#distortion booster

[fuzzkaizer]

maxon - booster - plug-in - collection

treble booster, distortion booster, power booster, bass booster

cred: facebook.com/Rafmax St Germain

[guitarbomb]

How To Use - Top 5 Distortion and Overdrive Pedals

The Top 5 Distortion and Overdrive pedals you can buy easily, and just about anywhere. These are the some of the best drive tones you can purchase today. And not a boutique pedal in sight!

This list gives you what I believe are the most flexible, reliable, and readily available stompboxes. If you need a good overdrive or distortion for your guitar setup then this is the list for you and I’ve added a few basic tips to get the most out of each pedal. Ultimate Drive Tone? I have a huge collection of pedals myself and have been using pedals for over 35 years. This has given me some…

[txttletale]

today i saw this post where an artist was accusing an AI model of 'stealing from them' and this was their 'proof':

and like fucking hell. the images share vague colour pallettes and somewhat similar composition (in the first two cases) and that is literally it. the idea that this is "theft" is such a grotesque distortion of what theft is or even what specifically 'art theft' is, and it speaks to the fact that couched under all the language about 'stronger protections' these people want to create a world that's almost as bleak and hostile to art as the soulless algorithmic slop factory future of the AI boosters. truly dire

[qyxzun]

𝟓┆𝕳𝐎𝐌𝐄.

❝𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐔𝐏,❞ the prowler grumbled behind his mask with a distorted voice as he slung a hook across the city's highway. He ran and leaped from the high distance before he pulled himself above the many cars from below. Miles followed behind him, his webs constantly leaving his wrists while he aimed and propelled himself in his direction.

He watched how the prowler expeditiously swung through building from building with agility despite the thick fog that started to settle in from the rain. Miles looked down to catch a glimpse of the scenery yet what he saw made him realize how this dimension and his contrasted. The numerous policemen were all over the place, but they couldn't provide the same protection as a spider-man could. It made him realize how important such an individual like himself or any spider-variant was. But if Miles had to describe Earth 42 in one word, he'd call it dystopian.

"Sooo, how far away until-?" Miles inquired until his counterpart interrupted him already, flitting faster in the air like it was a race"

"Few more minutes inquieto. (restless)" Miles G. voiced as he jumped down the building despite the extreme heights. The spider-man only sighed as he watched his twin surprisingly already ahead of him.

He persuaded him further until they reached close to an area where light didn't shine. The two Miles landed on top of a rusty tower crane as they observed their surroundings. The darkness obscured Miles' view but upon further observation, he could make out a complex building of considerable size - bigger than a baseball field. The fences were wired poorly with no sign of a main entrance and multiple banners with warnings to leave were plastered everywhere, which left Miles a weird feeling down his gut.

"This was the Alcemax," Miles G. voiced before his mask distorted, probably because of the rain. Miles looked back at him, confused.

"Why does it look abandoned?" He asked curiously. His response took a while, making his suspicions grow when he saw his twin's visage. It was indecipherable yet all he did was look and stare down on the dark Alchemax.

"I destroyed its collider. It caused a meltdown." Miles G. responded with a low tone before the curly-haired teen's eyes rose in astonishment from such news.

"How the hell did you destroy a collider all by yourself?" Miles questioned, perplexed and surprised by such a response. He watched how his stern expression turned slightly softer. "No goober or anything at all?" Miles G. looked back at him, returning his look of confusion with a slightly stern expression. The spider-man's question made him look like a fool thanks to his words, guess only spider-people knew what a goober meant...

"Didn't do it alone. Y/N helped me," the prowler retorted with a sullen tone before he huffed. "She was so smart.. fine too," he rambled like a fool in love while Miles continued to listen. The rain still cast down on the two, but it didn't seem to bother them.

"She told me how to shut it down, but guess I was just too aggressive with that damn collider, not that I ever liked it anyway," The prowler's glum face hardened more before his mask glitched back.

"Let's go," He said before launching himself off the tower crane and leaping midair towards the abandoned Alchemax. Miles hastily followed, his webs firmly pulling him behind the anti-hero. The breezy air through the night easily got Miles to swing with no worry, yet it gawked him to see his twin advance with precision and speed. His equipment and boosters must have helped him glide recklessly but competently through the wind. Either way, his talent was worth praise.

They both landed on the dirty rooftop, their shoes clicking on the broken floors and the displeasing mud created by the rain. Miles G. advanced further with his twin behind him before they reached a malfunctioning door. The texture was smooth and clean if it weren't for the grime and squalor it presented. The prowler easily opened it while Miles followed along inside the dark edifice, the barrier behind them closing as it created a loud thud. He assumed he'd be seeing nothing but pitch-black until he noted how the lights flickered, creating a path to follow despite the anxiety it could impose on an unlucky person who could wander inside. Then again, who would come here?

The place looked ghastly and left an ominous aura that would leave others a sense of foreboding. The prowler appeared unperturbed and continued forward, he must've had doleful memories upon entering here since he mentioned you again. But then again, he was the one who came up with the idea to venture inside.

Miles was probably overthinking, it wasn't his business to pry into his other version's past. He was just curious of course, you could say he was looking out for himself.

They stopped in front of another broken entryway. The spider-man wondered what could be behind the secure entrance before his wonders were answered when the prowler suddenly slashed the wired board beside them. The door automatically malfunctioned yet slowly divided, letting the two look-alikes pass through.

The two ventured further as Miles could recognize more grubby machines and equipment. The deeper they went, the less often the lights flickered. While descending, he felt the air become more chilly and as the two entered another room, he recognized the discarded documents that were scattered on the dirty tiles under the flickering lights. From what he could find, the papers depicted diagrams and reports; mostly progress about the collider or test subjects they ran on. The spoiled files must've been vital information for the scientists before this place turned for the worst and remained deserted and untouched by the people of Earth 42. If anything, the files were nothing but forgotten memories of what really happened.

No one knew the complete story behind the Alchemax's meltdown, except for Miles G. He knew it remained better that way. Who would look him in the eye anyway after he destroyed an important piece of Brooklyn that the corrupt government and KingPin funded? Who wouldn't want to kill him after he destroyed these scientists' families, all because he wanted to avenge your death? He was selfish, but he would've never forgiven himself if he had never done something, your decease would've been for naught.

You were the only one that made him believe peace was still an option in this sick unforgiven world, yet those malignant fucking scientists.. the same people you supported for the project and killed you, he'd never forgive them.

"Yo Miles!" his counterpart interrupted his train of thought before he looked up to meet his gaze behind his mask. He was a little envious to see his other version of himself slightly taller than him. When his attention was turned to Miles, he continued.

"You gotta check this out," the spider-man disappeared into another room from a two-door way after he said that. Miles G. followed him inside the eerie room, and the moment he took another step, he felt the memories flush back into his mind.

They were in the collider room, the same room where you died. If he just looked further down, he would've seen your blood stains on the debris. God forbid you'd die in a place as filthy as this. You rested in peace, in a comfortable coffin of your favourite colour the vigilante provided. The room reeked of death, some bodies were piled up behind desks, but they didn't look so harmed as the radiation must've killed them. That fact didn't make the prowler's guts churn, he'd seen more bodies than a normal teen would. On the other hand, Miles was disturbed by such a place, but he had to continue, this Alchemax was his only shot at getting home after all.

"Don't forget," Miles G. asserted as his mask fell apart once more. He had the same morose expression, while Miles looked back at him with a befuddled one. "We're saving Y/N. You leave without saving her, I'm huntin' you down." He glowered with a stoic stare.

He must've really cared for you before you died. Miles could understand, you were friends with Gwen. But after that whole fiasco with her, Peter and Miguel.. he figured you knew and lied to him like the rest of them did. Yet, why does he still appreciate how you offered to catch bad guys with him? Why does he worry about you when he barely knows you? How come his counterpart had a version of you in his dimension while he was alone? Sure, Gwen was there, but she didn't last...

Maybe if you both had more time together, you and Miles could be friends too, even if canon events separated you two.

"Still don't trust me, huh?" Miles joked before his twin's expression only hardened. He ignored his sternness as they further ventured into the ginormous test room. Behind the gargantuan glass that had already shattered, the Afro-haired teen saw the closed collider, its parts folded into each other. He didn't have to approach it to know it was dusty from how long it was unkept, as it created some tingling sensation in his nose, almost making him sneeze like he had allergies.

What he definitely didn't expect was the collider suddenly unfolding and activating. Miles' eyes widened, and he turned back to his other self. The prowler was behind a desk that was surprisingly still functioning. By the look in his eyes, he knew what he was doing but it wasn't enough to trust him. Miles rushed towards him with his webs, looking down at the electronic table with wires and buttons before looking at him.

"What's Y/N's dimensional coordinates?" Miles G. asked in a rushed tone to which Miles looked like he was utterly perplexed.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" his eyebrow was raised as he retorted. His confused expression made the braided teen scoff.

"Aren't you her friend?" Miles G. jabbed back. It made Miles chuckle nervously. "I just met her..?" He responded to which his twin looked back at him with an "Are you serious right now" look. He grumbled and turned his mask back on. His boosters activated before he suddenly bolted like a dash through the broken glass behind the collider. "Wait f'me," the prowler asserted under his voice modulator and leaped down below the complex apparatus.

