember it.

"When everything dies, when all consciousness fades, no one will remember however millions or billions of years it takes for the next consciousness to form. There will be no record of Etheirys. Maybe another world or two would have happened before a conscious thought begins. No one will know how many times we've reset. All that matters is that something will always exist. And all consciousness will know... is what it knows."

With a final, gentle stroke of her hand, she bids her friend's journey into the lifestream, its body glittering into the raw aetheric makeup of creation. That same hand finds its way to her chest, and weaves its way to her heart.

"Something will live again from me. This version of Ninisina fades tonight. But the next will have only lived because I died."

Expert fingers pluck loose life's hold on her soul. Her body begins to flow shortly after her beloved companion. She looks to the heavens with a smile.

"I hope you live as wonderful a life as I have. May you achieve all you dreamed, as I have. And may you die with love for yourself, as I do."

The ancient's final words carry her away, blown to the hereafter on a divine wind.

[revlyncox]

Persistence, Healing, and Oneness: Water Ceremony Ingathering Homily 2024

Water is a powerful symbol, one that Unitarian Universalists invoke annually as we renew the liturgical year and reaffirm our commitment to join together. This homily was delivered to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick, New Jersey, September 8, 2024. A version recorded in my home studio is available on YouTube.

When I was growing up, we made frequent trips to my grandparents’ farm. There was a high hill that used to be the sheep pasture and where my uncle built his house, then the early 20th century farmhouse about halfway down the hill, then the barn, fields, cow pastures, and trees spread out at the lowest elevation like a patchwork of squares on an apron in someone’s lap. In the spring, water would burst out of the sides of the hill in little streams and head down the sloping meadow to the creek (also known as the “crik”) that ran past the maple sugar camp and on into the trees. It was a small creek most of the time, but being small didn’t stop it from wearing stones into smoothness or cooling off the forest to create an oasis for moss and ferns. Not even the thirsty cows could keep the stream from running its course, probably heading for the Savage River or the Youghiogheny River, eventually to the Potomac and the Chesapeake Bay. 

Water is persistent. I don’t believe that it necessarily has a consciousness or a will of its own, but it’s not hard to imagine a personality for water as it makes its way toward the sea. Individual drops of water can take a detour as part of a living thing or by evaporating into the atmosphere, but there’s very little in the natural world that can keep it from getting where it’s going eventually. It will patiently wear down the rock, overflow the beaver’s dam, dissolve the limestone, and otherwise find its way over, under, around, and through. Water finds its way by being flexible, creating new paths and transforming to new forms, integral to life wherever water finds itself. 

Perhaps this flexibility and persistence is part of what makes water so important for healing. Water helps with cleaning in the homes of humans and some other animals, and it helps many living things with temperature regulation, not to mention that most living things on earth need to replenish the water in our bodies. Water brings things with it that we need, water carries things away that we don’t need. When we’re sick, we pay attention to fluids. When we are injured, someone needs to clean the wounds. When we are ready to prepare food or offer tender care, we wash our hands. Many people find the presence of water to be spiritually or emotionally healing. They may meditate with the sound of a fountain, or participate in a ritual of renewal in a river or under a waterfall, or visit the ocean to remember their connection with our blue earth. Water is healing. 

It has been said that the proper name for our planet is not “Earth,” but “Water.” About 71% of the planet’s surface is covered by water, of which the ocean holds 96.5% at any given time [source: U.S. Geological Survey]. This water is our home. The salt water in our blood and our tears connects us with the ocean from which we came. We remember that all water is one water, circulating throughout the planet. Even the oceans and the seas are one. We find some utility in the distinctions between, for instance, the Atlantic and Pacific, even when we also know that all of the waters are connected. As our Buddhist friends might tell you, we can be temporarily distinct without truly being separate. 

This oneness is part of what Christopher Buice was highlighting in this morning’s wisdom story. We each have gifts that we are called to use in the spirit of Love, and yet we know that our ultimate destiny is shared. As the voice of wisdom says in the story, “All things are one and all are joined together like rivers in the sea.” The wellbeing of the Raritan River is connected with the wellbeing of the Youghiogheny is connected with the wellbeing of the Ganges and the Amazon and the Yangtze, and on and on. And so it is with humans. As we learn from Ubuntu philosophy, a person is a person through other persons; I am because we are; none of us can grow into being the people we are called to be unless all of us have the freedom to grow into being the people we are called to be. Humanity is at its best when we remember our shared responsibility and our interconnectedness. We each have our own journey and our own gifts, we flow together as tributaries in local communities, and ultimately what happens to one affects us all. 

For this reason, it matters to us when water is being misused or withheld. It matters when climate change leads to extreme conditions like drought or flooding. It matters to us when people are abandoned or exploited, leaving them with unsafe water infrastructure like lead pipes or with wells and streams poisoned by fracking and pollution. It matters when there is famine and thirst, especially when that famine is caused by human violence and political irresponsibility. It is an insult to the interconnected destiny of the planet and its people when water is hoarded or spoiled. For Unitarian Universalists, it is an act of faith to work together to restore the flow of clean water, to organize and serve toward the goals of healthy people and a planet in balance. 

Some of us might act out of that faith by protesting against the war and violence that blocks access to potable water. I know there are many in the congregation who are holding the people of Gaza close to our hearts, and are finding ways to speak out against the unfathomable devastation there. Some of us are remembering our interdependence by advocating for sensible climate policy, and by taking personal action to live lightly on the earth. Some of us are immersing ourselves in science, finding solutions that will lead us to healing and restoration. Some of us are caring for others or for ourselves, people in need of healing from the sickness and violence and greed that comes from a society and a planet out of balance. All water is one water, all compassion is one compassion, all love connects to the love at the center. 

So let us flow together in strength on our path toward the ocean of compassion. Let us affirm each other’s gifts and find ways to amplify the effectiveness of our loving actions. As we journey together, let us remember to be persistent, to wear away the stones of indifference and apathy and despair, one drop at a time. Let us remember that sometimes healing is possible; not to say that everything can be cured, but that kindness and companionship and skill can lighten the weight of suffering. Let us remember our connection with each other, with the human family, and with all life. Like water, we keep going. Like water, we heal. Like water, we are one.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.