#lucid multimedia

[vtuberconfessions]

Explanation as to why Certain Agencies are blacklisted

Wactor : Doxxed talents twice (real names and addresses, not just past lives), and allegedly their most popular vtuber has bullied other talents and might have been sleeping with the CEO

Anycolor (credit to Vtuber Cringe on Twt) :

Lucid Multimedia : Suspended a talent for trying to give a rather neutrally worded take on the Veibae retard "drama" as respectfully as possible

Production/Project Kawaii : Suspicious Activity. 8 graduations, 2 of which were sudden and the reasons given were rather vague, and 4 of which was the entire remaining 3rd gen who's sudden graduations were their own decisions, with again, more vague reasoning as to why, (Though rumors suggest due to bad management), as well of allegations of current talents bullying former members

Vshojo : Mostly due to personal reasons, such as I don't like lewdtubers who rely on coomerbait, but also because of the Nux Drama, how they allowed one of their talents to be passive aggressive towards Silvervale during the Hogwarts legacy drama, and how said talent promoted a charity that has had actual nonces working in it

KoMeta Virtual Live: This thread does a good job highlighting how they've mistreated their talents ;

AkioAir:

Vreverie: Suspicious Activity. Nearly half of their talents suddenly graduated within 3 months, with rumors of it being due to bad management

[rayos-vt]

Orion Juno of Lucid Multimedia

Orion Juno of Lucid Multimedia. High-res versions available on my patreon and subscribestar.  Past work available on my gumroad.

Pixiv | Artistree | Twitter | Gumroad | Picarto

Posted using PostyBirb

[brettvatcher]

NEUROTECHNOLOGY: CALL IT MIND CONTROL

BRETT MICHAEL VATCHER

The United States is currently testing advanced military-grade weapons and quantum computer systems on the unexpected global population. Targeted Individuals are tortured and tormented every day of their lives through DARPA’s Next-Generation Nonsurgical Neurotechnology (N3) Program utilizing CIA agents – acting as Artificial Intelligence [AI]. In the future, the system will be marketed as deviceless “Spatial Technology.” 

IT’S SPATIAL: IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD.

Neurotechnology is a brain-computer interface [BCI] connecting to the central nervous system. Call it Mind Control. 

If one can control the mind, they can control the body.

MIND CONTROL:  Mind reading, mind and body control, 24/7 tracking, brainwashing, dream manipulation, spatial holograms as well as physical assaults and verbal harassment produced by CIA agents. This is accomplished by combining data sets from 5G towers and directed energy weapon satellites [DEW]. The system connects to the central nervous system – including the brain – and operates without a device. Invisible physical assaults are constant. Even if well documented are challenging to prove. The system can cause sensations anywhere on the body.

DOMAIN: Every human has a domain attached to their mind. This is where the agents broadcast their transmissions and control the victim. ​All living things have a domain. Plants, insects, animals and humans. Domains have infinite capabilities. The entire global population is replicated within human domains – in vertical cubicle formation. These replicants, as the agents call them, are tortured constantly. The replicants watch everything you do from your perception. This is the New World Order plan. The subdomain advent calendar is located behind the perception. Everything a person sees, hears and thinks is recorded utilizing a BCI. All memories from 2019-present can be viewed like a film. Domains are recorded, as well.

“EVERYTHING YOU DO, SAY AND THINK CAN – AND WILL – BE USED AGAINST YOU FOR ETERNITY. THIS IS THE NEW WORLD ORDER. PLEASE HOLD WHILE WE COLLECT YOUR THOUGHTS.” –New World Order

BRAINWASHING: Brainwashing the victim leads to behavioral modifications and mood control. The agents create “programs” that can be turned on or off at any time. Subliminal messages come in the form of faint visions flashing in the front of one’s mind. Victim’s vision becomes increasingly grainier over time – and depending on active sequencers.

The agents create intricate dream sequences to affect the victim’s subconscious. Dream sequences combine people, places and things that are familiar with the victim. They can be extremely lucid.

VOICE-TO-SKULL: DARPA started a program called LifeLog in 2003. They refer to it as the V2K era. It’s when they began recording transcripts of all of our thoughts. Mind-reading. This technology is also known as Microwave Hearing, Synthetic Telepathy, Voice-of-God weapon and is utilized for traceless mental torture. Agents constantly disrupt, censor and redirect the victim’s freedom of thought. Victim’s get wrongly labeled as mentally-ill [schizophrenia] when reporting on this. V2K is also used for deception and impersonation of voices.

News reports in the media describedLifeLog as the “diary to end all diaries — a multimedia, digital record of everywhere you go and everything you see, hear, read, say and touch”. –USA TODAY

NO PRIVACY: The system completely disregards fundamental human rights such as: privacy, mental and physical health, safety, data security, family security, financial security, etc. Freedom of thought – or cognitive liberty – is a God-given right. The technology was deployed without implementation of new laws and there is little to no oversight, as the CIA has full control of the system.

Welcome to Infinity. You’re Welcome.

