#enlightened primitives

[arachnerd-8-legs]

im getting real sick of 'intelligence'

who decided reading books and writing counted as intelligence? who decided that getting high scores on a strict, unfeeling system meant you were better than everybody? who decided that people should be turned into numbers, tie their worth in society into numbers, to compare people on a scale that ultimately does not matter, so that the people who didn't dump everything to perform for it are berated and the people who did end up with nothing?

who decided not reading or writing was a lack of intelligence? who decided that living differently to them was a sign of lower 'societal worth' than those who conformed?

[sardonyyx]

lestat. she’s derived from Clemence Posey and Nontobeko Mbuyazi on my screen @ the same time. Lestat is mixed race in this au bc while I think AMC’s decision to make louis Black redresses a lot of anne’s bs, I still want to redux her ancien regime boner thru a new lens

[poetrythreesixfive]

Primitive Self

The old you, even the you from one year ago,

is some primitive looking up at a solar eclipse

terrified that the gods are angry and attempting

to alleviate their horror by sacrificing virgins

or slaughtering a horse, and when the moon

moves along, they cheer in senseless defiance,

pleased with their gestures and incantations,

oblivious that all they had witnessed was one

object merely blocking the view of another.

The current you looks back on your blindness,

the deeds best left undone, the flippant words

that injured a person you love, the emotional

rollercoaster fueled with your own childish

fears, the poor judgment wielded when you

should have known better but you didn’t know

better any more than our ancestors knew how

to harness electricity, but now your bulbs are

fully illuminated, at least for some things.

The question is, what are you doing now that

your future self, one year from now, will look

back upon in horror, cringing at your stupidity?

what fear are you giving into? what assumption

are you entertaining? what decision are you

contemplating that will steer the course of your

life into loneliness and oblivion because some

need must be met and you fail to grasp the big

picture? Take off those dark glasses and see.

-GeorgeFilip

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 13: Uniform Kink

Pairing: NewJeans Hanni x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,562

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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It’s just another goddamn stressful day that you’ll be tackling and you just can’t wait for it to end. Even teaching a class full of boisterous students sends you into a hellhole of utter stress and dismissing them is such a sigh of relief—you still show empathy and enthusiasm to teach and make them learn new things but there are just times where it’s really unbearable but you fight through it, following your moral code of conduct.

Yet one student stood out from the rest, not really because of her academic performance (in which she is already doing decently great) but, in the way she dressed that literally doesn’t follow the campus’ dress code.

As she’s about to leave and get her bangs packed and ready, you suddenly called out her name in a formal manner as you caught her attention off-guard. Of course, she rolls her eyes in subtle annoyance as her friends opted to just wait for her onto the campus’ canteen and Hanni agrees on that and averted her attention towards you.

“What is it, professor?” Hanni asks you with little-to-no-interest as wants this to end as quickly as possible as she has more endeavors to be in with.

“Ms. Pham, I would like to talk about something that I’m pretty sure you’re aware of.” Your stern demeanor intimidates Hanni as the presence of gravitas within you makes her feel a hint of nervousness, unsure on what you may talk about.

“I don’t seem to know what you’re talking about, professor?” She seems to not be cognizant about what you’re talking about as there’s multiple reasons on why you may call her out. It may seem sincere but she may act oblivious just to trick you but you could never be so sure, so you enlightened her with a fact. “Don’t you see what you’re wearing, Ms. Pham? Don’t you see that it definitely doesn’t follow the dress code of the school’s regulations.”

“Oh, I guess I’m sorry, professor. I don’t know anything about this regulation-thingy and what are you going to do about this, hm, strip it out of me, professor?”

God, this girl—Pham Hanni, yes, this girl is not the girl you don’t want to deal with. Everybody knows how bratty and stubborn she can get whenever she’s being disciplined and snapped back to her place, despite her bubbly and friendly attitude. With that iron wall that’s strong within her, you want to teach her a lesson and break it despite the possible risks and you might need to even take it a step further than the most primitive ways of disciplining students.

You let out a deep sight as silence ensues and then, you slammed hard on the desk and gave her a cold, stern gaze that startled and scared Hanni. “Don’t you dare talk to your professor this way, Ms. Pham Hanni—and I know you’re not this oblivious to not know about the school’s rules and regulations, don’t you?”

And as much as you’re having the higher authority right now, Hanni herself didn’t back down without a fight and rather provoked your inner fire that you didn’t absolutely like but your patience is staying stronger than steel, fighting through her stubborn behavior. It became continuous that the both of you are starting to argue like little kids but you still maintain your composition yet Hanni’s erupting like a volcano gone rogue right now and there’s one thing to deal with this, moreso, privately.

“Then why does it matter so much for you, professor? Just say the words and I—”

“Go to my office now, Pham Hanni.” You interrupted her with a single sentence as her heart dropped massively as fear now emanated on her eyes, as she never saw you this serious before. As much as she wants to complain or retaliate, she doesn’t want to get in any trouble or escalate this situation further so, without any choice, she packed her things and went to your office with you, of course—you need to guard her since she might immediately escape and catch you off-guard, unprepared and you don’t want that to happen.

Once you’ve reached your office, you offer her a seat as you turn on the lights and sit on your chair, ready to further talk about her annoying and frustrating behavior.

“Professor, if it’s just another dumb talk about my bitchy behav—”

“Can you just stay quiet, please?” You retort in response with her talkative antics that made you boil in anger and immediately, Hanni shuts her mouth silent and gulps nervously. “You are being a nuisance to a lot—let me repeat it again for you, a lot of professors, whether it’s your stubbornness or you just being incapable of following such simple instructions and being selfish, it’s getting out of hand.” You blow a deep breath as you’re about to tame a beast like Hanni as you’re preparing for another pointless hindrance that further makes everything go down into flames. 

You’re just as puzzled as most of the people that knew her and you hate that one thing that really shows how much the professors despise her—her bratty attitude that will never fade as the boys around her fall in love with that and it’s just something wrong. As much as you don’t like her not following the dress code the school has implemented, you can’t lie and dive into your hypocrisy with the beauty that lies within her because of her aesthetically hot school uniform outfit. Of course, you won’t let your intrusive thoughts win and remain composed throughout the time being of disciplining her and making her snap back to her roots.

Yet you have a single trick up your sleeve whenever this gets out of hand, and you’re just holding onto this for a while, testing your patience.

“We don’t know what to do anymore with you so a little cooperation will be appreciated if you will just—”

“But here’s the thing, professor—” Hanni pushes the chair a little back, before standing and giving you a subtle smirk in aims to lower down your guard. “—at the end of the day, it’s not going to harm anyone and you can’t do anything with it, hah.”

“Hanni, it’s not just that—it’s all about the discipline and the control of your—”

“Oh, stop it, professor—” Hanni walks towards you as your senses heightened, absolutely flummoxed with her eager movements towards you as she’s obviously seducing you into making you fall down her spell. “—don’t tell me you don’t like how pretty I look in this outfit.”

In all means, she’s goddamn right and there’s no way on earth you would say a no but of course, you’re fighting the urge of your primal desires as you brush her approaching advancements to lure you in, retaliating and further wanting Hanni to back down even though you know that she’ll just advance without anyone to stop her.