The black and red-suited hero was about to follow him yet when he turned around, the collider caught his attention. It was turned on. Miles hated betrayal and lies but with the grand machine already running, it was his chance to get out of there, to save his dad. Miles knew you were worth saving as well but he had no time left to waste, hesitation made him tap his foot against the floor. He kept glancing back and forth to see if his counterpart returned. He was taking too long.

With a conflicted sigh, Miles advanced towards the electronic desk as his fingers trailed down on the mechanisms and buttons. The collider further operated as dark matter started to appear from the formation and with that, he typed in his earth's dimensional signature. This was it, he was almost home. Just a little bit of time, and he could get out of here.

"I—Initializing co— collider.." the system announced through the speakers, its voice distorting like a broken record. Miles placed a hand on the initiator, preparing to pull on the lever for commencement.

Yet before he could even do so wrap his fingers around the trigger, a sharp pain shot through his neck from behind before his spider-senses could even get the chance to react. His spider-senses reacted late once more, causing his consciousness to slip again...

"F'r real? You were just gonna leave your twin like that?" The prowler sneered after he elbowed a nerve behind his neck, rendering him unconscious. A sardonic tone accompanied the odious glare present on his face. His animosity for the spider-man seemed to grow once he saw the collider already open with a portal to his dimension. 'He accessed it himself' He wondered.

"So much for trust and relation.." The anti-hero snarled before letting out a scoff. His hands were balled into fists yet they were careful to keep the vile of your blood safe. How did he retrieve it? Though his actions blossomed a memory and a tight feeling in his chest, Miles G. had jumped down at the bottom of the collider room earlier to reach where he had last seen your corpse. He doubted at first, but your blood was still there and surprisingly easy to liquify. Your sanguine liquid was an important key to the collider anyway.

Ignoring his passed-out identical other on the dusty floor, Miles G. entered a sequence into the commander circuit before he poured small drops of your blood on the transparent cuvette attached to the device. The black matter from the collider seemed to intensify and change as the vigilante's gloved fingers continued to type cryptic information on the malfunctioning screen, too fast to understand to the naked eye.

"Identifying the closest di—dime— mensional traces; Earth 61806N" Lights started to flicker quicker, and the ground began to shake from the frail and broken foundation below the functioning collider it was starting to create more of a mess. His mask was automatically placed before the vigilante fled at the speed of light through the broken glass to the opening portal. His calculations were never wrong, he believed— no, knew that upon entering that vortex, he would find you and reunite with you again.

Without further hesitation, Miles G. jumped into the glitching portal, an explosion muffled from his ears occurred behind. He didn't know what happened or when it occurred but he lost control of his body as all he could do was see countless stars, colours, galaxies, all impossible to count. He felt like a corpse but his consciousness was strangely still inside. He knew but didn't know what was happening. He could feel everything but nothing at the same time, what was happening? He had no clue.

The vigilante's moments stuck into infinity were short-lived when a hole was torn open in the middle of time and space. He was thrown out aggressively before his body crashed into the brick wall behind him. "joder.. eso duele, (fuck.. that hurt)" Miles G. coughed from the air that was knocked out of his body. He slowly got up, patting the dust off his clothes.

The scene was something he hadn't seen in a while; it was a city so peaceful that contrasted his own. No fires, not so much crime in the middle of the city, just normal for once. What baffled him was how he could rarely find anything Western-related. His eyes darted across the signs, all were bizarrely in Japanese. Why was he in Japan? Isn't he supposed to be on Earth 61806N? Or at least another version of Brooklyn? It was extremely fortunate he knew basic Japanese. His linguistics study sessions with you before you passed away proved to be successful.

Miles G. jumped down the tall building, leaving claw marks on walls that dropped him to an alleyway. It felt ominous and shady to a normal person but coming from someone who experienced with worst, he could care less about it. The anti-hero hid in the shadows once he heard a series of footsteps and police cars blaring in the distance, guess his first impressions were shortlived. Miles G. then peeked at the corner to see what was happening.

His perplexity didn't seem to shrink as he spotted a woman with scales, hair for live serpents and a grand tail resembling a snake. She was struggling and screaming with fury when a man bigger than her apprehended her. He dressed bizarrely, his beard and suit seemed to be on fire too. It made Miles G.'s eyes widen, how the hell isn't he affected by the flames? He could tell his grip on her was tight and secure, displaying she was a threat.

"GET OFF OF ME! YOU DAMN BASTARD HERO!!" She shrieked, her fangs showing. Miles G. watched how this supposed hero lifted her up easily, avoiding eye contact with the lady before he plastered a blindfold over her eyes. The medusa-looking woman struggled but the tall man eventually succeeded. "It's Endeavour, you low-classed villain." he hissed with a tone that didn't match the term hero at all. To say he was burning with anger might've been a fact.

Miles G.'s gaze soon left the two once he started to take her away. This place was weird, way too weird. The fact the creature and the hero's looks were normalized made the prowler uneasily out of place. Where really was he? Did he make a mistake coming here? No, of course not. He knew you were here, somewhere. He was about to walk further into the alleyway when suddenly, a large indescribable pain surged throughout his body. "Fuck—!" He grunted, almost falling down. When the pain stopped, he stumbled and leaned against the wall for support. He should've known this glitching effect would come early.

His grunt of help seemed to catch someone's attention behind him. Though Miles G. didn't possess the powers of a spider-man unlike his twin, he had some kind of danger-senses that sometimes helped him. When he turned around, he saw a man, a height that matched his own with pale hands, that stood out the most, plastered all over his upper body and his face. The vigilante doubted they were decorations after seeing how bizarre this place was. Between its fingers, his orbs were hidden behind his long, very pale cerulean-coloured tousled hair. His clothes were all wrinkled and dishevelled as if he repeatedly took them out of a hamper and refused to clean it.

"Look at this, a foreigner.. did you lose your tourist guide or something?" His hoarse voice taunted Miles G., he sounded annoyed like he just had a week's worth of bad luck. His finger crept up to his neck and began scratching, an unpleasant sound of skin ripping made the braided-teen scowl. The sound disgusted him but the fact he was picking a fight when he was just minding his own business made him realize how stupid he must be.

"What's with the hands then weirdo? You ugly behind those?" Miles G. scoffed with a pissed-off glare. He could tell from the tense silence that the light silver-haired guy was speechless by his perfect Japanese while also fuming. It didn't stop him from scratching his neck more. It didn't concern the vigilante but he was surprised he wasn't bleeding yet.

"You're as terrible as the hero society.." He sneered maliciously. "The same type of people who don't know their place, who believe they're superior.. always feeding their ego," He continued as his back curved more, both of his hands were scratching his neck like mad, so profusely. Shigaraki's nails dug deep in his flesh, why was he getting so triggered over a tourist like him? Why is he not afraid? Why the fuck was he here?! In enemy territory out of all places?!

"You're the type of people I hate the most!" Tomura snarled with disdain. He darted towards him, it felt like his body reacted without thinking straight. His animosity blinded him to rationally think before he could realize he was about to kill someone just from a few words.

All of his five fingers extended to touch this braided guy's face. But when his dry digits hit his dark skin, his eyes widened. He wasn't decaying, he wasn't dying or even groaning in pain. He was still there. What the hell was happening? Did he have an erasure quirk like that damn Eraserhead? That must've been it!

"Get your fuckin' hand off me!" His opponent yelled. Shigaraki reacted late once more as he suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face. His grip was tight enough to break his wrist that it created a crack sound. A gut-wrenching hiss escaped Tomura's lips loudly. He didn't even get a nanosecond to realize what was happening when the figure in front of him wrapped his clawed gauntlet around the villain's throat. The fingers were sharp, they irritated and dug into Tomura's mortally wounded scratches while air couldn't enter his lungs.

Miles G. slammed his head into the brick wall, causing the building behind his capture to slightly shake. His opponent coughed and gagged, struggling in vain to punch him yet all the prowler could do was ruthlessly choke his poor throat. The anti-hero glared at him with disdain. "Shame I have'ta kill you,"

"Ku-Kurogiri! Send me away!!" Tomura wheezed, moving his head frantically in a panic frenzy. Miles G. tightened his grip further when all of a sudden, a dark violent purple fog emerged behind the choking bastard. He fell behind and disappeared but the prowler, not for one to let his victims get away, dashed inside the mysterious fog.

His shoes stumbled on the hard wooden floorboards before his gaze darted back at the light geyser-haired man gasping for air on the floor. His prowler gauntlet charged up as he began to walk over to him, ready to kill. His efforts were in vain when a sharp blade suddenly penetrated his shoulder. He let out an injured cry as the figure behind him pinned him down on the floor.

When Miles G. looked up, a tall dishevelled dark-haired man with a torn-up mask gripped the katana stuck in his shoulder. He pulled the sharp blade out with a maniacal smile and licked a drop of blood. "What the fuck? Gross..." The prowler's nose wrinkled in disgust. With a harsh kick, he sent the man flying to the brick wall before he let out a grunt of pain when he got up.

The black-haired man easily recovered but his eyes were wide open like he was shocked. 'That's strange.. my quirk didn't work...' He wondered under his breath and licked most of the blood off his katana once more. He watched how the dark-braided teen got up from the ground once more, shocking Shigaraki and himself.