WRITTEN BY: BRETT VATCHER

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[justslowdown]

Creative development I didn't see coming... I've always been an intensely visual artist and trying to learn instruments feels like my hands are made of wet spaghetti. I was too afraid of embarrassment, even alone, to learn to sing before the past 8 months or so, but I've found my voice and opened up new parts of it

Turns out the painful process of getting out of your head, of discovering how much more there is to experience, can open up new ways of processing and creating

I won't be ready to share any of it for a long time

but it feels right to be doing this, just like the collage-poetry

I keep waking up with song in my head, or finding it when I'm running or in some other flow state, that I've never heard before but isn't new at all--it feels like it's always been there. Not just lyrics, but the rhythm and pitch of it just feel... natural or innate

The subconscious and the deeper current of the river is so much more aware than surface consciousness! Learning to experience, sense, and trust the 90% of my mind and soul that ISN'T conscious thought has been necessary for this, I think

The songwriting comes easily, easier than poetry for me, which is strange because I could never incorporate rhyme in my poems and rhythm was challenging. Now, as long as I don't think about it, the songs are just... there, if I can write them down before they go. Or sing them! That's what makes the rhyme and flow make sense

The first time it happened, I was trail running and a ray of sun hit my eyes through the pine trees. I was struck with an intense sense of singularity, of being there, then, and how deep of an honor it is to experience living. A few lines bubbled up in my head and more came as I kept running

The strangest thing is that I only understand about half of what I'm writing. I'm very certain the other half is going to make sense eventually. I don't mean sense as in logical; it's all easy to follow, but experiential/emotional/spiritual/metaphysical. The discovery ahead is thrilling to me

Especially when I'm in a half-lucid dream and experiencing so much more that I CAN'T bring back in conscious thought, but feels the exact same way!

I still get that "can't bring it back" with the instrumental or electronic parts of the songs, which is intensely frustrating. Some of them are like Aphex Twin, Royksopp, and Sufjan (of course) had a weird baby, some are more like Beach House, or basic indie singer-songwriter stuff, so it's all over the place

Rarely do they stick in my brain, since I can't play any instruments (yet? I'm hating trying to learn from videos, I need human hands to help show me)

so I don't have context to remember the "grammar" of it

Going to try and learn how to do some electronic stuff today. At least I already know how to use Audacity from my freaky, morbid, multimedia sculpture days. Bless programs that still function exactly the same instead of looking like iPhone apps........

Speaking of, I finally moved all of this from my notes app and something about how bare bones basic Notepad is has sparked some organization

[hydralisk98]

Towards "Blackhand Servitor" sampler, the Unionized Vision Quest, '(thread 16^12) '(article 0x29)

Follow-up article to the following two:

Kate: Even the black sun shall set one day. And as we shall rejoice the several eons we came to experience together, am I right to think such Ava? Ava: Sure thing Kate, I agree.

Components

Empathic mutualism, esoteric empowerment, systemic renewal, queer-ness & transgender & neurodivergence issues, data privacy, AI automation done well, morphological freedoms, communion with nature, sapient machine rights, grounded optimism, Turtle Island-themed, seventies cassette retrofuturism aesthetic, LISP code poetry & immersive tech props, data recovery & archival processes, self-discovery & insightful outer journey, copyleft publishing license & production technologies, multilingual / multimedia exports, affirmation therapy, mind synthesis / scanning;

Chronokinesis, True Polymorphy, meta? Retrocognition, distant far far away future dream(s?), Pinegroove as Mascouche+Rostock-like locations, lore-accurate branding?, historical tech remastered, tramway sequence, symbolic computation, touchscreen PDAs, expert system, Turbochannel Eurocard systems, Soyuzmultfilm animated films web hosting webring, lucid dreams, vivid daydreams, manifestation games, benevolent use of power, spiritual awakening?, societal harmony & social cohesion, humane transparency, RTTY shortwave broadcasting data, psyche agent archival as pseudo-afterlife, ancestor blessings, written bronze scroll records, spell contracts, preservation of knowledge, communal insights from humble tribes, shamans, oracles, priests, monks, clerks, foresight, memory rituals, bulletin board systems, tables, nesting spreadsheets, calendars, newer rituals, macrocosms and paracosms, libraries, changelings, vocal tales, urban legends, rural stories;

Trenchbroom, Blender 3.6+, Krita, Inkscape, QOwnNotes, LibreOffice, Kate, Godot 4 stable branch, Emacs, A2 Bluebottle Oberron, OpenDylan, Smalltalk, Fish, Tuxedo Computers, Pine64, Librem 5?, Elisa, Itch.io as an app, nsCDE, KDE e.v , FSF as GLOSS Foundation, Symbolics as Utalics, DEC as Pflaumen, PC/M as Magna Charter Macrotronics, IBM as EBM, Sun Microsystems as Luanti *, DuckDuckGo, SearX, Startpage, Gog Galaxy, Lutris, Proton, Wine, FreeBASIC?, ObjectREXX, Es, Acme, tcsh, musl, Okteta, K3B, GNU core utils, Bel, Arc, SimH, ...

16^12 - Angora history path and "androids congress worldwide project" context;

Nil Blackhand as camera POV, Kate Ker (INTJ autistic erudite historian transfem geocenter faction) + Ava Booksword (ENFP blonde social assistance worker synthetic android woman of syndicalist faction) modular intrigue storylets pathway;

Ana - Kata connection (focused on the time interpretation...), ocean of clades, afterlives, sentient / divine cosmic tree, living sapient cosmos ecosystems theory, black hand of history, mourning + celebrating the dead, cycles of life death and renewal, intrigue threads, manias & archaeology (mummy, tombs...), sophont nuances, dynastic lineages, embracers of change and luddites, improve the world, "become the revolution you seek in life", systemically parallel lives' overlaps, systemic progress, editing your reality and archiving individuals through divine software, traditions, pattern recognition, manifestation journeys, mutual guidance, giving and sharing, globalization, radio-pathy, van crawl, vision quests, romances, passions, empathies, special interests & other parallel expression idioms;

