#one glorious consciousness

[30ahchaleh]

Who or What are We?

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اگر پاراگراف پرده ی سوم نمایشنامه هملت اثر شکسپیر ، که با جمله معروف

To be, or not to be

بودن یا نبودن

را بخوانید

میبینید این اندیشمند چه سوال های بنیادی در این قطعه مطرح کرده است

که به نظر من شاید جوابش در دانستن این سوال باشد که

who or what am i ?

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بسیاری از نوشته ها حتی فیلم ها و سریال ها به این سوال بنیادی (من کی یا چی هستم ؟) پرداخته اند

برای نمونه از اندیشمندان ایرانی میتوان به مولانا اشاره کرد که بسیار به این موضوع پرداخته است

در دفتر دوم مثنوی چنین آمده است

ای برادر تو همان اندیشه‌ای

ما بقی تو استخوان و ریشه‌ای

گر گُلَست اندیشهٔ تو، گلشنی

وَر بُوَد خاری، تو هیمهٔ گُلخَنی

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یا در یک رباعی چنین گفته است

تا در طلب گوهر کانی ، کانی

تا در هوس لقمهٔ نانی ، نانی

این نکتهٔ رمز اگر بدانی ، دانی

هر چیز که در جستن آنی ، آنی

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همین متفکران به صورت های مختلف این فرضیه را مطرح کرده‌اند که (تن و جسم و بدن) خاکی صرفا یک نگه دارنده ی موقت است برای آن (اندیشه) که به نام های مختلفی میخوانیمش

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گر بشکند این جامم من غصه نیاشامم

جامی دگر آن ساقی در زیر بغل دارد

جامست تن خاکی جانست می پاکی

جامی دگرم بخشد کاین جام علل(ـی) دارد

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و چه خوب آن علل را ناصرخسرو چنین گفت

جانت را اندر تن خاکی به دانش زر کن

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اما اینکه واژه دانش و زر در این مدل سخن های رمزگونه چیست سرمنشاء اختلاف هاست

همینطور واژه های دیگری چون اندیشه یا جان و یا . . . ـ

توضیحش به زبان ساده این است

ما میدانیم صفر و یک سر منشاء نرم افزار ها برای کامپیوتر میباشد اما بدون یک سخت افزار جلوه گر نیستند

پس آنچه که به یک سخت افزاری مثل موبایل یا کامییوتر هویت میبخشد نرم افزار است که خودش بخش های مختلفی دارد

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حال میتوان اینگونه گفت که سخت افزار بشر "جسم" اوست و نرم افزارش "جان" او

میشود برای "جان" نام های مختلفی بنا به مکتبی که در آن سیر میکنیم در نظر گرفت

مثلا

به قول والتر بیشابِ سریال فرینج

one glorious consciousness

یا اندیشه یا هویت یا هرچه

یک (خود)آگاهی باشکوه(کامل)

نباید دعوا سر اسم گذاری باشد وقتی ماهیت منظور مشخص است

منظور "نرم افزار" بشریست

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با فهم این موضوع عده ای میخواهند جاودانگی را میسر کند

یا به آن شکلی دیگر بدهند

با این تئوری که بتواند "خودآگاهی کامل" یا همان اندیشه یا هویت شخصی را همچون کلیه و قلب و دست و پا و . . . به جسم دیگری پیوند بزنند

در این راه تا حدودی امتحان های موفق آمیزی انجام شده است به گونه ای که این تئوری را دست یافتنی کرده

به عنوان مثال

وقتی ما با اندیشه ای چه محسوس چه نامحسوس آشنا میشویم و آنرا چه خودآگاه چه ناخودآگاه در زندگی اجرا میکنیم در اصل اندیشه ما آن اندیشه بیگانه را پس نزده و پیوند موفقیت آمیز بوده

یا

وقتی در اصطلاح توسط طرفداران یک ایدئولوژی چه به زور چه به میل مغزشویی میشویم باز همین اتفاق افتاده است

حتی میتواند اندیشه ای در خواب طبیعی یا مصنوعی (هیپنوتیزم) به ما پیوند زده بشود

خلاصه همه ی اینها پیوند قسمتی از نرم افزار ثانوی میباشد به پیکر اصلی نرم افزار ما که خود آن پیکره هم خُرد خُرد شکل گرفته است

شده گاهی پیوندی چنان تابلو است که دیگران توانسته اند آنرا حس کند و به ما بگویند چقدر شبیه آن آدمی شدیم که از آن پیوند را دریافت کرده‌ایم

اینجاست که همنشینی ها مهم میشود و میفهمیم چرا بزرگان اندیشمند به آن به گونه های مختلفی اشاره کرده اند

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البته همه ی اینها پیوند "تکه ای" میباشند چراکه ما آن نرم افزار اصلی خودمان را که در اصل جان و هویت ماست همیشه حفظ میکنیم

مثل هر پیوندی در بقا

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حال اگر بشود

کل هویتی را روی کالبدی خام سوار کرد

یا با تکنیک مغزشویی

کل هویت شخصی را پاک کرد بعد روی آن یک هویت کامل را دوباره نوشت

آنگاه ما توانسته ایم هویت آن شخص مثلا مرده را زنده کنیم با تمام ویژگی های خُلقی و رفتاری

و چون شبیه سازی جسم یا همان "سخت افزار" توسط علوم دیگر همیشه بسیار ممکن تر و دستیافتنی تر بوده ما در آینده میتوانیم شخص مورد نظر خود را همچون فرانکنشتاین تخیلی به عرصه واقعیت بیاوریم