“Stop this madness, Pham Hanni—you’re not going to—”

“I’m absolutely in this, professor—stop being a hypocrite and tell me how pretty I look with this uniform.”

It’s her accent and her saccharine voice that further doesn’t help with your defensive state against her unstoppable will. You can’t lie how perfectly beautiful she looks in this possibly-cursed uniform as every inch ultimately highlights her slender waist, her beautiful thighs and her perky mounds and you hate it. Maybe, she dressed like this for a purpose but you’re not so sure and you’re running out of time before you unshackle everything that has been caged for so long.

Knowing that hypocrisy is such utter bullshit, you finally give in a little as you start to stutter and mutter such complimentary words that Hanni catches her ears on it.

“You l-look good in this outfit, Hanni—not going to lie with you. Your curves, your thighs, it’s just perfect for you.”

Hanni finally smiles widely with her eyes drawing such crescent moons, emanating her cuteness towards you. She’s delighted to hear your sincere takes on her outfit and decided to take it a step further than ever before. Hanni then closes towards you as her hands palmed your chest, the warmth of it making you overwhelmed and excited as your heart races its beat like it’s catching something.

“I guess you want something to deal with this, right, professor? And don’t you dare say no because—” Hanni looks at your eyes endearingly with aims to further lure you onto her spell as her thick Australian accent followed by her sweet voice seduces you further, “—I can see in your eyes, professor—your pretty, black eyes says it all…” She further puts gasoline on the flames as she caresses her hands slowly on your chest, making you feel the affection and sincerity of Hanni’s eyes and because of your clever mind, you knew exactly where this is going as you fully gave in to your animalistic urges and broke apart your stern, teacher-like persona.

“I do want you, Hanni. I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re so goddamn pretty and hot.” You took some quick peeks on her impeccable features as she saw this, smiling at the fact that you’re admiring her scrumptious body and her pretty face.

“I know professor—you’re hot and pretty handsome too. You don’t know this but—” Hanni tiptoes as you slightly slouch in order for her to be in level with you as she whispers in your ear, “—I had a crush on you for a long time now, professor.”

This may sound unorthodox for you but you feel your heart beating triple its normal rate, finding Hanni’s advances wholesome and flustering. It may sound wrong as you want to unhear what Hanni just said but you can’t help yourself with your own desires and even wanting more. Knowing that Hanni’s touches are getting bolder enough for you to act up, you gently push her hands off on your chest as she pouts cutely, dejected with your retaliating advances yet she doesn’t give up, at her watch.

“Hanni—we can’t be doing this. This is just wrong, I’m sorry—”

“But professor—” Hanni lays down onto the couch as she displays herself in front of you and all you can see is an angel getting ready to be sullied. “—don’t you wanna think of something else? Like, kissing me, making me rile up or just ruining me with this goddamn uniform? Come on professor, make a girl worth her while…”

With your own desires taking over you, you can’t be bothered to really make yours unattended as her primal calls make up for your time as you were lured by her own devilish remarks. You pin her down at the couch as she yelped in response, feeling a little shocked with your aggressive actions but she never wanted you to break the heated atmosphere that has been building up as she grabbed your collar and kissed you intimately.

This is totally wrong—you said to yourself but you didn’t care anymore, not when Hanni’s plump, luscious lips are in contact with yours, sharing such an intimate kiss as the both of you find yourselves even indulging deeper and not wanting to end this so soon but speak of the devil, Hanni pulls out of the latch of your lips as she looks at you with need in her eyes. Can’t seem to really contain yourself anymore because of such a hot scene, you thought of something that will change the course of this session and will start things off incredibly well.

“Get on your knees, Hanni. I’ll probably assume you know where this will go, right?”

Getting up on the couch, Hanni eagerly obliged to your request as she knelt down in front of you with her eyebrows furrowed, a little nervous about what you may have in store. Hanni knows what you’re coming up with but she just wants everything to be confirmed by you so she didn’t hesitate to ask you about it. “Are you s-sure about this, professor?”

“Yes, Hanni—I am more than sure. Besides, no one will know any of this and have no secret cameras installed here anyways. Now, do your thing and impress me.”

Your tone makes her heart drop as the heat makes everything intense as your stern face intimidates her but it didn’t bother her to start her own service. Her hands trembled a bit but she didn’t care as she continued unbuckling your belt and then unbuttoning your pants as you mildly groan due to her hurried actions as her touch feels enchanting, the hotness rivaling the cold air that had permeated around the room. Even with the possible uneasiness laced in every move she does when she’s stripping you, you can’t help but be in awe of how she’s genuinely interested in what she’s doing as the lust and anticipation glistens on her dark orbs.

“Have you done this before, Hanni?”

Hanni, still busy with her current activity, takes a second before she could respond as she looks at your eyes endearingly and mutters, “Not really, professor—just on my toys though, so I had some little practice at my end.”

You scoff as you were shocked by Hanni’s dirty, little secret but you didn’t take it as a joke or way too seriously—it’s just great that she had experienced it with even a silicon toy but now, she’ll be trying the real thing and it’s just going to be better than this. Now, with your last defense left before her grand treasure, Hanni didn’t waste any time and let the feral beast inside you be unshackled from its frustrating restraints and god, Hanni’s eyes lit in awe and amazement as she gets her first treatment and a sight of such a beautiful, perfect cock.

“Professor—it looks good and thick. It feels so warm and nice on my hand too—woahh...”You can see how adventurous and how new Hanni is in these kinds of things as she’s just in full-admiration of your entire length now all for her to taste and use. You want to show some mercy with Hanni, even with her bitchy attitude that makes you want to teach her lesson, you’d still keep the feral beast inside you for now as you don’t want yourself to grow impatient, reminding Hanni on what to really do.

“Show me what those plump lips can do, Hanni—show me what they’re really made of.”

“Yes, professor…” With no time to waste, her soft flesh meets your engorged tip as she sends multiple pecks onto it, from your tip down to the base her actions immediately send waves of pleasure and it's a pandemonium of delight. Sudden surge of pleasure does course down your veins and you can’t help but let out moans that screams volumes of peak delight and gratification with the incredible work of Hanni’s lips marking every inch of your shaft with her touch and she’s barely even doing anything on your cock yet. 

Well, you didn’t need to imagine anymore nor Hanni as she envelops her soft lips all over your tip, just pushing it almost the frenulum as she eagerly bobs her head and sucked onto your length like it’s favorite popsicle. With you sitting onto the couch, you may think that Hanni’s struggling a little due to the position but she shows no signs of it as she continues her masterclass of an incredible display of her talented mouth doing wonder all over your length. She definitely knows how to suck a damn cock like yours, even if she said she hasn't had a real one and just done it with her toys makes you think if she’s lying on her teeth but you didn’t mind it as you let do an incredible job between your legs. Inevitably, saliva seeps out at the side of her mouth and onto her chin due to her furious bobbing as it stains the couch and makes it a little wet—adds to the element of a messy, sloppy, and most of all, a great blowjob session.