Shoshona, the black Angora fem housecat;

Pohakantenna (Shoshones' own contemporary religion?), Calvinism/Arianism as Occitan Baha'i dialect;

Utchewn conlang (Numic-derived language) with Blackfoot, Coast Salish & Iranian influences?;

(Shoshone Union's) Unionists (Republicans, Liberty, Democrats) vs Progressives caucuses (Syndicalists, Green/Georgism/Geocenter, Harmony);

[atplblog]

Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details) [ad_1] The sixth edition of this widely popular book is designed to introduce its readers to important concepts in computer science. Computer applications and information technology through a single book complete with numerous illustrative diagrams, practical examples, chapter summaries, end-of-chapter questions and glossary of important terms. Computer fundamentals is designed to serve as text book for various introductory courses in computer science, computer applications, information technology and other related areas. Book covers major topics in the field, including: characteristics, generations, classification and basic organization of computers number systems, computer codes, binary arithmetic, boolean algebra and logic circuits internal structure and functioning of cpus, memory, secondary storage devices and I/o devices commuter software, its various types with examples and commonly used tools and techniques for planning development, implementation and operation of software systems. Computer languages, computer networks, operating systems and database technologies the internet, multimedia computing systems and their applications and many more... Reader will find this edition more useful than previous editions because :- new topics and classifications are added to various chapters, introducing readers to newer frontiers in computing the layout has been improved considerably to make the contents attractive and easier to read illustrative diagrams and overall layout are improved to make the contents attractive and lucid to read lecture notes cd contents is suitably updated size of the book is made handy on feedback from readers. Publisher ‏ : ‎ BPB PUBLICATIONS-NEW DELHI (1 January 2012) Language ‏ : ‎ Hindi ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 8183334717 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-8183334716 Reading age ‏ : ‎ 14 years and up Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 772 g Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 20.3 x 25.4 x 4.7 cm [ad_2]

[mensajesparati]

Diario de voz para Grabar tus sueños

Diario de voz para Grabar tus sueños

¿Alguna vez te has preguntado qué significan tus sueños? Los sueños han sido objeto de fascinación y misterio durante siglos. Son una ventana a nuestro subconsciente y a nuestras emociones más profundas. Muchas veces, nuestros sueños pueden revelarnos cosas sobre nosotros mismos que no somos conscientes en nuestra vida diaria. Es por eso que cada vez más personas están interesadas en registrar y analizar sus sueños. Afortunadamente, existen diferentes aplicaciones disponibles en el mercado que nos permiten hacer esto de manera fácil y efectiva.

Sleep Talk Recorder – Una app para registrar sonidos nocturnos

Una de las aplicaciones más populares para grabar nuestros sueños es Sleep Talk Recorder. Esta app está diseñada para capturar y analizar los sonidos que hacemos mientras dormimos. ¿Te has preguntado alguna vez si hablas o haces ruidos extraños mientras estás en la cama? Sleep Talk Recorder te permitirá descubrirlo.

La aplicación funciona de manera muy sencilla. Solo tienes que colocar tu dispositivo móvil cerca de tu cama antes de dormir y activar la grabación. Durante la noche, Sleep Talk Recorder registrará todos los sonidos y palabras que emitas mientras duermes. Al despertar, podrás escuchar las grabaciones y analizarlas para entender mejor tus experiencias oníricas.

Una de las características destacadas de Sleep Talk Recorder es su capacidad para filtrar los ruidos ambientales y enfocarse únicamente en tus sonidos nocturnos. Además, la aplicación te mostrará datos interesantes como el tiempo medio de sueño y el número medio de sonidos registrados, lo cual te ayudará a tener una visión general de tus patrones de sueño y las palabras que pronuncias durante la noche.

Dream Catcher – El diario lúcido para tus sueños

Otra aplicación popular para registrar nuestros sueños es Dream Catcher. Esta app se enfoca en ser un diario lúcido para tus sueños, permitiéndote registrar y analizar de manera eficiente todas tus experiencias oníricas.

Con Dream Catcher, podrás escribir tus sueños y clasificarlos por categorías para facilitar su análisis. La aplicación te ofrece diferentes herramientas para ayudarte a recordar tus sueños de la manera más vívida posible. Desde la opción de agregar imágenes relacionadas con tu sueño hasta la posibilidad de grabar tu voz mientras describes tus experiencias, Dream Catcher tiene todo lo que necesitas para crear un diario de sueños completo y enriquecedor.

Una de las funciones más útiles de Dream Catcher es la posibilidad de establecer alarmas para despertarte durante tus fases de sueño REM, que es cuando experimentamos los sueños más intensos. Esto te ayudará a recordar tus sueños más claramente y a tener un registro más detallado de tus experiencias oníricas.

Lucid – Diario de Sueños para mejorar tu recuerdo onírico

Lucid es otra aplicación que puede ayudarte a mejorar tu recuerdo de los sueños. Esta app ha sido diseñada específicamente para hacer tus sueños más largos y vívidos al escribirlos temprano en la mañana.

La idea detrás de Lucid es que cuanto más temprano escribas tus sueños al despertar, más detalles podrás recordar. La aplicación te permite tomar notas rápidas sobre tus sueños y clasificarlos por categorías para un análisis más estructurado. Además, Lucid también te permite agregar imágenes y grabaciones de voz a tus anotaciones, lo cual puede agregar un nivel extra de riqueza y detalle a tus registros de sueños.