"What the fuck is this.." the hero killer Stain seethed, his gaze turning to the injured Tomura.

"He's no normal fiend.." Shigaraki grunted, stumbling on the floorboards. "Ya think? Cancellation quirks are far rarer than it already is..." Stain rolled his eyes. Shigaraki winced from his broken wrist but, being the stubborn man-baby he was, tried to ignore it. When the prowler's back faced him, he rapidly bolted and placed all five of his fingers on his shoulder yet again but nothing happened.

The anti-hero grabbed his wrist from behind and threw him on the ground, creating a large gap on the floor. His claws reflected into the light before Miles G. pinned the hand-covered man down and slashed his right thumb off clean, blood spattering on the wall. Shigaraki let out a loud hiss of pain, small drops of tears forming in his eyes. He definitely couldn't use his quirk on his right hand anymore.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something.." A sudden voice appeared again. The prowler tilted his head up and saw the small monitor on top of the table bar distorting. It didn't show a face, only displaying sound. "Hm.. a new recruit, Shigaraki?" The voice answered with a calm tone.

"Fuck no." Miles G. smouldered with resentment. "Your lil' shitstain here had a problem with me, you wouldn't mind if I killed him would you?" He mocked as the voice remained silent for a few moments. A chuckle escaped the masculine voice's lips.

"How impressive, you managed to find the League of Villains' hideout and even beat my poor prodigy to a pulp. Yet instead of calling the police or other pro heroes, there's a fire in you that rages you to kill." He spoke before he continued. "What pushes you to do such a thing?"

"If all you're gonna do is yap about heroes n shit, I'm not interested," Miles G. scoffed. "You think I wanna join your stupid group? Is your head located in your ass?" He grumbled, ignoring the glitching effect that surged through his body again. It made Stain and Kurogiri's eyes widen. What the hell is happening to him?

"Hmm... a strange phenomenon indeed," He mumbled under his breath. There was a brief pause until his carefree attitude let out another chuckle. It made Miles slightly concerned how this person behind the monitor was just acting so untroubled. "Oh, you just keep getting better..." He voiced with an amused sigh.

"Another variant from another universe.. what a grand surprise, a spur of the moment indeed," The faceless man chortled, making the prowler's eyes widen in shock as well. His glitching repeated yet he could care less.

"How the fuck do y'know?" Miles G. inquired with a glare.

"Poor anomaly, with nowhere left to go and in constant pain..." the voice continued. "The study of the multiverse is indeed fascinating, to know that it is actually real has given me more opportunities." He sounded optimistic of such news yet he gave off a strong enigmatic aura despite only hearing his voice.

"If you value your life and wish to stay longer in this world, you need nothing but to stay under this roof and sojourn. After all, you must've come here with a plan. You should be thankful I'm this generous, I'll lend you my support when the time has come." He persuaded with an elusively cryptic voice. Miles G. could tell behind that monitor, he was smirking to his fullest.

The prowler moves in shadows and acts independently but without anything to support him, he'll end up caving and suffering. What other choice has this stupid voice left him? He knew it felt humiliating but he had no other choice. And with a sigh, he got off the bleeding Shigaraki and deactivated his gauntlet... for now.

"Excellent," All for Onesmirked.

"Have you tried Earth F90J?"

"What about Earth 251OL?"

"Earth 36NMA9?"

The overlapped talk from the countless spider-people in the society caused the majority of them to have a headache, yet they didn't stop. Screens, holograms, dimensional traces, DNA, they were all that these spider-variants had been using these past few hours and talking about them non-stop. The atmosphere in the spider-society used to be optimistic, and full of joy, yet they all felt on edge.

"Get every available spider-man and dispatch them to untravelled universes Lyla, I don't want a single earth unexplored!" The Latin spider-man ordered fiercely, a harsher expression present on his face. His whole body was tense and any more bad news could cause another desk to be thrown at a wall. Miguel has been hard on work the past day just to find you or that damn anomaly Miles. After he sent Gwen home with the Go Home Machine, he lost all his leads finding the two missing teens.

"Yelling at me doesn't speed up the process Mig," Lyla rolled her eyes behind her cute and pink heart-shaped glasses. Her hologram glitched away, appearing behind Margo who was looking through the Go Home Machine's archives with a semi-stressed expression. He rolled his eyes at the lyrate lifeform's attitude before he let out a groan and pinched his temple out of frustration.

Miguel needed to find you and Miles, or else it'll turn for the worst.

𝕾𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

[gendieva]

⋆˚ 𝜗 how to listen to subs. 𝜚˚⋆

✰ I see you girls who would read reddit posts about how people are getting results in days while others get them in weeks, months, years, and never. I get it, y'all. I didn't get subliminal results but I'll back that up with inconsistent listening, limiting beliefs and worst of all, low quality experience DURING listening (I kept trying to play my sub playlist overnight but I'd always wake up to ads, loud audios, or wake up peacefully to a sight of my headphones beside me and realized that I took it off in my sleep. + the playlist pauses on its own.)

✰ it is almost 2025 y'all, like it's literally christmas. we need to learn how to use subliminals properly. this is how !!

USE THIS FORMULA :: a reddit user called "embarrassed_tip_4749" made a formula for getting results and there were many people that commented their experience on it. there was one girl that listened to subs for almost a decade and she came from an abusive family and had severe health issues. she used the formula and her pain was easing up after 2 days. search it up y'all.

https://www.reddit.com/r/Subliminal/comments/1d6bvs0/i_got_major_results_full_compilation_of_all_my/ :: this is the formula.

ORGANIZE YOUR PLAYLIST :: you can add as many subliminals as you want, but I tried to keep my old playlist as short as possible (17 subs including boosters) to process it more and add repetition. make sure you only listen to subs on the same topic !! I also personally added boosters every after 1-4 videos to.. yeah. boost. now tho, I only use 2 subliminals and 1 booster and this new playlist is about 68 mins long.

FIND THE RIGHT SUBMAKERS :: y'all, I feel like the majority of submakers are safe but need to be right. some people get reversed results out of subliminals because --

the affirmations can use complicated or oversimplified phrases of medical terms that you don't understand so it is like a word from another language. when your subconscious tries to intepret the whole phrase and recognizes the term "nose" for example, it may associate or process it to a negative belief about it so you have a reversed result of your nose being bigger. your subconscious doesn't understand the command.

submakers may create the subliminals wrong. if the subliminal doesn't repeat or get layered, or it is too layered and sped up that it becomes distorted, etc. then it can be a slower process or might never change you at all.

your subconscious mind may reject affirmations entirely, causing you to have no results. I mean, your subconscious mind is more vulnerable to absorb it, but subliminals work slower with limiting beliefs for a reason. your subconscious mind is just absorbing information but not FOLLOWING command, so that's why seeking results slows you down.

⋆˚ 𝜗 how to combat this ?? 𝜚˚⋆ + submakers I trust.

(IMPORTANT) GET INTO MANIFESTATION :: subliminals are a tool for manifestation but you can't give a non-artist a pencil and get desired results, or give a non-builder a hammer and expect anything good out of it; or a frying pan to a non-cooker. stop replying on subs and get into a manifestation journey first.

VISUALIZATION :: instead of affs, use visualization to command your subconscious mind so it knows what it should follow.

BOOSTERS AND BLOCK BUSTERS :: again, I used a booster every 1-4 subliminal audios.

SCHEDULE :: yes, listen to subs as much as you can but also don't. it commands attachment and exhausts your mind so it can't process anymore. I recommend scheduling a few hours playing subs and you can play overnight too but don't seek results the next morning because that's when your brain is probably following commands to change DNA structure.

⋆˚ 𝜗 SAFE SUB SUGGESTIONS 𝜚˚⋆

✰ (TOP FAVE) ALEYA :: everyone loves her and loves her only. there are no reversed results or changes that take long, no. everyone gets fast and instant results, she constantly outdoes herself ever new subliminal she makes and apparently she's really perfessional and responds to emails instantly.

✰ (TRUSTED) IWIIGI :: the affs she uses are basic and in umbrella terms so your mind can absorb them without making reversed results. are results instant ? depends on you; ppl with limiting beliefs and new listeners must repeat

✰ (UNDERRATED) RINNIE :: she takes care of her channel with so much love like the documents, the subliminal topics, her themes are so pretty and so sweet and she doesn't even get talked about much. loop her, y'all.

⋆˚ 𝜗 booster subliminals !! 𝜚˚⋆

✰ https://youtu.be/AS9SYSJaB3o?si=SjmQmh6A3WlvW3vZ

✰ https://youtu.be/wJEaGesTcAo?si=_se50y2d-ThX-ZAe

✰ https://youtu.be/YRGs_4lB2wo?si=47rQ_aw_Qa-gvhLp

[undoundue]

the pinch hitter

I. 

World Series. Game 7. Fifth inning. I, a pinch hitter, a mere benchwarmer, smack an outside pitch into the right field stands, giving the Dodgers the lead. Mookie and Freddie slap me on the back as I enter the dugout, and to celebrate we go for burritos at a Mexican place inside the stadium. How can I say no to the all-stars? And yet, isn’t it a bit irresponsible to eat such a heavy meal between innings? 

