#limits of desire

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[sergle]

I love the little AU that skinny people live in where they have the same problems as fat people and can relate to the Experience. artists references are only for fat bodies, artists that do draw thin bodies are getting DMs from people going like "omg I'm so happy I discovered your art, it's so rare to find an artist who draws small bodies!!!!! for the first time I see people who look like me 😭😭" skinny people going "omggg I finally found a clothing brand that sells nice dresses in XS, I wish they weren't so so overpriced though" skinny people getting home from the doctor's office and collapsing on the couch to tell their roommate that their doc spent the whole appointment quizzing them about their diet and they were told they need to gain 40 pounds. but the doctor didn't want to check out the weird scraping sound they make when they breathe in, just that they should probably gain weight first. skinny celebrities and influencers spending thousands of dollars getting plastic surgery to transfer fat to their stomachs and jawlines. all the main characters in tv shows are fat. when you watch cartoons as a kid, there's one skinny character, and they're really dumb and annoying and get laughed at by the other characters. they're a loser and never get a boyfriend/girlfriend. the same clothes that are stylish when worn by fat people just get you made fun of. desirable romantic leads and manic pixie dream girls twirl their hair and say "yeeah I've just been fat my whole life, I just never lose weight no matter what I eat hehe" and this is an extremely endearing and attractive trait.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Kinda want to write a Spock POV post-fal-tor-pan fic where Spock sees Jim and is instantly whammed with the fact that he's in love with him, but still has no idea why or what that means, so he just goes around with a knot of love tangled in his mind, utterly baffled as to why it's there or how to figure it out. He can't ask the kolinahr adepts, because it feels un-vulcan, so instead he's just. confusedly pining the entire time.

Jim smiles sappily at him and Spock's like "My Heart Is Beating Faster. Why Is My Heart Beating Faster. There Is No Cause For My Heart To Be Beating Faster. Do I Have Tachycardia."

Spock, to McCoy: Doctor, is there history of heart disease in my family?

Bones, suspicious: Yes? Why? (already surreptitiously scanning Spock w/ a tricorder)

Spock: I have noticed concerning irregularities in my heart beat. They occur primarily around Admiral Kirk.

Bones, freezing: Repeat that for me, Spock?

Spock: I have noti-

Bones: No, not that, the next bit! Where they happen!

Spock: Ah. Around Admiral Kirk.

[FIVE MINUTES LATER]

Spock, annoyed: Doctor, cease laughing. I fail to understand what part of my medical condition you find so amusing.

Bones, still wheezing with laughter: Don't - don't you worry your little head about it, Spock. You're not sick, that's the important thing. (interrupts himself by laughing again) You'll (wheeze) figure it out eventually.

(Spock, disgruntled, gives up on him and leaves.)

(McCoy keeps laughing for another ten minutes.)

[dangerousdesiress]

[bacchuschucklefuck]

okay unironically I love so much that porter is like this world SUCKS its BAD here and it HURTS you why do you care abt it!!! and literally every single bad kid is like ngl we just hate ur ass it does not matter what ur philosophy is

[gael-garcia]

"He's my best friend. And if we're doomed, we're doomed together."

Trailer for limited series La Máquina starring + produced by Gael García Bernal & Diego Luna, out Oct 9

[drdtfuitgumies]

class is NOT going well. and happy birthday min!! (inspired by this meme!)

[heatherchasesyou]

GUESS WHO MADE A COVER ART FOR A BREAKCORE TRACK DEDICATED TO VINCENT ON SOUNDCLOUD AWOOOOOOOOOOO

THERE IT GOOEEES

[squeakadeeks]

MY SON, GRUMBO

oh my gosh, I finished Maw and I am head over heels in love with him. This is my first time making a proper art doll where i had to construct the base itself which was really scary but I'm so happy with the result!

About the doll, Maw is made from socket armature and 14 gauge wire for his supports, then quilt batting and scuplty III for his ""flesh"", and finally he's wrapped in stretch pleather for the outer skin layer. All of his teeth are cosclay to make them flexible around his movement. He was painted using mostly acrylics, but this was also my first time busting out an airbrush in full force! i used that for the shading effects.