Lucid también tiene una función de recordatorio de sueños, que te enviará notificaciones durante el día para recordarte que pienses en tus sueños y los escribas. Esto te ayudará a mantener un hábito constante de registro de sueños y mejorar tu capacidad de recordar tus experiencias oníricas.

Creando un diario personal con notas y contenido multimedia

Además de las aplicaciones específicas para el registro de sueños, también existen muchas aplicaciones en el mercado que te permiten crear un diario personal en el que puedes combinar notas y contenido multimedia para llevar un registro completo de tus experiencias y emociones.

Estas aplicaciones, como Day One o Evernote, te brindan la flexibilidad para escribir sobre tus sueños, tomar notas sobre tus emociones y agregar imágenes y grabaciones de voz. La ventaja de utilizar estas aplicaciones es que no solo puedes registrar tus sueños, sino también todas tus vivencias diarias, lo cual puede proporcionar un contexto más completo para entender tus experiencias oníricas.

Si prefieres un enfoque más estructurado, también puedes utilizar aplicaciones como OneNote o Google Docs para crear un diario en línea. Estas aplicaciones ofrecen la capacidad de agregar diferentes secciones y etiquetas, lo cual puede facilitar la organización y búsqueda de tus sueños y pensamientos relacionados.

Shadow – Una app para grabar y recordar tus sueños

Otra aplicación destacada para el registro de sueños es Shadow. Esta app se centra en la grabación y el recuerdo de tus sueños, permitiéndote grabar tus sueños cada noche y acceder a ellos para su posterior análisis.

Shadow utiliza un enfoque basado en etiquetas para que puedas clasificar tus sueños por temas o palabras clave. Esto facilita la búsqueda y el análisis de tus sueños, ya que puedes encontrar rápidamente aquellos que contengan ciertas palabras o elementos comunes.

Además de la grabación de sueños, Shadow también te ofrece características adicionales, como la posibilidad de agregar tags a cada sueño, la opción de exportar tus registros en diferentes formatos y la capacidad de agregar notas adicionales a cada sueño. Estas funciones hacen de Shadow una herramienta completa para aquellos que desean registrar y estudiar sus sueños de manera más profunda.

La importancia de un buen seguimiento del sueño

Así como registrar nuestros sueños puede ser útil para comprender nuestra mente subconsciente, realizar un seguimiento adecuado de nuestro sueño diario también puede ser beneficioso para mejorar nuestra calidad de descanso. Es por eso que las aplicaciones de seguimiento del sueño se han vuelto cada vez más populares.

Estas aplicaciones, como Sleep Cycle o Fitbit, utilizan sensores y algoritmos para monitorear tus ciclos de sueño y registrar tus patrones de sueño a lo largo de la noche. Además, muchas de estas aplicaciones también te permiten grabar ronquidos y otros sonidos durante la noche, lo cual puede ayudarte a identificar posibles problemas de sueño, como el ronquido o la apnea del sueño.

Al utilizar una aplicación de seguimiento del sueño, podrás tener una visión completa de tu sueño, incluyendo el tiempo que pasas en cada fase de sueño, la calidad de tu sueño y tus patrones de sueño a lo largo del tiempo. Esto te permitirá identificar posibles mejoras en tu rutina de sueño y tomar medidas para mejorar tu descanso.

Historias de terror y sueños inquietantes

No todo en el mundo de los sueños es maravilloso y agradable. Al registrar nuestros sueños, podemos encontrarnos con experiencias desagradables o incluso aterradoras. Algunas personas han compartido historias de sueños perturbadores que han tenido mientras utilizaban aplicaciones de registro de sueños.

Estos sueños inquietantes pueden variar desde pesadillas vívidas hasta experiencias de sueño lúcido que se vuelven abrumadoras. Esto es importante tenerlo en cuenta al utilizar una aplicación de registro de sueños, ya que al explorar nuestro mundo onírico podemos encontrarnos con emociones y experiencias intensas.

Si te encuentras con sueños perturbadores, es importante recordar que son solo sueños y no representan necesariamente la realidad. Si los sueños inquietantes se vuelven recurrentes o te causan angustia, es recomendable buscar apoyo y orientación profesional.

La próxima frontera: Grabando imágenes en nuestros sueños

Si bien las aplicaciones actuales se centran principalmente en el registro de sonidos y palabras relacionadas con nuestros sueños, la próxima frontera en esta área es la posibilidad de grabar imágenes en nuestros sueños. A lo largo de la historia, los seres humanos han soñado con esta capacidad, y recientes avances en la investigación del sueño han acercado esta idea a la realidad.

Algunos científicos están experimentando con la grabación de imágenes oníricas utilizando técnicas de estimulación cerebral y la interpretación de las señales cerebrales durante el sueño. Aunque estas investigaciones aún están en sus primeras etapas, podrían tener importantes implicaciones para el futuro del registro de sueños.

Es importante tener en cuenta que, si bien la idea de grabar imágenes de nuestros sueños puede parecer emocionante, también plantea desafíos éticos y legales. La privacidad y la seguridad son aspectos clave que deben tenerse en cuenta al explorar esta nueva frontera de los sueños. Como sociedad, debemos establecer límites claros y regulaciones para garantizar que se utilice esta tecnología de manera responsable y respetuosa.