“Kiké…” Mookie says (referring to teammate Enrique Hernández), “…he don’t know how to read.”

“He can read,” Freddie amends, “but he lacks literacy.”

“His comprehension is terrible,” Mookie says. “In a way, that’s worse. More dangerous. It makes him susceptible. Susceptible to influences.”

“Oh, he’s susceptible, that’s for sure,” Freddie says. “You agree, pinch hitter?”

My burrito is dripping. The sluggers are looking at me expectantly. Dodgers fans on their way to the bathroom are stopping, staring, wondering whether we’re the real deal.

“He’s basically illiterate,” I say—nervous grin, no conviction. 

It’s the worst of both worlds. Mookie and Freddie know I’m just saying it to fit in. They’ll give me no masculine credence. But the crowd will take it seriously. The rumor will get out and hurt Kiké. 

Poor Kiké! And they’ll think I’m racist, too.

Next thing I know I’m burning rubber on the way to my Motel 6. They can pinch hit for me—why not? I pinch hit for them.

I call my friend, the promoter, and tell him, Fuck the Dodgers, we’re celebrating my home run. Get a party going. 

He’s like, Aw yeah.

But the party is a bust. The motel pool reeks of chlorine and has cloudy white streaks in it of unknown composition. There are too many dudes, not enough chicks—not enough of either, really—and all of them trashy. Short notice for a celebration. 

In the shallow end, my friend is fooling around with a white girl with pale pink hair—the color of chewed bubblegum. 

He waves at me, like, Her ass is open, you wanna fool around with her too? 

But I don’t. I am sullen. I swim over the side of the pool and do a little cocaine off the bill of my Dodgers cap. 

My Dad wades up to me. His attitude: craven, appeasing.

“Are you having a good time, son?” he asks.

I grunt. “Not enough chicks.”

My Dad gestures at the pink haired girl. "She used to be a ninja.”

“That's cool,” I say, scornfully. What, so I’m supposed to feel sorry for her?

Both my Dad and I are naked, and our penises are erect. Our penises are nearly identical in size, shape and coloration. They only distinguish themselves when a pool wave passes over, distorting one but not the other.

It makes me mad—I’m twice the man he is, and my cock should reflect this. The cocaine was insufficient in quantity and it’s serving up more of an irritable than a euphoric high.

I’m also starting to really miss the Dodgers. At least there I have purpose. There’s a big scoreboard past the diving board, and it shows that we’re tied. I flip on the TV just in time to see Kiké Hernández hit a walk-off home run.

Holy shit! We won!

II. 

Back at the stadium, Kiké and I take the stairs to the clubhouse.

“Kiké, that was…” I shake my head in awe. “Epic homer, man.”

Kiké adjusts his glasses. He has a proud, yet whispery voice. “Yes, it was epic. But, excuse me, if you look at the metre, you’ll find that it was a Spencerian, rather than Homerian epic. Yes? Yes? Do you know what I mean?”

I don’t—I have no idea what he’s talking about. I wonder if he’s mad at me.

“Kiké…whatever you heard, I never said you needed a literacy program. I never said your SAT prep was insufficient. Mookie and Freddie, they said—” 

“Shhh…quiet now. Let us get our prizes,” Kiké says. 

The clubhouse is pretty standard, I guess: sofa, TV, coffee table, bowl of mints. On the floor is a cardboard box with PRIZES written on it. I reach inside and…I’m not sure how many Magic boosters to take. It seems like there’s plenty to go around, but I decide to start slow, re-up if I need to. I take five.

Turns out this was a mistake. None of my teammates takes more than four boosters—some fewer—even though, I’ll repeat, there are plenty to go around. Dirty looks.

I consider putting a booster back, but wouldn’t that be even more cringe? Should I own my greed, my rebellion, my outsider status?

I’m overthinking it. I crack the boosters. My teammates are no doubt focused on their own problems. Even though we won the series, the mood in the clubhouse is grim. Now that the season is over, the hard part begins: card development.

It’s written into our contracts. If you don’t know the business of baseball, now you know: The tickets and television rights are a loss leader. The money is in the trading cards. Baseball would be nothing without its stats.

The Dodgers’ owner, Frank McCourt, bursts into the clubhouse, chomping a cigar.

“That’s a Pokémon,” he says, pointing at my pack’s rare.

It is: a Typhlosion. I’m not sure how to explain this.

“It doesn’t have any attack moves,” I point out, “It just has a special ability.”

“A Poképower.” Freddie Freeman can’t help himself. “That’s the term.”

I cough when Frank exhales a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Frank says. “This is a tribal set, and goblins and elves are OLD HAT. I need a new tribe by TOMORROW. A goddamn POKÉMON isn’t going to CUT IT. Do you understand? DO YOU?”

I’ve never read Frank McCourt’s memoir, Angela’s Ashes, but I’ve heard it’s a compassionate and moving portrait of an Irish-American family in the mid-20th century. Based on that, you’d think Frank would be a gentle boss. 

You’d be wrong. He’s a tyrant. Whatever empathy writing requires, it doesn’t seem to translate into one’s style of running the Dodgers—or so I’ve painfully learned. 

“Do you understand,” Frank says, his voice like a cattle brand, “benchwarmer?”

Next thing I know it’s an eyebagged sunrise and the floor has fallen out from the blow and I’m burning rubber on the way to the police station. 

I go straight to my friend’s office—he has a Tom Selleck mustache now; he’s quit being a promoter and taken a job as chief of police. I look at him sadly.

“You used to hate cops,” I tell him. “We used to argue. I’d say more cops, less prison. You’d say, more prison, less cops. What happened, man?”

“I haven’t changed a bit. I’m as good as four pigs. That means if I’m working, that’s three less pigs on the street. Now, why are you here?”

“I want to go undercover and help take down my boss, Frank McCourt.”

“Why?”

“He’s corrupt.”

“Hmm, interesting. We’ll need to fake your death,” my friend says. He sifts through some files on his desk. “Go to the evidence room and wait for me there.”

The evidence room is sparse: a bare bulb, a coffin, a mirror. I get in the coffin and pull the lid closed.

Time passes.

III.

When I get out of the coffin, my friend directs me to look in the mirror. My hair has gone silvery-gray. My cheeks and eyelids droop.

“You’re old,” my friend says. “That’s good. McCourt won’t recognize you. And if he does, he won’t think of you as a threat.”

My friend waits for me outside the room while I change from my uniform into a grey sweater, slacks, and a black leather jacket.

Then my friend beckons me to his office. He has a framed photo on his desk that I don’t remember from before: him, a pink-haired woman, two kids.

He hands me a semi-automatic pistol, which I tuck into my jacket.

“We’re still investigating your allegation of corruption. But in the meantime, you’re going to be McCourt’s underboss—his majordomo.” 

He tells me an address in the warehouse district. Kiké is waiting for me there. He raises an eyebrow in what might be recognition, but he doesn’t tip his hand.

“You’re now one of the most powerful men in North America,” Kiké says in his serpentine whisper, “Did you know that? Please. Please. This way.”

Kiké takes me to a box-like room, barren except for lamp, desk, and chair. He closes the door and motions me to sit. When I do, he puts a sheet of paper on the desk in front of me.

“Should we ice him?” he whispers.

I consider the paper: a grainy, black-and-white mugshot of a man I don’t recognize. 

“I don’t think so,” I say.

Kiké puts the paper in a beige folder, and replaces it with a mugshot of a different man.

“Should we whack him?”

This man is noticeably ugly. Otherwise, there’s nothing on the paper to guide my decision. 

I’m not sure how to make these calls. But I don’t want to admit my ignorance, or appear too soft and risk blowing my cover.

“Yeah, I’m thinking we should whack this guy.”

Kiké nods and leaves the room. I hear a gunshot. He returns and puts a plastic-wrapped peppermint on the table along with another mugshot.

“This man—shall we pop a cap in his ass?”

This goes on for a while. After the twelfth gunshot—eleven mints piled on my desk—Kiké returns, carrying a tall stack of papers in both hands. 

He says: “McCourt is pleased with your work.”

“McCourt,” I say, “When can I meet him?”

Kiké smiles. He drops the stack of papers on my desk.

“Now that you understand the basics, we will switch to a more efficient mode of processing, yes? We will talk when you finish your work.” 

Kiké leaves. Now it’s all names, no pictures. 

1. Shall I steez him…Samuel Tibbs? 

2. Should I rub-a-dub him…Bruno Comber? 

3. Shall I bring unto him…Harold Feibleman?

4. Should he expand indefinite…Roman Milbrath? 

5. Does a new life await for…Albertius Beck?

Can these really all be idioms for murder? I wonder, bubbling in the provided Scantron with the provided number 2 pencil. And just how much power do I have? 

It seems like I’m playing God for hundreds of people. And yet I am a blind God, who cannot judge fairly, or see the effect of his work.

At one point I encounter my own name. The question is: “Shall he be compleat?”

I’m not sure what that means, so I bubble in “No.”

I’m a thousand names deep when the chief of police knocks on the door.

“You’re off the case,” he says. “Pack it up.”

“Off the case!”

“The investigation is over. He’s not that corrupt.”

I stare at him, broken-hearted.