With now taking more than half of your length everytime she thrusts her mouth on your cock, a gag can be heard resonating around the room as it’s bound to make your arousal soar higher than the heavens, and it absolutely did. She didn’t stop sucking you, moreso, even pull out quickly enough to catch her breath as she gives you the best she could deliver as she’s totally serving the dish hotter than what you expected, all of the elements coming all together in aims to reach a single goal: to make you stimulated enough to blow a healthy, thick load. With her furious bobbing onto your constantly throbbing penis, you grabbed her blonde-highlighted dark streaks as an outlet to fight the constant pleasure you’re experiencing and wanting yourself to give her a treat, you caught her off-guard by simple forcing your entire length down her throat as it hits the back of it, activating her gag reflex and immediately, she forced out of your saliva-sheathed member as she catches her breath in response.

“Wha—What w-was that professor?”

“I just wanted to feel your entire throat and if you can take it whole, Hanni—go on and continue…”

Hanni throwed a slight glare because of your sudden harsh actions towards her but she brushed it off immediately and got back onto sucking your raging length again. This time, it was better considering how she locks eye contact with you periodically, more often that earlier and with a new and a better addition, Hanni’s dainty fingers finding its way to fondle your balls for further stimulation as it became so frequent that you increase the quality and also the volume of your moans and that alone sends Hanni onto a better task at making your brain go haywire.

There’s is no absolute way that this can get any better—Hanni bobbing her up and down furiously as she gags every time she does it, saliva seeping out her mouth and staining the vicinity around her lips, her tears and makeup getting ruined because of her own harsh doings against your length, and the peak of the iceberg is herself in her uniforms which turns you on so fucking much—and there’s nothing you can ask for at this moment. Her pace is just getting ridiculous at this point that it’s all going to get out of hand soon because you’re feeling the familiar sensation growing up in your loins as you have  more plans ahead for this girl as the both of you are just starting.

Well, you never knew that a girl in her uniform would make such a blowjob session thrice as hot as you’ve ever thought about and maybe, you just found yourself a new fetish.

“S-Stop, Hanni…” Your pleas fall deaf onto her ears as the sounds of her constant slurping and her sheer focus on sucking you off makes off a wall to refrain herself from any distraction. Gathering up more strength, you raise your voice in hope for her to hear you as you can feel yourself going near that high you’ve been waiting for but you don’t want it deep down her throat.

“I said stop, Pham Hanni!”

Fear took over her as she’s startled and afraid with your tone, immediately stopping and pulling out of your drool-lathered, throbbing length as connections of saliva were evident.

“Did I d-do something wrong, p-professor?” You could feel the fright laced between her words as felt bad and guilty with it, so you reassured her in the nicest way possible as you don’t want this to end so quickly and anti-climactic.

“No—I want my load to be deep in your pussy because girls like you don’t deserve a load deep down their slutty throats…”

“B-But I deserved it!”

“I won’t repeat myself, Hanni.”

You’re not wrong, by any means. If she misbehaved so badly and acted like an unbearable brat earlier, then it’s just fair making her be deprived of your seed. You commanded her to stand up as she did so, and you helped her with that and not so long after, you ordered her again to bend herself over, her hands palmed all over the wall as she gave out an excited look, Hanni anticipating what you may still have in store up your sleeve.

“Do you w-want me to strip off m-my clothing?” Like your growing fetish onto hot and petite girls in uniforms, you can’t be bothered to see her naked as two brilliant things are the reasons: one, she’s still within the school’s premises as you don’t want her to be utterly ruined and naked when the both of you are done and two, you really want to sully her with her uniforms on as it’s such an arousing sight to see her curvature and her impeccable features being complimented by her uniform. With this conclusion, you came up with a single reasoning and replied to her—

“No, I want your uniform stayed on—you’ll look better ruined with those on and look too great on that.”

Hearing this, Hanni’s lips curled up a smirk as she knew how to really turn you on right from the start. She knows her captivating and alluring aura will send down your defenses and will break your stern persona as a professor and given the fact that her in a uniform turns you on even more than what she expected, makes everything better and more arousing. Now, with her unparalleled pleas of needs towards you, you can’t help but feel yourself inching closer towards a heavenly route towards your own sin—and you’re about to take such a bold risk that will define your limits and Hanni’s and it’s all about to break down. With her petite and slender figure bent over and ready for taking, you take a moment to admire her plump cheeks and her beautifully sculpted thighs that it’s in the right amount of thickness. You caress your palm over it as your fingers slowly run over the hem of her white-laced panties, stretching it out a little in order to tease her and not for long, your deftly swiped it down to her ankles as you were met with her glistening, needy cunt that’s already dripping and you don’t know when it started.

With that desired treasure within your reach, you’re in no state to not dive into it yet your conscience fights with you but you manage to calm it down as you fully indulge on your own needs and immediately, you plunge your length in her with a harsh grip on her thighs as a leverage and god, her moans are basically the purest and the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your entire life—such sultriness and sweetness behind her lustful needs makes it such a great symphony to listen as rhapsodies of her delighted feelings escapes her mouth, further muttering such lovely moans that greatly fueled your lust over her.

You know this is wrong—so besmirching yet you’re at the point of no-return and just finding yourself being lured deeply into the abyss of your primal desires.

“God—p-professor—your cock—oh, it’s so big and n-nice up my tight, l-little cunt!”

“You’re t-tight as fuck too, Hanni—let me guess though—” You then inch closer towards her ear and fixed her hair as some of it falls back onto the other side as you muttered, “—you’ve tried shoving up your toys in this tight pussy, isn’t it?”

Hanni’s already at her vulnerable point as she can’t think of any articulate response rather than moaning in need yet she manages to fight through it, uttering a reply before she can let out her lustful profanities again. “Y-Yes—yes, professor! I l-love playing w-with my toys that’s why—fuck, so good!”

As you ensue such powerful yet slow thrusts, Hanni can’t help but voice out her satisfaction each time you do it as her thighs jiggling in response to your harsh movements is bringing you into a hypnotic trance. With her delectable buttcheeks being a victim of such vibrations due to your constant ramming of her cunt and with that such, you gave her a single spank that reverberated around the room and Hanni herself cried in intense pleasure because of it. With such an incredibly hot sight of Hanni in her uniform, getting railed from behind, you can’t help but make yourself unable to maintain the pace even if you wanted it slow with Hanni and you didn’t last long and gave in to your primal instincts and let your hips do the work.

Your new profound pace makes Hanni writhe as her fist forms tight curls from the constant course of pleasure running down her veins, making her stimulated enough to drip around your ravaging member and onto the floor, staining it with her own succulent juices. Your hands now averted its attention towards her shoulders and then her perky mounds in which you slowly groped, and fondled them carefully while still maintaining a breakneck pace that’s been forming such heavenly clouds of gratification that makes the best for both worlds. She lets out a series of satisfied moans, but this time, it’s more sultry and more of a whimper in your words as your intimate actions brings her closer onto her own promised land.

“Oh fuck—professor! P-Please k-keep doing—fuck, ahh—that!!”

It was the same words uttered earlier and until now, and you’ll never get tired of it and will even make her a ruined mess that can only moan such lifeless syllables full of lust. With your relentless pace and such stimulating actions onto her small mounds, you further make it worth her while as you kiss her nape and suckled onto the porcelain skin, making her feel cherished and treasured as it’s all just becoming too much for Hanni that she’s unable to control herself, vulnerable on writhing unstoppably as the quivering of thighs would be a reasonable evidence to start with.

If this is what Hanni wanted at the very start, then she’ll get what she wanted—not because she solely deserved this, yet.