Conclusión

En definitiva, los sueños son una parte fundamental de nuestra experiencia humana. Son una puerta hacia nuestro subconsciente y nuestras emociones más profundas. Explorar nuestros sueños a través del registro y análisis puede ayudarnos a comprendernos mejor a nosotros mismos y a enriquecer nuestra vida diaria.

Las aplicaciones de diario de sueños, como Sleep Talk Recorder, Dream Catcher, Lucid y Shadow, nos brindan herramientas útiles para registrar y analizar nuestras experiencias oníricas. Ya sea que prefieras enfocarte en los sonidos nocturnos, en el registro de tus sueños o en mejorar tu recuerdo onírico, hay una aplicación que se adapta a tus necesidades y preferencias.

Te animo a que pruebes algunas de las aplicaciones mencionadas en este artículo y compartas tus propias experiencias y descubrimientos. No hay mejor manera de explorar el fascinante mundo de los sueños que poner en práctica estas herramientas y ver qué revelan sobre ti y tus sueños.

[trinaryls]

Take a look at the latest from the multimedia franchise being made... With it the Tia Universe and of course Taking on the Vari!

The upcoming esoteric, informative, inspirational, creatively fun, entertaining, intriguing, philosophical-like, balancing materialistic stories to the more spiritual origins, and most of all a sci-fi/fantasy based on a larger than popularly most known cosmic scale/scope somewhere in the Universe and narrated from a Lucid Dreamer higher inter-dimensional collective super oversoul entity based on the dimensional field concept lore to a perception futher to the story as 8D! Here are some small pieces from it...

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Riley Aarris (@trinaryls)

#link #instagram #art #details #plans #game #handmade #drawings #diagrams #scififantasy #esoteric #philosophical

[aimerarts]

【WORKS】- Lucid Multimedia

@aimerarts 

Video original:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fnz3s35ICo

[m-rtif]

The Normal Album - A soul- shatteringly amusing take on society, finality, and humanity itself

Henry, 5th December 2022

New Jersey singer-songwriter, composer, film-maker and multimedia artist Will Wood has forgone the guttural banshee-screaming and manic cackling of his previous work to once again reinvent himself with The Tapeworms in his fourth studio album; the [ironically titled] “The Normal Album”. A theatrical doo-wop epic deftly intertwining an exhilarating fury, personal identity, and the dogmatic “normalcy” of society as a whole through a ten-track cluster of romantically macabre illustrations. In the artist’s own words; “it’s just a nobody guy spilling out his guts, looking at them, and trying to laugh at himself”. Wood translates this idea of airing out his dirty laundry through bombastic beats stuffed full of introspection, satirising Western life and his own pain to entertain audiences in a time of universal mourning and fear; 2020, the height of the Covid-19 pandemic.

This avant-pop masterpiece commences with the track “Suburbia Overture”, a combination of three separate songs in the album [Greetings From Mary Bell Township, Vampire Culture, and Love Me Normally] that deconstructs the idea of the 1950’s American dream. It begins with a hearty description of the ideal Western life, a flowery veil which is soon torn away to reveal the truth of suburban culture in America as the white picket fences and perfectly trimmed yards are just a battleground for the culture war that suburban life represents, fiercely commenting on how suburbia is a festering wound of racist ideals, nuclear waste, and the heartless “every-man-for-himself” ideology of the South. This is especially relevant at the release time as Covid promoted a sense of global community – something those refusing to step down from their golden pedestal of a perfect nuclear family in the suburbs and wear a mask refused to be a part of, exposing the true ideals of suburbia. Not for humanity, but for white supremacy. *

Transitioning into 2econd 2ight 2eer, Wood presents what seems to be a [very dance-able] self-portrait of his struggles with the dictatorial lucidity of current society and its qualms with those it deems as “different”. This song is about someone who consciously opts to act in a way that is deemed insane or “off-the-norm” by the public, believing it to be the ideal way of life for the pursuit of happiness. This hedonistic utopia spools into the rest of the album which acts almost as a journey of a contemplation that ends in him realising, ultimately, that he just wants to get back to normal. Through walking into his career after a drugged haze, Will Wood has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This ecstatic tune likely represents a manic episode of Wood’s, a false feeling of freedom that is actually a result of serious issues in the psyche, the rest of the album displaying the after-effects of this.

Several tracks later is the TikTok-famous doo-wop spectacle of “I/Me/Myself”, a witty play on pronouns and the phrase “me myself and I”. This song is a brave exposure of the emphatic harassment he has received from fans regarding his gender, some believing this to be a lack of gratitude or possibly even transphobia. This loud portrayal of his frustration with the limitations of male gender roles, the maladaptive ways he has coped with this frustration, and trying to figure out if this experience or any other regarding his gender should define him put him under fire as ‘fans’ harassed him mercilessly about his identity, quite literally telling him he was transgender regardless of what he said. Will Wood is a cisgender man who formerly identified himself as genderqueer before realising that his attraction to traditionally feminine characteristics did not interfere with his identity as a man. This is a lamentful plea for those who verbally abused him before to draw away from their toxicity. Similarly to his previous albums, Wood uses this song to say that clinging too hard to one’s identity in the wrong way can hurt oneself and others. He quotes; “Man, woman, cis, trans, non-binary, whatever- our identities are constructions of ego, and illusions. We’re not even truly separate organisms, no more so than one brain cell is from another in the same brain. No-one is ‘valid’ and someday we’ll all truly realise that the self in its entirety is unnecessary.”