“Go home,” he tells me, gruff, but with an unmistakable note of relief. “Hit some baseballs. Find a nice girl. You don’t need to…”

He gestures at the papers.

“He can’t get away with it,” I tell him.

My friend nods. He was expecting this. He peels off his mustache and lays it on the desk.

“I’ve done what I can.” He grins wryly. “One less pig on the streets, eh?”

My friend leaves.

I bubble the Scantron for another thirty minutes before doubt strangles faith. I hadn’t thought at all about the ethnicities of the names I was judging. What if my choices are publicized and seen as racist? Could this be Kiké’s scheme?

Even God could be so cancelled. I put on the mustache and leave.

It’s a blue, warm, and breezy twilight, and there are only two cars in the parking lot: my Ford Gran Torino and a black limousine. I crouch behind my car. To my surprise, a man in a black hoodie is already crouching there.

“Who are you?” I demand.

My Dad turns. “My name is unimportant. I’m here to kill McCourt.”

I have no patience for this. “Murder is wrong.”

“Your mother…”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“My point is, is it still wrong if it’s McCourt?”

“Yes. Yes! But I’m not here to argue philosophy. You have neither the aim nor the conviction needed for this task. You need to leave! Leave! Let me do the wrong thing!”

My Dad looks hurt. That’s fine. He’ll forget. I give him a peppermint and he slinks away.

The sky has gone from blue to black when the warehouse doors open and McCourt appears. 

He’s puffing a cigar and holding court with Mookie, Freddie, and Kiké. Obsequiously they smile at his jokes, as if any reward is worth submission. I decide that I want him to see me before he dies. 

“Frank,” I say, stepping from behind my car. 

McCourt pales. “Malachy!”

I raise my pistol and shoot. Freddie and Mookie scatter. But Kiké jumps in front of the bullet. I can’t believe my eyes. Something—guilt, I suppose—drops the bottom out of my stomach. 

Poor Kiké! He really believed!

McCourt takes a revolver from Kiké’s pocket and shoots me six times in the chest.

I slump against the Ford. I should be dead. McCourt thinks I am.

He walks towards his limo.

But he doesn’t realize that my black leather jacket is filled with densely packed Magic cards, offering protection not unlike Kevlar. 

A seam must have been injured, because they flow torrentially from the bottom of my jacket and into the parking lot—some of them punctured, bloody.

One of them hits McCourt’s shoe. He turns and sees me holding a gun on him. My hands don’t shake.

“There’s no point punishing someone just because you’re old,” he says. 

I say nothing.

“You can’t eat statistics. Someone should have taught you that. And if they didn’t well, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a RAT’S—”

I shoot him in the head.

I can hear police sirens. My friend must have left a few cops nearby. My lips make a horrible, life-denying sneer.

I put the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger.

Click.

But nothing happens. It’s out of bullets.

The cards are still pouring from my jacket. I pick up one of them. It’s a baseball card for a player with no name. It just says his position: The Pinch Hitter.

The sirens are getting louder, but I make no attempt to escape. 

Slumped against the car, I wait for the law to arrive.

[ouijarat]

Too Weird To Love, Too Scared To Die

Chapter Two

(Chapter One here if you missed it >>>)

--------------------------------------------------

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” 

“Uh… making breakfast? Duh? What does it look like I’m doing? Aren’t really using that big brain of yours this morning, are ya, IQ?”

As memories of what he had done rushed back to him, Stanford stood there in the entryway, fists clenched and mouth opening and closing like a dead fish as his face turned red with fury upon resigning to the fact that this was, most likely, not a dream. Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly a gramophone nestled into the corner of the room sparked to life, a symphony of soft 1930s jazz hits cascading through the kitchen as the triangle hummed along. He unceremoniously poured the disgusting contents of the pan onto a plate before flicking his wrist to manifest a mug of black coffee (Ford’s favorite, he knew), delicately floating both dishes over to the table and snapping again to pull out a chair. “Sit,” the triangle said cheerfully, as though he were talking to a dog.

The scientist was filled with a burning hatred and fury like he’d never experienced before, unable to stop it from bubbling over like thoroughly shaken soda from an open can. On instinct alone he grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and hurled it at the triangle as hard as he could. The knife lodged itself into Bill’s exoskeleton, just to the right of his eye, only to immediately absorb itself into the surface of the creature’s face before disappearing into it entirely. The demon stood there for a moment, apathetically unfazed. He sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

 “And here I thought we could have a nice meal together.” 

Bill rolled his eye and snapped his fingers once more, an invisible force attaching itself to Ford and dragging him over to the table before pushing him down into the chair with a grunt from the scientist. Stanford seethed silently as he was forcibly glued to the seat, the hatred of a thousand suns burning behind his eyes as he glared at his former muse. His former sun and all its surrounding stars. “What is this place?” 

The demon floated over to the chair opposite Ford, plopping himself down only to realize he was far too short, only barely able to see over the table. He clapped his hands and summoned a booster seat beneath him, now eye level with his once devoted disciple that was currently glaring daggers at him.  “This, my big brained friend, is everything you’ve ever wanted!”

Ford blinked. “You’re insane.”

Bill blinked back. “...Stanford, we established this a while ago.”

The scientist’s face contorted in a harmony of anger and anguish. “You can’t possibly believe your little glorified prison will sway me into anything. You’ve already beaten me. You’ve taken everything from me. You won, Cipher. What more could you possibly want?” He spat. 

The demon scoffed, rolling his eye. “All I want is for my favorite little human to be happy!” He sing-songed, presumably in an attempt to keep things light hearted, yet he only really succeeded in being extremely unsettling. 

Stanford’s expression was blank as he felt bile rise in his throat and suddenly he found himself barking out a cruel, humorless laugh. “You can’t possibly be serious.” 

“Deathly,” Bill said, his exoskeleton flashing a blazing red and his voice distorting before he chuckled and went back to normal, as though nothing had happened. “I created this place for you based on all the information I collected from your ol’ noggin over the years! I thought of everything! I can give ya the grand tour after breakfast. Don’t you love it, Fordsy?” 

The triangle batted his absurdly long eyelashes, hopefully and eagerly waiting for Ford’s response, a reaction, anything, as though he expected something positive. As though he hadn’t just doomed his entire dimension, tortured and entrapped him and taken him away from his family. As though he hadn’t immediately ruined his life the second they met. The scientist’s reaction was not, surprise surprise, overwhelmingly positive. 

“I’d rather you have just killed me.” He seethed, expression twisting into one of disgust, snuffing out the hopeful, manic glint in Bill’s eye. 

Bill sighed. “I should’ve known you’d be difficult. You’re always so difficult now. What is with you lately? You used to be so obedient. Can we please go back to that?” He sighed, eye squeezed shut in frustration as he rubbed where his temples presumably would be. He waved a small, black-gloved hand and a bottle of red wine appeared on the table, along with a single wine glass. “You’re driving me to drink, Sixer. Are you proud of yourself?” He poured himself an entirely too generous amount.

“I’m not playing games with you. Where is my family?” Ford deadpanned.

“Yes you are! We never stopped playing. You just stopped making it fun. Y’know half the appeal of chess is the banter-” 

“Cipher.” 

“They’re fine, brainiac. Well- actually I dunno about that inferior double of yours. I had him disposed of since you never really seemed to like him anyway. But, I took the liberty of putting the objectively better of the two little ones in here with you! I’m sure Shooting Star is around here somewhere. I really gotta map this place out, it's getting ridiculous. What do you call her? Marble? Maple?”  

Ford gripped the armrests of the wooden chair in a six-fingered vice.

 “And Dipper?” He gritted out through clenched teeth. 

“Pinetree? Safe and sound, as promised… regrettably. I thought it’d be best if he didn’t interfere with all this, though. Real vibe killer, that one.”

“Where. Is. He.” He began to shake with rage.

“I told you already. Safe. Sound. Are you going deaf or something? I didn’t think you were that old-”

Fed up, the scientist slammed both hands onto the table, knocking the repulsive plate of marsupial viscera onto the tile floor with a clatter, anger practically oozing out of every pore. He futilely attempted to lunge at the demon yet he remained glued to his seat as Bill just sat there, looking only slightly disappointed before taking long, slow sip of his wine. 

“I just made that for you, y’know.” The demon sighed, voice pitched in irritation. 

“Take me to them. Now.” Stanford snarled, nearly frantic. He refused to humor the monster’s sick delusions, and if he had so much as laid a finger on the younger pines twins, no matter how powerless against him he was now Ford would find a way to make him pay for it. 

“Not with that attitude. What, don't take my word for it? I made a deal didn't I?”

Ford kicked the table. “Of course I don’t take your fucking word for it! You’re the universe’s most deceptive villain! Every word you’ve ever said to me was a lie!” 

Bill gave him a bitter look, almost one of offense. “Woah woah woah, not everything-” 

“Bullshit! You just can’t help yourself can you? Do you hear yourself!?” He ranted, venom spewing from his every word. “You’re sick. What are you really trying to accomplish here? What is all this really for, Cipher?”