“Is this what you wanted, hm, Hanni? You really decided to dress like this to lure me in—well, you fucking got it because—” You keep fucking her steady as she cries from the stimulating actions your hips has been oscillating as her tumultuous mouth letting out the most lustful profanities are coming into a halt. “—I’ll destroy this pussy and fill you up like a good fucking girl and to teach you a fucking lesson!”

With the venom laced being thrown at her, unlocking the pure devilish deeds in you and putting your merciful façade onto its unfortunate demise, you let yourself be unshackled from the restraints you’ve been cursing yourself onto and rammed her tight, wet cunt like there’s no tomorrow. You gave her nothing but a lightning pace as each thrust aims to break her in half, teaching her a lesson and as the cherry on top, to fuck that living bratty and bitchy attitude out of her. Now grabbing the tie that has been an absolute iconic element of her outfit, you used it as a collar for a leverage to further fuck her into oblivion and with this pace, it isn’t going to be long before Hanni meets the end of the line, setting herself up to the top step of absolute lust and peak quality of pleasure—the long-awaited orgasmic trance of Hanni.

You know how close she is with the constant pulsations of her pussy around your ravaging length as you muster up the fastest pace your hips can do just to chase her orgasm further and with an ear-screeching scream of ecstasy, she announces her anticipated high.

“Oh god—I’m g-gonna—fuck—gonna cum on y-your cock, professor! Holy sh—shit!”

“Do it, Pham Hanni—cum on my cock like a good, pretty girl.”

With the last string of her defense now cut down, streams and streams of her nectar flow around your cock as she catches her breath everytime she lets out rounds of such an intense orgasmic high. You didn’t stop your thrusts though, yet you slow down to give her a breather but she looks back at you, wanting you to fully ravage her tight cunt even with her current state. Marking that as a green, you further resume your frantic pace as the wet squelching of her pussy and the constant clashing of both your drenched bodies became an arousing sound to hear as it draws you further to your own peak, inching it closer yet you fight it in order to savor the tight feeling and an ecstatic clenching of her velvety walls around your throbbing shaft. You support Hanni with your muscular arms as you can see how her orgasm depleted a chunk of her energy as her hands became weak, unable to full grip onto the walls as she just became a lifeless form capable of just uttering the most erotic syllables known to man and god, it’s even drawing you closer to the edge as it stimulates you into oblivion, and can’t draw back.

Chasing your own high as you want it as soon as possible, you use her body like you have something to prove to her as you train her with the aims to derive the best pleasure out of it and Hanni’s, too. Even with the orgasm-drunken state of Hanni, she’s able to encourage you to further release in her as she wiggles her bubble butt leisurely, wanting to get off yourself too as her voice captivates you and lures you deep on your darkest, lustful desires.

“Come o-on, professor—use m-my cunt and cum i-in me—please, I w-want it! I’m s-safe so you don’t need t-to worry—ahh—a-about me!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, reluctant with that approach that you may do the unthinkable but yet find yourself thrusting harder and faster, “Are y-you sure, Hanni?”

“Yes! Yes, p-professor—so please, I w-want your load d-deep inside me…”

With Hanni’s reassurance and her further encouragement for your long-awaited release, you trust her as you give her wet, tight walls the final thrusts it deserves as she constantly clenches with your pace, unable to control herself from it as you gave in.

“God—I’m gonna cum so hard in you, Pham Hanni!”

And then, your final blow decimates the last standing defense within you as your euphorically groaned and shoot spurts and spurts  of your treasured load deep inside her cunt as you bury your whole length in her, in aims to fill her up to the womb as she lets out such ecstatic moans with the warmth inside her painting every inch of her walls white with your seed. Your initial response after a mind-bending orgasm that lasted for like fifteen seconds is to pull out slowly and admire the creamy mess you made inside her emanating heat, as the both of you let out such exasperated breaths after a steamy session that no one can possibly top off. Hanni becomes weak as her legs got a little wobbly from your aggressive actions, sitting down slowly at the floor and recovering herself from the earlier euphoric trance and so did you, letting your cock soften as it twitches in need but you didn’t mind anything and take some time to recover.

“Oh my—you came so much in me, professor…” Hanni lightly laughs as it’s contagious, laughing with her and smiling right after, knowing how satisfied she is as much as you did.

“You too—I could literally feel a faucet leaking out of me when you came.” Hanni blushes from your reply as her hands come down to the hem of her panties, pulling it up as some of your semen leaked out and stained her thighs.

Awkward silence ensues right after as both parties slowly descend into recovery, catching breaths and reminiscing—maybe comprehending too—such remarkable moments throughout the intense session of such intimate sex. 

“Oh gosh—well, y-you proved your point already, professor.” Your face paints a confused one as you vaguely remember what she could be talking about.

“Of what, Hanni.”

“Of teaching me a lesson, professor. Would definitely follow your orders from now on.”

You faintly smile from her possibly sarcastic ways of a response of your “discipline” but you can sense the sincerity deep within her despite her unfathomable attitude.

“You know, we should clean up and fix ourselves, Hanni.” 

The both of you then hurriedly got up as you helped Hanni since her legs are weaker right now (but it’s in a state where she can still walk) thanks to your constant ramming at her cunt for like umpteenth times. The both of you fix yourselves and become more presentable and as she’s about to leave, you chat with her for a short while and then waved goodbye at each other but now, both of your faces emanate delight and comfort.

---

As Hanni is walking her way down towards her friends who've been waiting for forever, probably in the school’s canteen, she notices a small note stitched onto her backpack that says, “Thanks for that, Hanni. I’ll be calling you later for something… :)”

Knowing that it’s from you, she can’t help but smile as it went all troublesome but in the end, it all fell down onto curiosity and possibly, a stronger connection.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein is not, of course, an example of the imperial gothic but instead a still relevant anti-Enlightenment fable. If a novel ever illustrated how the sleep of reason begets monsters, it is Shelley’s story of how a scientist’s urge to create artificial life leads to utter destruction. However, in Universal Studios’s 1931 Frankenstein, the many pertinent philosophical issues that the original gothic novel explores reshape into thinly veiled imperial gothic through the introduction of a eugenic and highly racialised discourse that changes the monster from a rightfully vengeful and eminently intelligent being into an atavistic criminal. In its Hollywood guise, the monster is not a tragic, lonesome and then understandably vengeful product of unethical science but instead a reincarnation of the degenerate criminal whose brain the monster is provided with in the film. This takes on a peculiarly American dynamics in the movie. As Elizabeth Young suggests in Black Frankenstein: The Making of an American Metaphor (2008), a connection between the monster and the supposedly primitive black American was made as early as during the immediate post-Civil War period when ‘the “hideous progeny” of Shelley’s novel was symbolically reborn in racist parody as the symbol of the miscegenated nation’. An important reference to American Reconstruction history is also the ending of the movie. Instead of escaping to the North Pole, as is the case in Shelley’s novel, the monster is exorcised by what amounts to a lynch mob. In Frankenstein the movie, as in the American South, justice is done by the people on the spot; by ‘lynch law’. The violation of the sanctified space and body of Frankenstein’s fiancée, Elizabeth, as much as the accidental drowning of the little girl, justifies this public rage in the eyes of the movie audience. This is the end that comes to those who dare violate the purity of white women, or oppose the progress of modernity in any form, be they black Americans in the South, Native Americans on the reservations or unruly natives in the Philippines. Like so many lynching victims, Frankenstein dies in flames. In this way, the discursive conditions that informed the British colonial enterprise as well as the racism that structured black and white relations in the US permeate Frankenstein. The childlike and aggressive monster is an example of the kind of human category that can never ‘possess the intelligence to make a rational choice of political allegiance’, as Lansing put it. In addition to this, the audience is also free to imagine an alternative narrative in which Fritz never drops the jar with the ‘normal’ brain to the floor. It is not science or faith in modernity that Frankenstein fears, it is atavism. The resolution to the crisis that atavism constitutes is the sad but necessary violence of the lynch mob. When the monster has been burned, the movie can end with the happy union of the film’s central white couple.