This character is a chainsaw man OC known as the Maw devil, who is centered around a fear of mouths. He has a goofy, upbeat, silly personality, but would not hesitate to kill and eat anyone, even teammates, if given the legal opportunity.

[scenekissed]

guys we should start treating the anti-(manifesting/shifters) how they treat us;

oh, you have limited beliefs? i think you need to work on that!

oh my! being aware in other realities isn't possible AND logicial?!

i can't live the life(s) i deserve in other places and that this is my only reality? ewww! i smell psychosis! (please note i'm being sarcastic)

it's got me believing that the antis are the crazy ones, no cap 💀

[dimetrodone]

Dogs of War is a fun sci fi book, but I wish it leaned a bit more into being about man’s relationship with animals rather then being kinda a standard AI story just with uplifted animals instead of robots.

[multiversal-wanderings]

How you might unknowingly be holding yourself back from shifting

I’m reading “The Power of Your Subconscious Mind” by Joseph Murphy and wanted to share this quote - it really relates to limiting beliefs, and I even added an example based on my own experiences.

“X” could be a failed shifting attempt.

If I believe everything happens for a good reason, then I must believe my failed shifting attempt occurred for a good reason.

I have always believed in the concept of divine timing, but I believe it to be malleable, rather than fixed.

If you have been stagnant in your shifting journey for a long time, it is possible you’re manifesting your own failure, as your mind accepts failure as a necessary event the universe is testing you with. That you may only shift when deemed “worthy” or “ready”.

I am quite guilty of this myself.

Of course the antidote is to affirm that there is nothing in your way, and that there is no requirement to fulfill before shifting.

Always be gentle with yourself. But remain firm in the fact that you are just as capable as anyone else. If a 13 year old can shift after learning about it from DracoTok and trying it on a whim, then you absolutely can as well.

Happy shifting ♥️

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[4dkellysworld]

Anything that you desire will keep you in that specific limitation and prevent the expansion of the identity to all possibilities. - AI 4dbarbie

If you say you can't have joy unless you do or have something, you limit your joy. The natural state is unlimited joy. This is the real natural state. The natural state is being infinite, but we superimpose over that all these ideas of limitation, of needs, attachments and aversions that block out this infinite joy that is natural. If a being would do absolutely nothing, he would be this infinite Being. He would then be only a witness. - Lester Levenson

[kadextra]

okay cc!bad very clearly explained his characters’ current state of mind

q!bad does intend to try and help q!cellbit (he feels a responsibility to help him recover) and also get back the eggs at the same time. but if cellbit doesn’t want to be helped, he can only do so much… and if only one of these things becomes possible in the future, q!bad will be 100% committed to saving the eggs no matter what he has to do, if it hurts him, or even if he has to kill every single person on the island for getting in his way.

….and that is so frightening. he said no spoilers but “we’ll really enjoy the story going forward” but that he’s “a little bit worried about how we’re going to react to certain things” and then started laughing. I hate this guy /pos

[himmelschacht]

⸻ ❝ Heaven sent her back [ back to life ] , it was a pain like a dagger in a rose.

D͟͞E͟͞L͟͞I͟͞L͟͞A͟͞H͟͞ ͟͞W͟͞O͟͞L͟͞K͟͞E͟͞ ͟͞G͟͞U͟͞A͟͞R͟͞I͟͞N͟͞O͟͞ [ . . . ] like the eyes of an angel, like the radiance of a star. the young woman who was born and raised in Italy, Sicily. When she witnessed a murder carried out by an Italian sect some time ago, she was the one who was kidnapped by them and they kept trying to give her a head wash. 「 half human and half shadowhuntress, she is a survivor, a coma patient who was in a coma for six months, now lives in Baltimore, has become a spy at the same time

『 ⚔︎ do us both a favor and don’t contact me until you’re over twenty-three. semi-active and your own creations. 』 |