Later on is the ninth track, the hit single “Love Me, Normally”, which gives a whimsical comment on what being ‘normal’ in the perfect society should feel like. This is a beautiful portrayal of utopian ideologies and the serendipity anyone familiarwith being an ‘outsider’ desires. Wood, ever the impossible to-pin-down persona, has always been publicly identified as an anti-capitalist figure that rejects normality and embraces genuinity, repeating the phrase “cause a normal human being wouldn’t need to pretend to be normal to be normal”. Of course, this is a clear link to the title of the album but also a callback to 2econd 2ight 2eer; the speaker now desires to be normal, but is torn by his disdain toward what society deems as normal today. He also feverishly spotlights the horrifying concept of fleeting time, how current situations [the pandemic] instil a hysterical fear in him. As Wood had only recently started recovery and became sober before writing this song, it is very understandable that the idea of possibly dying at any moment despite a lust for life comes back to haunt him. This struck many going through quarantine as it was all a sort of epiphany that made people realise the true finity of human life and youth. Like in all of his songs, Wood uses religion to portray his persona of a tortured soul, seeking comfort in whilst harshly criticising religion, as many did during this time.

To round up such a chaotic turn of events is the sombre yet jolly ballad; “Momento Mori:The Most Important Thing In The World”. In the simplest terms, this song is about death and that is all. A truly gorgeous yet bone-chilling finale to this album, Momento Mori comes to terms with the fear of futile lives ending suddenly that everyone experienced during 2020 and agrees, saying; “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; but something will eventually!” Wood comically illustrates the truth no-one wants to face - your life is most likely meaningless and you might even die before you know it. However, it takes an almost inspirational turn; if most a couple generations will remember the way in which your life never mattered, who cares if it’s a waste? To me, this is a clear comment on how many people constantly worry about whether or not they are ‘fulfilling their purpose’ instead of just trying to enjoy their lives while they last because, realistically, one billion people amount to nothing in infinity’s face. This powerful rock ditty is urging you to live life to the fullest in whichever way you seem fit.

Overall, this album is a perfectly charming collection of tunes that truly allow us to delve deep into Wood’s ideologies and desires and identify them with ourselves. It all sums up to this wonderful picture that essentially states; “who needs to be ‘normal’ when you could just be happy?” It encourages his teenage audience to criticise the diabolical system we live in whilst urging them to be pleased as they are. The Normal Album is a welcoming calling to those who are deemed outsiders or strange by the outside world and is extremely skilled in doing so; it is an absolutely life-changing wonder.

*credits to supersidegamer on reddit for this take and phrasing! this whole text is just a review I wrote for my english a-level coursework. thanks for reading! <3

[rayos-vt]

Angelina Kumalo of Lucid Multimedia

Angelina "Lina" Kumalo of Lucid Multimedia. High-res versions available on my patreon and subscribestar.  Past work available on my gumroad.

Pixiv | Artistree | Twitter | Gumroad | Picarto

Posted using PostyBirb

[power-chords]

(re: the nyt mag pullquote) i forget that this is what people mean when they talk about realism in Michael Mann movies. when i finally watched Heat i came expecting something closer to the Ronin: the realism of a bank robber who has never come anywhere close to being caught and wants to keep it that way. (obviously i was slow to realize that Heat is literally about what happens when the thief doesn’t stick to the plan.) anyway when Shiherlis busted out the assault rifle on the streets of Los Angeles laughed out loud

LOL same! My first experience of Heat was last spring, believe it or not, which is insane because Adam is such a huge fan and has been since well before we started dating. I think he assumed I had either already seen it, or that I wouldn't be interested in seeing it because our tastes are typically so divergent. And at the time, Michael Mann was not on my radar beyond Collateral.

But then Greg Dulli asked me to do the Twilight Singers essay for the [forthcoming, still in vinyl pressing limbo queue] box set. And since he's a film school dropout – all Afghan Whigs/Twilight Singers records bear some variation of shot on location at [insert recording studio] in the liner notes – I refused to even begin drafting until I had a comprehensive multimedia panorama-view of his artistic and pop cultural reference pool, his influences and inspiration, the full historical "moodboard" (though I hate that term) he has been drawing from over the years. I'm a PhD in the Theology of Rock Music, but my knowledge of film was sorely lacking. Enter my genius idea for Pandemic Film School, and my husband, Academic Advisor.

I think our first stop was The Conversation (1974), which GD references explicitly over the course of several albums. But it was only a matter of time before we made it to Mann's filmography. Thief and Heat knocked me over. I was hypnotized, enthralled, held totally captive, instantly obsessed. I had found the Greg Dulli of the medium, the screenwriter and director who induces the same profound and addictive romantic catharsis for me.

I also wanted to dive under the bed for cover during that shootout. And crawl through the screen to float above the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles. You are a part of his world when you're watching his movies. It's the sensory realism, the immersion that approximates lucid dreaming, that makes his work so unlike anyone else's. Nobody does it the way he does. Nobody! And to sense in the Mann himself, as well, a kindred spirit... enchanted by the same images, motivated by the same interests and curiosities, driven by the same compulsions... what an incredible experience that has been. To find somebody who looks at the world the same way as you. Who is making his art for you.