Johan Anders Höglund, The American Imperial Gothic: Popular Culture, Empire, Violence

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Science Fiction

Science fiction - a genre of speculative fiction that contains imagined elements that don’t exist in the real world.

It spans a wide range of themes that often explore time travel, space travel, are set in the future, and deal with the consequences of technological and scientific advances

Subgenres & Related Genres of Science Fiction

Fantasy fiction: Sci-fi stories inspired by mythology and folklore that often include elements of magic.

Supernatural fiction: Sci-fi stories about secret knowledge or hidden abilities that include witchcraft, spiritualism, and psychic abilities.

Utopian fiction: Sci-fi stories about civilizations the authors deem to be perfect, ideal societies. Utopian fiction is often satirical.

Dystopian fiction: Sci-fi stories about societies the authors deem to be problematic for things like government rules, poverty, or oppression.

Space opera: A play on the term “soap opera,” sci-fi stories that take place in outer space and center around conflict, romance, and adventure.

Space western: Sci-fi stories that blend elements of science fiction with elements of the western genre.

Cyberpunk: Sci-fi stories that juxtapose advanced technology with less advanced, broken down society.

Steampunk: Blend technology with steam-powered machinery.

Classic Elements of a Science Fiction Novel

Time travel

Teleportation

Mind control, telepathy, and telekinesis

Aliens, extraterrestrial lifeforms, and mutants

Space travel and exploration

Interplanetary warfare

Parallel universes

Fictional worlds

Alternative histories

Speculative technology

Superintelligent computers and robots

Tips for Science Fiction Writers

Draw inspiration for your story from real life. Take an idea from current society and move it a little further down the road. Even if human beings are short-term thinkers, fiction can anticipate and extrapolate into multiple versions of the future.

Do some research. It may seem paradoxical, but research will strengthen your project, no matter how far you end up straying from historical facts. Conducting research too early in the drafting process can sidetrack or slow down the plot, but it’s critical to keep your reader immersed in and believing the world you’ve created. Getting the details wrong can throw off their belief in your story.

Create a set of rules for the world of your novel—and stick to them. Sci-fi is not automatically interesting; it must be made compelling, plausible, and accurate within its own set of rules. Rules add weight to the material or change the stakes for your characters and/or readers. Once you establish a rule, if you break it, you break the illusion of a believable and compelling world.

Keep it grounded in reality. Any technological or fantastical element in sci-fi should have roots in what our current species can already do or is on the road to being able to do.

The History of Science Fiction Literature

The science fiction genre dates back to the second century. 

A True Story, written by the Syrian satirist Lucian, is thought to be the first sci-fi story, which explored other universes and extraterrestrial lifeforms.

Modern science developed during the Age of Enlightenment, and writers reacted to scientific and technological advancements with a wave of sci-fi stories like New Atlantis by Francis Bacon (1627), Somnium by Johannes Kepler (1634), and Comical History of the States and Empires of the Moon by Cyrano de Bergerac (1657).

Classic Science Fiction Novels to Know & Read

Familiarize yourself with these classic works of science fiction that inspired novelists and screenwriters in many different genres. Many have been turned into movies and television shows:

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne (1870): features underwater exploration and a technologically advanced submarine—two things that were primitive at the time the novel was written.

The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells (1898): tells the story of Martians invading Earth and includes themes of space, science, and astronomy.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (1932): set in a futuristic dystopian world with many scientific developments where people are genetically modified.

Who Goes There? by John W. Campbell (1938): tells the story of an alien creature that’s a shape-shifter and has the gift of telepathy.

Foundation by Isaac Asimov (1942): follows a galactic civilization after their empire collapses.

1984 by George Orwell (1949): set in a dystopian version of the year 1984 where the world has succumbed to extreme levels of government interference in daily lives.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (1953): set in a futuristic dystopian society where books are banned and will be burned if found.

Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein (1961): tells the story of a human who was born on Mars and raised by Martians who comes to live on Earth.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick (1962): set 15 years after the end of World War II, offers an alternate history of what could happen if the Axis Powers had defeated the Allied Powers.

Dune by Frank Herbert (1965): set in an interstellar society in the distant future.

2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke (1968): tells the story of ancient aliens who travel the galaxy and help develop intelligent life forms in other worlds.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (1985): tells the story of the women who lose their rights after a totalitarian state overthrows the U.S. government.

Common Characteristics of Science Fiction

Science fiction is often called the “literature of ideas.”

Sci-fi novels include a wide variety of futuristic concepts.

Since they’re so imaginative, anything is possible, especially in soft sci-fi novels.

It can be about space, time travel, aliens, or time-traveling aliens in space.

Regardless of the setting and characters, all sci-fi stories are complex, contain nuanced detail, and explore larger themes and commentary—sometimes satirically—about society beneath the surface.

Hard Science Fiction vs Soft Science Fiction

Science fiction is divided into 2 broad categories:

Hard sci-fi novels are based on scientific fact. They’re inspired by “hard” natural sciences like physics, chemistry, and astronomy.

Soft sci-fi novels can be two things: Either they are not scientifically accurate or they’re inspired by “soft” social sciences like psychology, anthropology, and sociology.

The terms are somewhat flexible, but they help readers quickly understand the foundation of a novel and what to expect from it.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Word List: Science Fiction

[homunculus-argument]

There's many ways to mishandle a character who came to the setting from somewhere far away, who was raised in a completely different culture, and ultimately resolves some huge plot point by simply breaking some social taboo in a way that nobody saw coming because it didn't even occur to them that somebody might do that.

Easiest way to botch it is by implying that either culture is superior or somehow more advanced than the other. Both ways are bad - painting The Foreigner as some sort of an enlightened saviour marching in like "behold! Your primitive superstitions have no power over me!" is bad. Painting the same character as some simple-minded savage who ~does not understand The Ways Of Civilised People~ is worse.

The best way to do it is to make it clear that The Foreigner is aware that the local people Just Don't Do That because they consider it shameful and undignified. They are entitled to do so, who is anyone else to dictate what is a matter of honour to someone else. They may, however, look at the problem at hand, shrug, and go "bold of you to assume I have dignity."

[stormbornwitch]

Connecting with the Land ~ Australia

Most of the folklore about witches and the practice of witchcraft originates from Europe.

The idea of 'witchcraft' wasn't a thing here in Australia until Europeans brought it with them. However, Indigenous Australians (as far as my research and interviews with elders have gone) follow what Western society would describe as 'animist beliefs' and 'magic rituals' were common practices.