Bill stood up on his seat, trying to make himself bigger. “I told you I-”

“I don’t care about your convoluted lies! Why am I here? I have nothing left to give you! Is this just some sick ploy for you to worm your way back into my head? For you to have someone to control? For you to feel special again? For you to play god? Newsflash, demon, you are not a god, and I will never, ever, be manipulated and seduced into worshiping you like one ever again. You’re a sadistic, one-eyed, freak, Cipher, and I was a naive fool to ever think any differently.”

Bill stood there in shock for a moment, pupil so narrowly slitted that it almost disappeared entirely into the white of his eye. The wine glass in his hand abruptly shattered. In an instant he flipped from astounded to furious, his body turning to a fiery red once more. His tiny fists balled up at his sides, shaking as he shrieked, “Okay, that’s it, bucko! Didn’t they ever teach you in kindergarten that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?!”  

Just as Stanford was about to retort, the triangle threw up a pointer finger toward his face and suddenly he found himself unable to open his mouth at all. He immediately began to panic, hands coming up to claw at his face as though he could pry the magic seal off his lips with brute force. He fell to his knees as he was suddenly no longer stuck to his chair and it was ripped out from under him and slammed against the far wall with a loud bang. Suddenly, the tiles around him began to appear to turn almost liquid and red papered walls began to rise out of the floor on all sides. His insults and profanities were muffled as the walls rose higher and higher surrounding him until they met the ceiling, effectively trapping him in. Once he could no longer see Bill, the spell keeping him quiet was lifted and he gasped for breath. He stood up, frantically looking around for an exit point, but the pseudo-cage seemed to be effectively air tight. His ex-muse’s voice echoed and bounced off the narrow walls. 

“Say you’re sorry.”

Ford grimaced, head whipping around trying to pinpoint what direction the voice was coming from. He laughed dryly and joylessly. “You’re psychotic.” His eyes went wide as the ground shook beneath him, the walls of his confine suddenly moving closer together, enclosing the space even further. 

“Say. You’re. Sorry.” 

Ah. So this was how Bill wanted to play. The scientist brandished his fists and banged on the wall defiantly. “Over my dead body!” The cage got smaller.

“Say it!”

Stanford was quickly realizing he may be running out of options here. Hypothetically if the situation were different, he would honestly and truthfully rather die via pancaking between four rapidly encroaching walls than even think of apologizing to Bill Cipher. However, the kids were somewhere. Alone. At the end of the world. And if he died now, there’s no telling what could happen to them, assuming it hadn’t happened already. The walls began to push back against his braced arms and the demon kept screaming, voice shrill and headache inducing. 

“Say it! Say it say it say it say it-”

“...I’m sorry.”

And everything stopped. 

[darkmaga-returns]

COVID-19 mRNA vaccines must be pulled from the market immediately, argues leading epidemiologist Nicholas Hulscher, highlighting that past vaccines, such as the Cutter Polio vaccine in 1955, were swiftly recalled after far fewer deaths. As Hulscher highlights, the Cutter Polio vaccine was withdrawn after just 10 deaths. In stark contrast, COVID vaccines have been associated with a staggering 375,000% more deaths, yet regulators persist in pushing additional booster shots.

Last month, a new peer-reviewed study titled “Pharmaceutical product recall and educated hesitancy towards new drugs and novel vaccines“, was published in the International Journal of Risk & Safety in Medicine. 

Here’s a brief summary as presented in the Abstract:

Background: Of many pharmaceutical products launched for the benefit of humanity, a significant number have had to be recalled from the marketplace due to adverse events. A systematic review found market recalls for 462 pharmaceutical products between 1953 and 2013. In our current and remarkable period of medical history, excess mortality figures are high in many countries. Yet these statistics receive limited attention, often ignored or dismissed by mainstream news outlets. This excess mortality may include adverse effects caused by novel pharmaceutical agents that use gene-code technology. Objective: To examine key pharmaceutical product withdrawals and derive lessons that inform the current use of gene-based COVID-19 vaccines. Methods: Selective narrative review of historical pharmaceutical recalls and comparative issues with recent COVID-19 vaccines. Results: Parallels with past drug withdrawals and gene-based vaccines include distortion of clinical trial data, with critical adverse event data absent from high-impact journal publications. Delayed regulatory action on pharmacovigilance data to trigger market withdrawal occurred with Vioxx (rofecoxib) and is apparent with the gene-based COVID-19 vaccines. Conclusion: Public health requires access to raw clinical trial data, improved transparency from corporations and heightened, active pharmacovigilance worldwide.

Figure 1 reveals the shockingly high number of COVID-19 injection death reports compared to all other vaccines since 1990. The fact that our regulatory authorities ignore this absurdly strong safety signal is deeply worrisome:

[huiiiooo]

All AFO Quirks (So Far)

All For One

Spearlike Bones

Search

Warping

Air Cannon

Springlike Limbs

Hypertrophy

Impact Recoil

Reflec

Scatter

Heavy Payload

Rivet

Kinect Booster ×3

Shock Absorpsion

Storage

Shoulder-Mounted Jet

Burst

Rapture

Power

liquification

Tool Arms

Brawn Boost ×4

Infrared

Radio Waves

Hardflame fan

Fierce wings

Impure Beam

Dark Ball

Antigen Swap

Forced Quirk Ativation

Bloodlet

Bloodcurdle

Decay

Navel Laser

Power Stockpiling

Transforming Arms

Mole

Overcloak

Muscle Augmentation

Air Walk

Double

Super Regeneration

Body Bulk

Scalemail

Unnamed Luminescence Quirk

Unnamed Shapeshifting Quirk

Unnamed Telekinesis Quirk

Unnamed Tenko's Quirk

Unnamed Mind Control Quirk

Unnamed Lie Detector Quirk

Unnamed Levitation Quirk

Unnamed Razor Blade Quirk

Unnamed Ooze Quirk

Unnamed Mouth Quirk

Unnamed Vibration Detection Quirk

Unnamed Glue Quirk

Unnamed Spatial Distortion Quirk

Unnamed Body Appendages Quirk

Unnamed Black Lightning Quirk

Unnamed Repulsion Quirk

Unnamed Fangs Quirk

Unnamed Black Spear Quirk

Unnamed Hardening Quirk

Unnamed Bull Quirk

Unnamed Turtle Shell with Weapon Quirk

Unnamed Laser Eye Quirk

[regressioncurriculum]

Memo to “Regression Raptors” Cheer Squad Caregivers

Hello, owners, and Happy Wednesday!  This is your reminder to send your dancer to cheer practice toileted and in a clean undergarment so she can perform all her movements!  

If your slave girl is in dirty-diaper punishment, we’ve provided flat airtight boxes in the gym lobby so you can save her soiled undergarments to put her back into after practice.  They’re prepared with a blank name label and will fit into the lower drawer of the fridge in the caregiver’s lounge if you wish to chill the diaper during practice.  (Obviously, please don’t place food items in the drawer!)

You are welcome to change your dancer’s diaper in the parking lot or lobby so she stays dry for as much of practice as possible.  If you have her “go” on the lawn outside, please pick up after her.

As we ramp up to performance and competition season, here’s a friendly reminder of our performance undergarment standards:

Pussy should be fully shaved, lotioned, and powdered

Raptors team pull-up is to be worn

Any boosters or corrective items placed in the uniform pull-up must be fully covered by the pull-up

No distracting shapes/textures should distort the team logo on uniform pieces

If you have any questions at all about the appearance rules for our squad and how they apply to your regression slave, please don’t hesitate to message the coaches.

Thanks — and Go Raptors!

[headmateelevator]

hello!! can we request a lvl 2 creator's choice headmate from fnaf with a typing quirk? anyone from fnaf would be cool! :D

order up!

name(s) - Mangle , Camellia , Cassie , Deirdre , Dianthe , Estella , Heather , Jamie , Kit , Madison , Kitt , Skipper , Valentine , Rose(anne) , Dollie , Striker , Adore , Glory , Lovesick , Blanc(he) , Bonnibelle , Camellia , Kipp , Maple , Marrow , Mink , Maeve , Mallory , Marion , Marlowe , Marrow , Martie , Mink , Manon , Morrigan , Persephone , Roseanne , Syd , Vixen.

pronouns - any / it / they / she / he / ra / radio / err / errors / toy / toys / tech / techs / bite / bites / wire / wires / ro / robots / lunge / lunges / jump / jumpscares / des / destroyed / party / partys / eat / eats / fun / funs / broken / brokens / party / parties / blood / bloods / dis / distorts / hide / hiding / active / actives / glitch / glitches / pizza / pizzas / play / plays / rock / star / <3 / <3s / :3 / :3s / ♡ / ♡s / ☆ / ☆s / sh♡ / h♡r / h♡ / h♡m / th♡y / th♡m.

gender(s) - Manglepangender , Folpine , Chigen , Raporidae, Foxtronian , Boncharic , Fnaf4rine , Fnafweirdo , Chicaweirdgirlic , Fnafbootmerchic , Fnafmesta , Oldfnartic , Fnaf2vibic , Fnaf3vibic, Fnaf4vibic , Fnaf4gender , Springlocksuitgender , Mangleplushic , Cherishfated , Fnafplushyic , Manglecieve , Manglemaxxing , Mechanicmasc.

orientations - demiaroace pansexual , mangledqueer.

role(s) - avenger , protector , mood booster , emotional funnel.