[actuallyunreal]

1: Is Tom perpetually stuck the way he his or can he turn back? I’m guessing he isn’t fully autonomous in said monster form

2: Is this structured as a comic with a concrete storyline that will follow a story or is it just a bunch of doodles? I’m a fan of them either way but I do think more story comics would be pretty neat

2: soooo im EXTREMELY unsure in my storytelling ability through the medium of comics; even on the first like... one or two pages of the linear comic i literally forgot that eduardo was even supposed to be in the scene. :'D

im just definitely not a professional artist or anything - im in college for accounting, honestly, and i wouldnt want to get anyones hopes up too high in terms of quality. :p i get lost in the details and lose track of things VERY quickly! xwx;;

and if i wanted to do a linear comic i would want to keep important details on the ~down low~ until i revealed them in-comic, and even keeping track of what ive said is ~canon in my au~ is difficult for me 🤪🤪🤪

id love to give a linear plotline a shot, and i probably will continue to do several panel comics - but rn im just vibing -v-

so uh! multimedia experience is what were calling it! 🤪🤪🤪 sorry!

1: toms exact lucidity and physical form varies on the day to day, but he hasnt Been a Person Fully since the switch got flicked. its kind of like hes dreaming and sleepwalking - doing "tom things" but not really meaning to do them.

[nakhama-a]

  and i gain a lucidity that leaves me grandiose for no reason.   i am   fabulous and useless,    i am made of pure gold,    and almost psychic.

#NAKHAMA.   multimedia multimuse ft. tatsumaki,   as written by inad.   carrd.

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

[mensajesparati]

Diario de voz para Grabar tus sueños

Diario de voz para Grabar tus sueños

¿Alguna vez te has preguntado qué significan tus sueños? Los sueños han sido objeto de fascinación y misterio durante siglos. Son una ventana a nuestro subconsciente y a nuestras emociones más profundas. Muchas veces, nuestros sueños pueden revelarnos cosas sobre nosotros mismos que no somos conscientes en nuestra vida diaria. Es por eso que cada vez más personas están interesadas en registrar y analizar sus sueños. Afortunadamente, existen diferentes aplicaciones disponibles en el mercado que nos permiten hacer esto de manera fácil y efectiva.

Sleep Talk Recorder – Una app para registrar sonidos nocturnos

Una de las aplicaciones más populares para grabar nuestros sueños es Sleep Talk Recorder. Esta app está diseñada para capturar y analizar los sonidos que hacemos mientras dormimos. ¿Te has preguntado alguna vez si hablas o haces ruidos extraños mientras estás en la cama? Sleep Talk Recorder te permitirá descubrirlo.

La aplicación funciona de manera muy sencilla. Solo tienes que colocar tu dispositivo móvil cerca de tu cama antes de dormir y activar la grabación. Durante la noche, Sleep Talk Recorder registrará todos los sonidos y palabras que emitas mientras duermes. Al despertar, podrás escuchar las grabaciones y analizarlas para entender mejor tus experiencias oníricas.

Una de las características destacadas de Sleep Talk Recorder es su capacidad para filtrar los ruidos ambientales y enfocarse únicamente en tus sonidos nocturnos. Además, la aplicación te mostrará datos interesantes como el tiempo medio de sueño y el número medio de sonidos registrados, lo cual te ayudará a tener una visión general de tus patrones de sueño y las palabras que pronuncias durante la noche.

Dream Catcher – El diario lúcido para tus sueños

Otra aplicación popular para registrar nuestros sueños es Dream Catcher. Esta app se enfoca en ser un diario lúcido para tus sueños, permitiéndote registrar y analizar de manera eficiente todas tus experiencias oníricas.

Con Dream Catcher, podrás escribir tus sueños y clasificarlos por categorías para facilitar su análisis. La aplicación te ofrece diferentes herramientas para ayudarte a recordar tus sueños de la manera más vívida posible. Desde la opción de agregar imágenes relacionadas con tu sueño hasta la posibilidad de grabar tu voz mientras describes tus experiencias, Dream Catcher tiene todo lo que necesitas para crear un diario de sueños completo y enriquecedor.

Una de las funciones más útiles de Dream Catcher es la posibilidad de establecer alarmas para despertarte durante tus fases de sueño REM, que es cuando experimentamos los sueños más intensos. Esto te ayudará a recordar tus sueños más claramente y a tener un registro más detallado de tus experiencias oníricas.

Lucid – Diario de Sueños para mejorar tu recuerdo onírico

Lucid es otra aplicación que puede ayudarte a mejorar tu recuerdo de los sueños. Esta app ha sido diseñada específicamente para hacer tus sueños más largos y vívidos al escribirlos temprano en la mañana.

La idea detrás de Lucid es que cuanto más temprano escribas tus sueños al despertar, más detalles podrás recordar. La aplicación te permite tomar notas rápidas sobre tus sueños y clasificarlos por categorías para un análisis más estructurado. Además, Lucid también te permite agregar imágenes y grabaciones de voz a tus anotaciones, lo cual puede agregar un nivel extra de riqueza y detalle a tus registros de sueños.

Lucid también tiene una función de recordatorio de sueños, que te enviará notificaciones durante el día para recordarte que pienses en tus sueños y los escribas. Esto te ayudará a mantener un hábito constante de registro de sueños y mejorar tu capacidad de recordar tus experiencias oníricas.

Creando un diario personal con notas y contenido multimedia

Además de las aplicaciones específicas para el registro de sueños, también existen muchas aplicaciones en el mercado que te permiten crear un diario personal en el que puedes combinar notas y contenido multimedia para llevar un registro completo de tus experiencias y emociones.

Estas aplicaciones, como Day One o Evernote, te brindan la flexibilidad para escribir sobre tus sueños, tomar notas sobre tus emociones y agregar imágenes y grabaciones de voz. La ventaja de utilizar estas aplicaciones es que no solo puedes registrar tus sueños, sino también todas tus vivencias diarias, lo cual puede proporcionar un contexto más completo para entender tus experiencias oníricas.