Modern perceptions of animism, particularly in the Western World, are quite negative and viewed as "something hippies believe in." This perception is primarily caused by ingrained racist ideologies stemming from a colonial past (i.e., in order to justify subjugating people, you have to believe you're better than them) which perpetuated beliefs in colonised countries of the "primitive savage" and the "enlightened colonist." That's also not even mentioning the demonising of indigenous beliefs by missionaries of Christianity...

I find it ironic that in Eastern countries like Japan, where Christianity was not historically allowed to spread (banned in 1580s and hundreds of Christians were cruicified), animist beliefs like Shinto are now seen (in the Western world) as cool and mystical, and all the tourists want to visit the shrines of local spirits when they visit...

I'm getting off track, but hopefully you see my point: it is really hard to connect with a land on a spiritual level that is not yours, and was stolen from its traditional custodians on both a physical and spiritual level. I was born here in Australia, and so were my parents, but my ancestry is Scottish and British. I feel torn between two worlds that are so dichotomous from one another...

So, how do I connect with the spirits of the land?

Slowly, and with permission and guidance from local elders because there is a disconnect. I don't speak the language of the land and The Dreaming or 'spirit world' that accompanies our physical one. It doesn't help that much of the local language of the Gubbi Gubbi was lost due to the Stolen Generations, but there are general rules of thumb to follow when working with the Land:

We are a part of the land, and the land is a part of us. We are born from it, and so like our mother, we must care for and protect it. If you take care of the land, the land will take care of you.

Everything is about balance - never take more than you need and always give back what you can to ensure that the land is cared for for the next generation.

Ask first. Everything has a spirit, and you must ask before you take anything (I.e. like a branch from a tree). Thank the spirit for its gift / sacrifice (especially important if you have killed something).

Our ancestors watch over us our whole lives both from The Dreaming and in the physical world in the form of a totem (normally a whole family is represented by one animal). They are our guide, and your family must never hunt/eat your family's totem animal. It is your job to protect that species.

Many of the local landmasses and animals are represented by powerful ancestor spirits or creator spirits. Mooroo-kutchi (meaning red-bill, the name of the spirit of the black swan and an aboriginal girl from The Dreaming who transformed into a black swan searching for the spirit of her beloved Coolum who was killed by Ninderry.)

Smoking ceremonies are usually conducted as part of a 'Welcome to Country'. Each mob has their own traditional plant they use for cleansing the area of bad spirits and promoting healing and protection of visitors, but most use a species of eucalyptus or gum. The ceremony invites you onto the physical land as a guest and asks the ancestor spirits of that mob to watch over and protect you while you're there.

Corroboree (storytelling gathering) ~ knowledge of the land and its spirits are told through song lines and dances, and using the traditional language helps to connect better with these spirits.

Thank you to the local Aunties and Uncles for teaching me these and so much more over the years!

*'Uncle' or 'Aunty' does not mean we're related. Here, it is used as a sign of respect that recognises the age, wisdom, and knowledge of aboriginal elders. Though it's recommended that non-Aboriginal people ask the elder how they would like to be referred to as normally, it's not considered appropriate to refer to them as such unless a strong relationship has been established.

[dragoneyes618]

Jew-hatred is a fascinatingly flexible force. It has shape-shifted throughout time, finding form and expression in wildly divergent locations, religions, political systems, and cultures. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is our persecutors’ tendency to brand us as the face of the Evil Du Jour.

We’ve been painted as primitive retrogrades refusing to bow to an enlightened religious order, as cunning revolutionaries plotting against established monarchs, as greedy capitalists sucking away hard-earned resources from the poor, as Marxists toppling the pillars of the global economy, as dirty foreigners polluting the gene pool of a glorious host country.

In the current breakdown of oppressors and victims, we’ve been branded as privileged colonizers seeking to ethnically cleanse a people from their own land. The uptick of anti-Semitic attacks since October 7 — be they in Brooklyn, London, Belgium, or Australia — seems to revolve almost entirely around this theme. Jews are assumed to be Zionists, and therefore unwelcome, unwanted bigots, targets of justified hatred.

It’s a disturbing and disillusioning development for all Jews — but especially for those who see themselves as liberated, socially conscious citizens of the modern world. There are lots of those among our secular brothers and sisters. For those who cast Israelis as Nazis and their genocide-craving neighbors as hapless victims, the definition of “Jew” most certainly does not include affinity for the Jewish country. But suddenly they’re learning that their personal politics don’t really matter.

Turns out, you can write books scolding the settlers, or op-eds excoriating the Zionist enterprise, and your book signing will be canceled anyway. You can loudly and proudly condemn Bibi as a war criminal — subtext: unlike compassionate, liberal me — and you will still find graffiti outside your office. You can studiously avoid any mention of the Middle East conflict among your peer group of fellow therapists and social workers, but they will stop referring clients to you anyway, because you’re an assumed colonizer.

The formula is simple: If you’re a Jew, you will be linked to Israel.

- Shoshana Friedman, Mishpacha Magazine, page 80, Issue 1042

[nihildes]

"Land and freedom means being able to feed ourselves without having to bend to any blackmail imposed by government or a privileged caste, having a home without paying for permission, learning from the earth and sharing with all other living beings without quantifying value, holding debts, or seeking profit. This conception of life enters into a battle of total negation with the world of government, money, wage or slave labor, industrial production, Bibles and priests, institutionalized learning, the spectacularization of daily existence, and all other apparatuses of control that flow from Enlightenment thinking and the colonialistic civilization it champions.

Land, in this sense, is not a place external to the city. For one, this is because capitalism does not reside primarily in urban space—it controls the whole map. The military and productive logics that control us and bludgeon the earth in urban space are also at work in rural space. Secondly, the reunited whole of land and freedom must be an ever present possibility no matter where we are. They constitute a social relationship, a way of relating to the world around us and the other beings in it, that is profoundly opposed to the alienated social relationship of capitalism. Alienation and primitive accumulation[1] are ceaseless, ongoing processes from one corner of the globe to the other. Those of us who are not indigenous, those of us who are fully colonized and have forgotten where we came from, do not have access to anything pristine. Alienation will follow us out to the farthest forest glade or desert oasis until we can begin to change our relationship to the world around us in a way that is simultaneously material and spiritual.

Equally, anarchy must be a robust concept. It must be an available practice no matter where we find ourselves—in the woods or in the city, in a prison or on the high seas. It requires us to transform our relationship with our surroundings, and therefore to also transform our surroundings, but it cannot be so fragile that it requires us to seek out some pristine place in order to spread anarchy. Will anti-civilization anarchism be a minoritarian sect of those anarchists who go to the woods to live deliberately, because they don’t like the alternative of organizing a union at the local burger joint, or will it be a challenge to the elements of the anarchist tradition that reproduce colonialism, patriarchy, and Enlightenment thinking, a challenge that is relative to all anarchists no matter where they pick their battles?

Land does not exist in opposition to the city. Rather, one concept of land exists in opposition to another. The anarchist or anti-civilization idea against the capitalist, Western idea. It is this latter concept that places land within the isolating dichotomy of city vs. wilderness. This is why “going back to the land” is doomed to fail, even though we may win valuable lessons and experiences in the course of that failure (as anarchists, we’ve rarely won anything else). We don’t need to go back to the land, because it never left us. We simply stopped seeing it and stopped communing with it." - Land and Freedom An Old Challange

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi! I really like your other takes on Underdark races, and wanted to ask if you had any thoughts on improving grimlocks? Beyond the permanent blindness they have and the whole being humans who adapted to the underdark, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot else done with them.