species - animatronic.

source(s) - Mangle , FNAF.

emoji(s) - 🦾 , 🔩 , ⚙️ , 🦿 , 🦊 , 🎀 , 🫀, ❤️‍🩹 , ⛓️ , ⛓️‍💥.

likes - loud music , the color pink , fnaf 2 sourcemates , playing games , stars , parties , repeating patterns , plushies , dolphins , seafood.

dislikes - pain , being alone , large crowds , sickness , corn , being itchy , sudden noises , yelling.

front triggers - source , sourcemates , parties , potential to get a new plushie (bite is DEFINITELY a plush hoarder.) , the body being hurt , any situation she could help with.

personality description - a usually very quiet but generally friendly animatronic, she enjoys speaking to friends from time to time, but likes to take time to herself and focus on things it'd like to get done. when with others she likes to play games often and likes to tell jokes to pass the time. she may often wait for others to start conversations with him, not liking to approach people, but blood will do so if alone too often.

typing quirk - (multiple suggestions , can be combined!!) (all but the first example say "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.) types in third person (ex: The mangle thinks this is a wonderful idea.) leetspeak (ex: 7h3 qu1ck 820wn f0x jump5 0v32 7h3 142y d09.) o=0 (ex: the quick br0wn f0x jump 0ver the lazy d0g.) o=☆ (ex: the quick br☆wn f☆x jumps ☆ver the lazy d☆g.) [tumblr only] pink text (ex: the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.)

faceclaims -

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name(s) - Susie , Park , Denver , Owen , Milo , Miles , Scruff , Rudy , Ruby , Charlie , Bud(dy) , Duke , Rocky , Pebble , Scout , Luna , Lucy , Cooper , Spot , Sadie , Cailean , Catellus , Conan , Lycus , Kaleb , Mob , Mace , Morland , Haldir , Thistle , Rymuth , Pike , Foggle , Marigold , Beesbeth , Holly , Elowind , Daisy , Hazelnut.

pronouns - she / her / they / them / pup / pups / paw / paws / yip / yips / bark / barks / fluff / fluffs / friend / friends / fur / furs / soft / softs / ruff / ruffs / tail / tails / wag / wags / bite / bites / bone / bones / berry / berries / fruit / fruits/

gender(s) - girl , dognipic , pupgender , dolfem , dogbonegender , doggen , doglexic , fangic , cannix , Yarnpuppic , Cyberpup, Pupsleepyic , Dogthing , Pupenby , Zomdoggender , Pupboyflux , Herdpupic , Sportpupic , Workpupic , Terrierpupic , Housepupic , Houndpupic , Dogtailwagic , Dogboygender , Canimougirl , Girlyboypup , Mascpupnightic , Cutepupboygender , Girlmutt , Phantompuptailic , Thingmutt , Traumamutt , Yellowdogplushic , Muttdollic.

orientations - unlabeled.

role(s) - mood booster , playmate , frijōn , paichmate , ògregulator , scout.

species - human , ghost.

source(s) - Susie , FNAF.

emoji(s) - 🐕 , 🐾 , 🦴 , 🎀 , 🎁.

likes - dogs , playing games , playing dress-up , talking to friends , drawing / coloring , sourcemates of the missing kids or animatronics , parties , crowds of people , fantasy books , alice in wonderland.

dislikes - most source stuff , being alone , getting dirty , the darkness , being stuck or trapped.

front triggers - good sourcemates , any pets or animals (especially dogs!) , parties , mentions of her , stress , overwhelming anger.

personality description - a very energetic girl , who loves meeting with friends and drawing pictures in her free time. she has a big interest and love for dogs. fur also enjoys fantasy books , such as alice in wonderland and things like that. fluff is always open to meeting new people and often seeks them out in headspace to say hello.

typing quirk - o=❤️ (ex: the quick br❤️wn f❤️x jumps ❤️ver the lazy d❤️g.) quotation marks (ex: "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.") [tumblr only] pink text (ex: the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.) dog sounds (ex: the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, woof! , the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, yip!)

faceclaims -

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[fuzzkaizer]

Ibanez - "first series" - collection: Ibanez No.84 Double Sound, Ibanez No.95 Blubber(wah), Ibanez No.57 Standard Wau Wau, Ibanez No.58 Standard Wau Fuzz, Ibanez No.59 Standard Fuzz, Maxon No.88 Distortion Booster.

cred: facebook.com/Veli-Pekka Oinonen

[metsn]

GOJIRA DESTRUCTION - brutal signal distortion with 3 interactive variables

The GOJIRA DESTRUCTION distortion pedal is based on the rare GREEN MONSTER pedal (taken off the market for obvious reasons!), but it also includes a booster (LBP1) to increase the output level after it has been shattered, but it still works best in combination with other high gain pedals. This machine produces the most noisy and harshest signal distortion, that i have come across so far. Like the name-sake, it leaves nothing unharmed and reduces 'what once was' to smoldering debris. The 3 VARIABLES of the sound are very interactive and have to be dialed in to 'sweet spots', for useful distortions. [WARNING: This pedal is really strange and besides the mentioned 'sweet spots', there is also a lot of totally destroyed and most likely useless sounds emerging from the rubble.] The top right pot is the VOLUME knob, the others the variables and the toggle switch selects two slightly different GAIN settings. It is a TRUE BYPASS effect with a green indicator LED, build into a die-cast aluminum enclosure painted with an unique ‘burned out industry’ camo pattern and a piece of PCB around the knobs. Power-socket: 9V DC , 2,1mm DC jack boss-style (inside -/+ outside) PSU is NOT included. Handmade by GRM for METSÄÄN. Buy here. (link to webshop.) Demovideo follows.

[tumfullofblue]

Courage Booster (Agent Rainbow x Reader) (N/S/F/W)

ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ No, I did not finish the game. No, I will not hold myself back before I do. Yes, this is really self-indulgent. And probably OOC but who cares, right? Yes, the reader is FAT. Deal with it as you will. ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ TW for alcohol consumption and dubious consent but come on you guys if you simp this fella you are cool with it.

Well if this sight wasn't faimiliar to you.

You were holding a dark heavy glass bottle in your hand. The label had been rubbed off, but two words could still be read: 'Whisky' and 'Scarlet'. The first word was confirmed by the faint aroma emanating from the bottle. It was a long time ago that you got used to coming across food in this place. Most of the time, the wrapper of another chocolate bar or water bottle didn't tell you anything. But the taste of it was painfully familiar. In addition, there was no poison in them. In fact, it was strange that this place had been so lenient with you. You came across this bottle while rummaging through a cupboard in an abandoned office, munching on another flat candy square. You opened it, inhaling the pungent alcohol. A definite disadvantage was that you had long since run out of water. The whisky had a nice smell, but you knew it would have a disgusting taste.

You took a look back. You didn't want another shadow or beast to grab hold of your heels as you gulped down the liquid. You shouldn't be drunk when you're at risk. But you did not have much of a choice. Besides, deep down inside, you were hoping that the alcohol in your system would encourage you not to squeal at every appearance of this… thing. You never did come up with a name for him. You called him 'a monster'. Or 'get-the-fuck-away-from-me'.

He was behaving in a different way that the usual creatures roaming this reality. He was actually talking to you. Most of the time, of course, he would humiliate you and kept you from progressing before disappearing into the darkness. But it was as if he was actually alive. As if he wasn't just a stalker, as if he wasn't just a killer. He was playing a game of cat and mouse with you, either giving you clues in his notes or laughing over the phone as you made yet another mistake. Unbearable.

You couldn't wait for his next call.

Just the thought of it sent a wave of warmth through you. You raised the bottle to your lips and took a sip.

"Ugh, fuckin' hell, this is disgusting!" you groaned and shivered with yoru whole body. The amber liquid burned down your throat and went straight to the bottom of your stomach. To keep yourself from falling, you grabbed the door. Your vision cleared after a few seconds. Slowly, you drank the whole bottle.

There was a fog now in your head. You grabbed your weapon and your bag of supplies and headed for the office exit, almost bouncing with joy. It wasn't really a matter of where your next destination was. Your hands were itching to shoot and you felt incredible, although somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you looked quite stupid. When you heard the familiar scraping and distorted wailing, you turned around quickly. Well, you ordered a firefight, here you go. One shot, another - and the shadow crumbled into a rainbow-coloured oil slick on the floor. Bam, bam, bam!

You smiled. You stood alone, swaying slightly. "Come on, fuckers, come on! I'm not scared of you, do you hear me?"

The gun made a click. It was empty of bullets. Normally, the wave of monsters would be over now. But not this time. A familiar shiver of fear ran up the length of your spine, gripping the back of your neck. Why were they still running in the direction of you? Who changed the rules? Stepping backwards into the office, you stumbled. You were on the verge of a fall, thinking that this was it, this was your end. The shadows were looming. They were muttering something unspeakable. Something grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, pulled you backwards and threw you to the floor. The door slammed shut, deafening. You gasped for air like a fish stranded on the beach.

A creature from the darkness in a shabby yellow cloak turned around with a sort of grin on its face - if it had a mouth to grin with, that is. From the lower part of his face flowed the same iridescent liquid that you had seen in the barrels and on the floor. His eyes were glowing bright red.