Si prefieres un enfoque más estructurado, también puedes utilizar aplicaciones como OneNote o Google Docs para crear un diario en línea. Estas aplicaciones ofrecen la capacidad de agregar diferentes secciones y etiquetas, lo cual puede facilitar la organización y búsqueda de tus sueños y pensamientos relacionados.

Shadow – Una app para grabar y recordar tus sueños

Otra aplicación destacada para el registro de sueños es Shadow. Esta app se centra en la grabación y el recuerdo de tus sueños, permitiéndote grabar tus sueños cada noche y acceder a ellos para su posterior análisis.

Shadow utiliza un enfoque basado en etiquetas para que puedas clasificar tus sueños por temas o palabras clave. Esto facilita la búsqueda y el análisis de tus sueños, ya que puedes encontrar rápidamente aquellos que contengan ciertas palabras o elementos comunes.

Además de la grabación de sueños, Shadow también te ofrece características adicionales, como la posibilidad de agregar tags a cada sueño, la opción de exportar tus registros en diferentes formatos y la capacidad de agregar notas adicionales a cada sueño. Estas funciones hacen de Shadow una herramienta completa para aquellos que desean registrar y estudiar sus sueños de manera más profunda.

La importancia de un buen seguimiento del sueño

Así como registrar nuestros sueños puede ser útil para comprender nuestra mente subconsciente, realizar un seguimiento adecuado de nuestro sueño diario también puede ser beneficioso para mejorar nuestra calidad de descanso. Es por eso que las aplicaciones de seguimiento del sueño se han vuelto cada vez más populares.

Estas aplicaciones, como Sleep Cycle o Fitbit, utilizan sensores y algoritmos para monitorear tus ciclos de sueño y registrar tus patrones de sueño a lo largo de la noche. Además, muchas de estas aplicaciones también te permiten grabar ronquidos y otros sonidos durante la noche, lo cual puede ayudarte a identificar posibles problemas de sueño, como el ronquido o la apnea del sueño.

Al utilizar una aplicación de seguimiento del sueño, podrás tener una visión completa de tu sueño, incluyendo el tiempo que pasas en cada fase de sueño, la calidad de tu sueño y tus patrones de sueño a lo largo del tiempo. Esto te permitirá identificar posibles mejoras en tu rutina de sueño y tomar medidas para mejorar tu descanso.

Historias de terror y sueños inquietantes

No todo en el mundo de los sueños es maravilloso y agradable. Al registrar nuestros sueños, podemos encontrarnos con experiencias desagradables o incluso aterradoras. Algunas personas han compartido historias de sueños perturbadores que han tenido mientras utilizaban aplicaciones de registro de sueños.

Estos sueños inquietantes pueden variar desde pesadillas vívidas hasta experiencias de sueño lúcido que se vuelven abrumadoras. Esto es importante tenerlo en cuenta al utilizar una aplicación de registro de sueños, ya que al explorar nuestro mundo onírico podemos encontrarnos con emociones y experiencias intensas.

Si te encuentras con sueños perturbadores, es importante recordar que son solo sueños y no representan necesariamente la realidad. Si los sueños inquietantes se vuelven recurrentes o te causan angustia, es recomendable buscar apoyo y orientación profesional.

La próxima frontera: Grabando imágenes en nuestros sueños

Si bien las aplicaciones actuales se centran principalmente en el registro de sonidos y palabras relacionadas con nuestros sueños, la próxima frontera en esta área es la posibilidad de grabar imágenes en nuestros sueños. A lo largo de la historia, los seres humanos han soñado con esta capacidad, y recientes avances en la investigación del sueño han acercado esta idea a la realidad.

Algunos científicos están experimentando con la grabación de imágenes oníricas utilizando técnicas de estimulación cerebral y la interpretación de las señales cerebrales durante el sueño. Aunque estas investigaciones aún están en sus primeras etapas, podrían tener importantes implicaciones para el futuro del registro de sueños.

Es importante tener en cuenta que, si bien la idea de grabar imágenes de nuestros sueños puede parecer emocionante, también plantea desafíos éticos y legales. La privacidad y la seguridad son aspectos clave que deben tenerse en cuenta al explorar esta nueva frontera de los sueños. Como sociedad, debemos establecer límites claros y regulaciones para garantizar que se utilice esta tecnología de manera responsable y respetuosa.

Conclusión

En definitiva, los sueños son una parte fundamental de nuestra experiencia humana. Son una puerta hacia nuestro subconsciente y nuestras emociones más profundas. Explorar nuestros sueños a través del registro y análisis puede ayudarnos a comprendernos mejor a nosotros mismos y a enriquecer nuestra vida diaria.

Las aplicaciones de diario de sueños, como Sleep Talk Recorder, Dream Catcher, Lucid y Shadow, nos brindan herramientas útiles para registrar y analizar nuestras experiencias oníricas. Ya sea que prefieras enfocarte en los sonidos nocturnos, en el registro de tus sueños o en mejorar tu recuerdo onírico, hay una aplicación que se adapta a tus necesidades y preferencias.

Te animo a que pruebes algunas de las aplicaciones mencionadas en este artículo y compartas tus propias experiencias y descubrimientos. No hay mejor manera de explorar el fascinante mundo de los sueños que poner en práctica estas herramientas y ver qué revelan sobre ti y tus sueños.