Monsters Reimagined: Grimlocks

Would it surprise anyone to learn that a d-list d&d monster has It's roots in 1800s ideas about eugenics and bad adaptations of genre fiction? No? Then you've been paying attention, top marks.

Asker is absolutely right in their assessment that there's not really much to grimlocks. They're one of many "hostile tribal primitives" that have filled out the monster roster ever since the original developers lifted them en mass from the pulp adventure stories they grew up reading.

A common theme among these pulp works and the early scifi that inspired it was devolution, the idea that a people could degrade from greatness back into an animistic nature. The most well known pop culture example would be HP lovecraft's deep ones, where the author's fears of race mixing manifest as monsters that literally push humanity back down the evolutionary ladder to the stage of fish.

There's plenty of different ways to explain the origin of this writing trend, but I like to chalk it up to an anxiety resulting from the widespread acceptance of Darwin's theory of evolution by a society that believed wholeheartedly in scientific racism. If intelligence (read: whiteness) wasn't just a god given right but was infact inheritable, then it could also be disinherited, bred out of a population whether by on purpose or by accident. This made it so important to practice good breeding (read: eugenics), to preserve the pure stock from falling to degeneracy (read: miscegenation) and introducing undesirable traits into the genepool.

We can see fear this with grimlocks, humanoids who were inherently lessened by their "adaptation" to life underground, losing their intelligence and eyesight and descending into a state of barbarism. Given that this is one of the few d&d monsters that mention evolution at all, we can trace this feature to their likely inspiration: The morlocks in H.G. Wells' Time machine, published a scant 36 years after Darwin published The Origin of Species.

I'm not well read enough to know whether Wells pioneered the idea of subhuman descendants, but I can say that most of his imitators missed the point of his writing: Wells saw in his day an increasingly indolent upper class inflicting brutal and dehumanizing labour conditions on the poor to support their own carefree lifestyle. He satirized this in his book by showing that while the descendants of the rich had devolved into beautiful, useless, idiots, the descendants of the workers devolved into subterranean ape-things who maintained the machinery that allowed the eden like existence of the rich while farming them for meat. Say what you will about Wells' race politics (Neither degenerate fop or inbred ape can withstand the smarts and strength of the enlightened colonial Englishman) but his writing was specifically class continuous, and the brutality of the morlocks was a direct result of the exploitation of working people in his own day and age.

When the morlocks were adapted into the grimlocks , the d&d writers kept their canibalistic streak but specifically removed their class based origins as well as their mechanical knowhow. This is a near identical process to what happened with a creature the worlocks helped inspire: Tolkien's orcs, which were likewise turned from a commentary on the brutality of the industrial age into warlike primitives. It's a bit of a trend.

If you wanted to "fix" the grimlocks I'd go one of two ways:

If you want to engage with themes of primality, make them legit underdark dwelling primates/australopithecus type of creatures, just figuring out tool use and language. Make the rumours of them being descended from cave-exploring humanoids a common myth made up by surface dwellers.

If you want to get spicy about it though, give them back their mechanical aptitude and maybe mix in a few more dashes of pulp "lost civilization" ancient aliens nonsense. Have them dwell in great mechanical complexes beneath the earth, worker drones who've long outlived the creatures that enslaved them and scribed mechanical knowledge into their very being. Originally denied understanding of the machines they toiled to build, work, and maintain, the grimlocks jealously guard the science they've spent generations reverse engineering, giving them the reputation of being violently territorial for those underdark travelers who venture too close to the megastructures they inhabit.

Artsource

[daskthier]

The one-eyed King - Apocryph Cycle Au

"I hate The rain"

"The end justifies the means." - Niccolo Machiavelli

"Can a monster become a savior if his cause is just?"

It was not a normal scav, not like the ones in the campaigns. His longevity did not come from genetic modifications, nor from artificial experiments. He snatched it from fate. He obtained it in the most primitive and brutal act: drinking the blood of a Son of the Artificer.

When Moon fell, it was not yet a ruined corpse. Something of his former greatness remained in his dying core. He could still think. He could still talk. And in her longing for companionship, in her desperation to be heard, she did not choose a Slugcat to receive her enlightenment. She chose a Scavenger.

He told her of the pearls, of the value they contained, of the echoes of a world that no longer existed. But among all the truths he revealed, there was one that marked his destiny: the knowledge of the Slugcats of the campaigns. Creatures designed to contain the weight of karma, to be the perfect vessel. To be something more.

And then, the obsession devoured him.

The One-Eyed King hated the rain. He hated its touch, its sound, its promise of death. He hated the suffering of his kind and of all creatures crawling through a decaying world. He hated having to hide. He hated the ruin, the decay, the imminent end of everything.

And for that, he killed.

He killed the Sons of the Artificer, tore their flesh, drank their essence. Not for pleasure. Not for revenge. But for a purpose. To gain the strength he needed, to wrest control from the gods themselves. To wipe out the rain with his own hands.

And when he finally did-when the still-warm blood was trickling down his mouth, when the eyes of the Artificer watched him, stunned, unable to move....

—"Slugcat, do you know how much I hate the rain?"

He spoke.

— "And in this world... it also rains."

— "The afflicted heart of all creatures is clouded by the stormy sky."

— "Doomed to melancholy by the incessant rain."

— "I wonder if you can understand the fear... Of being drenched by rain in this lonely world."

— "To stop the rain, I will have to borrow all the strength and all the power."

— "If only you have faith in me..."

— "I will not let rain fall in this world."

And in his gaze, in his single pupil burning with the reflection of an unwavering purpose, the fate of the world was sealed.

[soisaidfine]

'dying young', by Bruce Springsteen / Ethel Cain: I think I’m going to die soon

@mothercain: "I think I’m going to die soon"

It was so painful to listen to Ethel Cain today on NTS Live. I thought of this text by Bruce Springsteen from his memoir.

"so assumption number one is you are going to keep breathing. In my business, the above case studies prove, no matter who you are, that's not as easy as it sounds."

Bruce Springsteen: “The heart of rock will always remain a primal world of action. The music revives itself over and over again in that form, primitive rockabilly, punk, hard soul and early rap. Integrating the world of thought and reflection with the world of primitive action is not a necessary skill for making great rock 'n' roll. Many of the music's most glorious moments feel as though they were birthed in an explosion of raw talent and creative instinct (some of them even were!). But … if you want to burn bright, hard and long, you will need to depend on more than your initial instincts. You will need to develop some craft and a creative intelligence that will lead you farther when things get dicey. That's what'll help you make crucial sense and powerful music as time passes, giving you the skills that may also keep you alive, creatively and physically. The failure of so many of rock's artists to outlive their expiration date of a few years, make more than a few great albums and avoid treading water, or worse, I felt was due to the misfit nature of those drawn to the profession. These were strong, addictive personalities, fired by compulsion, narcissism, license, passion and an inbred entitlement, all slammed over a world of fear, hunger and insecurity. That's a Molotov cocktail of confusion that can leave you unable to make, or resistant to making, the lead of consciousness a life in the field demands. After first contact knocks you on your ass, you'd better have a plan, for some preparedness and personal development will be required if you expect to hang around any longer than your fifteen minutes.