A deep voice got under your skin as much as the rainbow stuff did, "I see you are trying to play brave!" You tried to crawl back from him. But your arms wouldn't listen. The gun was empty. The creature was free to open the door and let the monsters tear you to pieces - you could see it tapping on the doorknob.

"And do you know what happens to the brave stupid heroes in my domain?" the creature croaked, approaching you with every step. Dropping the rainbow liquid on a floor, leaving a trail of it behind. You pushed yourself up on a sitting position, the fear slowly clawing into your foggy mind. But it was just a shadow of the usual horror you've felt ever since you woke up in this place. The courage booster did it job, altough poorly.

"Who told you it was your domain, huh?" your words were somewhat slurred, but the smirk on your face was genuine. He saved you. Saved you! He wasn't going to hurt you, not now, at least. The fucker loved the sound of his own voice, you just had to keep him talking before he grows bored or…

You never finished that thought. The monster grabbed you by your neck, stopping any air from getting into your lungs. He lifted you up in the air like you were weighing nothing and slammed you down on a office table. You groaned with pain.

"You are forgetting yourself there," it moved its face towards you, the overwhelming smell of something cinnamon-y filling your lungs instead of air you were breathing. "You are forgetting why are you even alive. Why you are allowed to breath, to think, to exist here!"

You struggled in his hold. Kicking and trying to hit him to no avail. The fear sinked deeper. The creature snarled.

"I own you, kitten. Always did. You are nothing but the toy for me to play. You thought that booze will make you brave? Bah! That's hilarious you even tried to believe it! You and me both know that you are just a scared little girl. So easy to break."

You stopped your attempts to hit him at the threat in his voice. The grip on your throat loosened just enough to let you inhale a little more of the poisonous cinnamon air he was breathing out. You felt your body relax against the will of your mind. It was affecting you. He was affecting you.

"'Bout time you are put to your place," the creature noted, tilting its head, studying you. Thinking to itself how pretty you were, scared, yet trying to be tough. Your body feeling so nice under him. How you glanced at him both scared… and curious. "Breath, breath me in, darlin'," it whispered, moving it's face even closer to yours. "That's it. Good job. You were trying so hard to resist me and for what? This is so much easier, isn't it? You will learn to love the emotions I'm about to inflict on you, kitten. They always do. Such funny things human are…"

Your eyes closed. Open mouth to let out a soft sigh. Feeling the effects of the agent spreading through your systems, like a virus, like a disease.

"T-this is not over…" you mutter, the fog from whiskey replaced with different kind of fog.

"You're right about that, kitten," the creature chuckled. His other hand went from your neck to your shoulder. Rubbed against a bruised collarbone down to your chest.

"This is just the beginning."

His hands continued to roam over your chest and belly. Thin, twisted cold fingers grabbing your shirt and lifting it up to expose the plump, round flesh, A strange sound escaped from him, something between a howl and a chuckle. "Is this why you can never run, hm? Poor thing. All those chocolate and chips you found certainly didn't help? Oh, don't make that face now. Relax and breath… for now."

Red eyes stared down at your stomach as it was rising and falling with each deep breath. You felt the heat warming up your cheeks and you wanted to snarl back at him, but found your tongue too heavy to move. So instead - another sigh, another nice deep breath.

"What a sight. Nice and fat. Just like I love it."

The creature moved it's head to nuzzle into it, slick, wet, cold as your fingers. You let out another whimper, both disgusted and embraced. The thought of whatever leaking out of him getting on your skin was making you sick. But too late - you looked down to see oily stains on your stomach. "Wish I had teeth to tear into you, kitten. Another time, perhaps."

You hardly recognized when it stopped nuzzling into you and started to undo the buttons of your pants. "Don't move now and don't try to kick unless you want your legs crushed!" it almost sang it when it noticed your glazed eyes widen. You knew what was about to happen. And he caught on your thoughts pretty quickly.

"Don't kid yourself now, this is not for you sick pleasure. I just wanna know what it feels like… to be completely inside you. To feel every single part of you filled with me. To see that pretty stomach bulge with me."

And he talked and talked while working to take your shoes and pants off. More luquid dropping down at your exposed lower torso. "I've been in your head too many times now, kitten. I know you want this. I know you crave this. Crave me. A pathetic creature of meat and bone. Well, guess what? Now you're gonna pant and sweat as I stuff you full of me."

"N-no, please," you protest quickly, but he is already pressing his fingers to your soaked underwear. Rumbling and hissing, moving his digits up and down, collecting your juices. Yet again, the thought of unknown substance going inside you terrifies you. Or... excites you? The lines became blurred. You just want him to touch you more. To keep you on the edge between terror and relief one more time. He shoves two fingers inside your tight hole, making you squirm and moan. It's amazing. "Moaning like a good little slut for me already? Good kitten. Let's see how will you react if I add another... It's not too much for you, huh?" even as he fucks you with his fingers slowly, you still feel the burning stretch of it, but you are already so wet that it doesn't take too long before he is satisfied with your little mewls and bucking of your hips as you try helplessly to fuck yourself more on them. You're a moaning mess, completly forgetting just what exactly what was happening. The smell of cinnamon was overwhelming now, the whole world smelling like it. "You're close. But the thing is... you won't be allowed to cum untill I say so." You hear a zipper going down. Even if your vision is quickly distroting, you still get a lock at whatever he was hiding beneath his pants. And god, it's huge. You can hardly call it a dick, it's more like a tentacle, long and thick at the same time, the dark purple of it, and it was moist with the same liquid that was always coming from his maw. You gulped. "There's no way..." "... it's gonna fit? I don't care. Like I said, kitten, I intend to break you." Yes, you were afraid. But there was no time to attempt to do anything when he already alligned himself with your entrance and started painfully going in, pushing the tentacle deeper and deeper. You whimpered, feeling your walls accept inch after inch, the burn making it worse, and he wasn't even half done. A deep, deep laugh. He grabbed your waist and you swore you saw one red eye winking at you. He yanked you towards yourself and you let out a breathles wail. He was inside you, fully and utterly. Without giving you time to breath he started moving, rutting his hips into you, moving your body up and down as if you were nothing but a fuck-toy for him. You don't recognize your own voice anymore - high-pitched and loud as you struggle around his lenght. "That's it, that's it. Oh, fuck, you're tight one, aren't you? And so good for me, too. It's like you were made for this, pretty kitten. Come on, don't be shy. Scream for me." And scream you do, the orgasm hitting you like a truck, so sudden and so bright you are almost at the edge of passing out from it. The bright white flashes before your eyes and then you feel it... a guttural groan, more like a roar from him and you feel the tentacle start to pumping, holding your waist in a deadlock. The liquid of it seemed to be sipping into your very being and yes, you could see the bulge in your lower belly forming. He stayed like that, holding your hips, hissing and letting you take every last drop of it before finally letting go of your legs, watching it leak out of your used cunt. You blinked, once, twice before you saw him already at the door, tilting its hat on you. "That was fun, kitten. We should do that again sometime… I'll give you a call. Oh, and just so you know... you were my favorite one to break."

[handlersandhumans]

IC-39: Sagittarius

Straight and True

"That- that thing’s tearing through us! Where’s the reinforcements! They were-" A hypervelocity needle impaled the MT, spearing it to the wall like a grotesque hunting trophy. The air filled with the sound of an ejection capsule failing to fire: a sickening crunch that made Michigan’s arm hair stand on end.

“You were sent on a suicide mission.” A distorted, static-laced voice rang out over the Balam advance squad’s comms. It was the sound of a radio cutting out from reactor malfunction, the tone usually reserved for the dying cries of soldiers in their MTs.

Build below the cut!

Right Hand Weapon: Viento Left Hand Weapon: Viento Right Shoulder Weapon: Laser Turret Left Shoulder Weapon: Laser Turret Head: Lammergeier Core: Nachtreiher Arms: Alba Legs: Lammergeier Booster: Gills FCS: Ocellus Generator: NGI 000 Expansion: Assault Armor Additional Notes: Originally designed before the Lammergeier parts were introduced, I was wanting to make a very fast, lightweight tetrapod and this was the design I came up with. I later repurposed it for Handlers and Humans. The Laser Turrets, unaffected by generator spec as they are, are basically kinetic for all intents and purposes.

[brokenhandsmedia]

I've spent a fair amount of time attacking AI boosters, but oftentimes we find ourselves saying of our opponents that every accusation is an admission. It's necessary, I think, to occasionally take an inventory of things and ask: "am I full of shit?"

I don't really think that I am, but part of the issue with the cheerleaders of generative artificial intelligence is that they barge into other disciplines and put their dirty shoes up on the furniture, taking ownership of things that they don't have a right to -- not just in terms of copyright, but in terms of ideas.

As a composition teacher, it hits a little bit close to home: I'm often teaching people in the sciences and other disciplines how to write. To an extent, I have to assert ownership over something that exists in their space -- otherwise, I can't claim the authority to teach.

But there's an honest, exploratory way to do this -- one that uses ideas, instead of utilizing them -- and a dishonest, exploitative way of doing the same, bending other ideas and other disciplines towards an end that doesn't fit them.

Maybe there's a way to do this, a way that distorts things productively without hiding the original, but it's something that needs to be examined and though about.