Now, some guys' five minutes are worth other guys' fifty years, and while burning out in one brilliant supernova will send record sales through the roof, leave you living fast, dying young, leaving a beautiful corpse, there is something to be said for living. Personally, I like my gods old, grizzled and here. I'll take Dylan; the pirate raiding party of the Stones; the hope-I-get-very-old-before-I-die, present live power of the Who; a fat, still-mesmerizing-until-his-death Brando—they all suit me over the alternative. I would've liked to have seen that last Michael Jackson show, a seventy-year-old Elvis reinventing and relishing in his talents, where Jimi Hendrix might've next taken the electric guitar, Keith Moon, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and all the others whose untimely deaths and lost talents stole something from the music I love, living on, enjoying the blessings of their gifts and their audience's regard. Aging is scary but fascinating, and great talent morphs in strange and often enlightening ways. Plus, to those you've received so much from, so much joy, knowledge and inspiration, you wish life, happiness and peace. These aren't easy to come by.

Youth and death have always been an intoxicating combination for the myth makers left amongst the living. And dangerous, even violent, self-loathing has long been an essential ingredient in the fires of transformation. When the "new self" burns to life, the twins of great control and recklessness are immutably linked. It's what makes life interesting. The high tension between those two forces often makes a performer fascinating and fun to watch, but also a white-cross highway marker. Here, many who've come this way have burned out hard or died. The rock death cult is well loved and chronicled in literature and music, but in practice, there ain't much in it for the singer and his song, except a good life unlived, lovers and children left behind, and a six-foot-deep hole in the ground. The exit in a blaze of glory is bullshit.

Now, if you're not one of the handful of music revolutionaries—and I was not—you naturally set your sights on something different. In a transient field, I was suited for the long haul. I had years of study behind me; I was physically built to endure and by disposition was not an edge dweller. I was interested in what I might accomplish over a lifetime of music making, so assumption number one is you are going to keep breathing. In my business, the above case studies prove, no matter who you are, that's not as easy as it sounds."

― Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run

[zelda]

One Dragon Ball writing oversight I will never be able to accept is the complete eradication of the Saiyan race from the overarching plot of Dragon Ball. Vegeta always talking about "Prince of all Saiyans" this, "Where's your Saiyan pride" that; how many chances has Vegeta had to gather the Dragon Balls to make a wish that revives those very people he was born to lead, rule over & liberate from the oppressive regime of Frieza. Isn't that just the epitome of masculinity. I find that so embarrassingly performative. It cheapens Vegeta's entire character when he has the ability to change the fate of his entire race & yet chooses not to. What are the subconscious implications behind that decision? Vegeta is a tyrannical ruler that sacrificed the future of his entire race in pursuit of his own personal power. It implies Vegeta fears that inevitably someone born on Planet Vegeta will surpass him, Which has already been surmounted by the existence of both Kakarot & Broly so the suppression of his entire race is something he condones to relinquish his responsibility, protect his ego & adhere to hedonism. Vegeta still refers to himself as Prince even though his father died resisting the subjugation of Frieza. Internally he has not accepted the responsibility of King Vegeta; displaying the mentality of a juvenile. Saiyans do have a history of barbarism; however, Vegeta has accumulated so much more power in the decades of their non existence that it would be an effortless endeavor to overpower any who deviate from the enlightened path that Vegeta envisions. I want to see Vegeta reform the Saiyan race & show them another way of living as their King, making the hard decisions of culling those who take the revival of the Saiyans for granted & refusing to subvert from the primitive ideology that lead to the destruction of Planet Sadala. It makes absolutely no sense to me how much simping there is in the Dragon Ball fandom for Frieza. It almost seems artificial & contrived. So you're meaning to tell me that Vegeta believes more in the redemption of Frieza than the redemption of his entire warrior race? Dragon Ball characters are also more spiritually attuned to life after death, how can Vegeta be so ignorant to the feelings of the deceased Saiyans to be collaborating with the entity that denied them their entire future & ever reaching their true potential as a Super Saiyan. Think of all the Saiyans that died before ever experiencing that bliss. Prince Vegeta, Where is your Saiyan pride?

[larval-tear]

humans (primitive, emotional): cmon guys can’t we find a peaceful solution to this

vulcans (enlightened, logical): you disgusting yakkkubian apes piss me off so bad i wish we glassed your pathetic planet when we had the chance

[ainyan]

WIP Wednesday

Thancred was quick to step between the Ascian and Kal’istae. “Come to lead us to safety, have you?” he asked tartly.

There was no denying the flash of true hatred in the Ascian’s eyes as he glared at Thancred; once again, Y’shtola wondered why he had singled Thancred of all the Scions out for his ire. “I was bored,” Emet-Selch snapped, before his gaze drifted to Kal’istae as the Au Ra stepped out from behind her seething companion. “But how is the hero of the hour?” he drawled.

She met his gaze unflinchingly as he raked it over her. “I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she said with poisonous politeness.

Emet-Selch sneered at her. “Fighting fit, I see.” His golden gaze cut away. “Keep up the good work.”

Y’shtola elected to distract him before Thancred could finish reaching for Lion Heart. “You’re plotting something,” she told the Ascian bluntly.

“Every hour of every day. But never you mind about that,” he added, gracing Y’shtola with an amused grimace. “As I have told you a thousand times before: I like to watch. Nothing more.” He waved his hand airily. “Well! I would quit this place, and I suggest you do the same. There is yet work to be done.” Turning, she saw him gather his aether to leave - then let it dissipate again as he gazed at the murals. “Ah... there is a sight to bring a tear to the eye.”

Before anyone could stop her, Minfilia rose to his obvious bait. “You recognize these scenes?”

The Ascian turned a supercilious smile upon the girl, as a teacher might whose particularly challenged student had asked an unusually astute question. “That I do. Indeed, there was a time when anyone and everyone would.”

Despite themselves, the Scions listened to Emet-Selch’s words, enthralled by his description of the world before Calamity, before Sundering - and then with growing horror as he described with relish exactly what had led to the destruction of the world as he had known it, to its downfall, and its ultimate fate.

The destruction of the world, and the creation, according to him, of the two most powerful gods.

No, not gods.

Primals.

Long after Emet-Selch had left, his last words lingering in the air, the Scions remained in the cavern, surrounded by primitive scenes of a history ten thousand years in the making. Finally, Y’shtola shook herself all over so hard that her ears flapped against her skull. “That was an enlightening experience. Though not in the way I had hoped,” she muttered. Glancing at Kal’istae, she frowned. “Do you suppose there is any truth in Emet-Selch's claims?”

The Warrior looked back at her, then spun in a slow circle, studying the cavern. “I don’t know about his claims,” she said, troubled, “but consider this. Our world has been rocked by calamity after calamity; traces of previous civilizations buried beneath rubble and ash." She spun back to meet Y'shtola's eyes. "This world has seen but one.”

Those lavender-edged eyes held Y’shtola’s crystal gaze, then without a word, Kal’istae turned and led the sober group out of the caverns and into the jungles of Yx’maja.