Frankenstein

به طوریکه اطرافیان او نخواهند توانست تمایز قابل بیانی برای گفتن پیدا بکنند

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برای حس آنچه گفته شد

در واقعیت اکنون هم ما در حال تغییر های محسوسی هستیم که اطرافیان را میتواند متعجب بکند یا نکند به ما گوشزد بکنند یا نکنند

که مثلا قبلا اینطور نبودی یا چرا عوض شدی و از اینجور چیزها که نشده کسی نشنیده باشد

و همینطور

گاهی از کسی خوشمان میآید چون ویژگی های یک عزیز دیگر را در او میبینیم و بلعکس حال اگر با کل "هویت" ی برخورد کنیم تمایزی هم اگر باشد یا قابل قبول است یا کم کم دیده نمیشود

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البته میدانیم پارادوکسی در بالا هنگام پیوند کل هویت روی یک جسم دیگر رخ میدهد که منجر به پس زدن یا موقت بودن پیوند میشود اما میتوان با شبیه سازی یا کلون سازی سلول های پایه ای جسم رفع گردد

یعنی تولید جسمی پایه ای با گذشته آن "جان" ، که البته خام است اما مناسب پیوند جدید در حال میباشد

وااااای🤯هزاران سال

تــــــجـربـه جـان

روی جسم جـوان

اما هر اشتباهی در آن منجر به

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خلاصه در آینده

دیگر مسئله ، "بودن یا نبودن" نیست

سوال و مسئله ی اصلی این ست که

آیا خوده حقیقی آن شخص است که به عرصه وجود ( بودن ) گام نهاده

آیا حس کردن تجربه هایی که جسم انجام نداده را متوجه میشود

یا که نه "ما چیزی جز اندیشه نیستیم" حال به هر عنوان و واژه ای که به نمایندگی از کلیت نرم افزار بشری خطابش میکنیم

مثلا

اندیشه ، جان ، خودآگاهی ، ذهن ، روح ، حافظه ، هویت ، کنش و واکنش ها ی شیمیایی مغز ، صفر و یک های روی هارد هر چه

این "خود" که میگ��ییم آیا همین است؟ که میتوان اینطور جاودانه اش کرد

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حالت های مختلفی از این فهم را که گفتم در سریال فرینج به خوبی با نمایش مامور زنی به نام "اُلویا دانم" تصویر و تصور سازی کرده است و الحق و الانصاف خانم "آنا تورو" به خوبی از پس بازی این "چندین حالت" برآمده و واقعا حقش برنده شدن سه دوره ی متوالی در همایش "جوایز ساترن" بوده است

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اکنون در یک نما این چندین حالت را برایتان نمایش میدهم

END

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ویکی‌پدیا: جوایز ساترن (به انگلیسی: Saturn Awards) جوایزی است که از سوی آکادمی فیلم‌های علمی-تخیلی، فانتزی و ترسناک اعطا می‌شود

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[tangledredstringsoffate]

I'm back! Zaid Tabani was insightful and I loved his reaction. But it's Josh Johnson doing his THING. That man is in love with Lamar. This is gold. Josh's whole show is gold!

A Crash Course to Kendrick's Super Bowl Performance, from a Black Woman

Note: this does NOT go in depth into all of the song's lyrics. I don't have time to recount two decades of his discography. This is just a summary of the performance itself.

Let's start with the first visual we get:

UNCLE SAM - most notably recognized from WWII American wartime propaganda, Uncle Sam is the personification of American patriotism and freedom. The term "uncle" is also evocative of Uncle Tom from Uncle Tom's Cabin, an abolitionist book that aided in inciting the Civil War. Uncle is also a very common term (both endearment and derogatory) towards Black men (eg. "unc"). Samuel L Jackson was fantastic.

Uncle Sam also resembles a circus ringleader, notable for my next point:

THE GREAT AMERICAN GAME - no, not Super Bowl. The GAG is us the people being pitted against each other: through late-stage capitalism, through the culture war, through class warfare, through being built of the backs of slaves. We are all players in the GAG because none of us on this site were the oligarchs seated at the inauguration.

This is also seen as Kendrick's stage was a Play Station controller. Not only did it remind of circus rings visually, but it was a game battle stage. The Great American Game is a battle royale of the commoners for the amusement of the rich whites.

Remember the foods / Them color was tin and brown / But now they 100 and blue - For this I'll just say, look what the last election said about lowering the price of eggs... and look at the prices now.

The revolution about to be televised / You picked the right time / But the wrong guy - Election 2024 once more.

THE FLAG DANCERS - yes, the dancers formed the US flag... off of the backs of Black people. Not a single white person in sight, and that's true of the cotton pickers in the fields. Plantations are part of how the US came to economic prominence after being a "backwater" colony. Remember tobacco? Cotton? Our bloodlines do.

The red and blue dancers are also notable for representing the Crips and Bloods, two infamous street gangs. The dance in Not Like Us is the Crip Walk. I recommend researching more on your own time about them, but just know they are a large part of the stereotype of Black people being "ghetto."

TOO LOUD, TOO RECKLESS, TOO GHETTO. Do you really know how to play the game? - This is exactly what Black people, especially Black men, get told all the time. It's why we change our names on resumes if they sound "too Black." It's why we codeswitch in non-Black company. This is especially rich considering how non-Black people love our culture and love to make money off of us, as the latter part of the quote points to. And it's even more profound during the Super Bowl-- the NFL is majority Black players.

STREET LIGHT A CAPELLA -- "thug" stereotype dancers to counteract the a capella connotations, with Uncle Sam then saying that Kendrick figured out "bringing other street guys around being a culture cheat code." Yes, this is a direct hit at Drake (listen to "Not Like Us") but also politically. Look up "model minority". Notably I would point to Candace Owens, or the Miami Venezuelan political group that's been in the news recently, especially as this directly led to Kendrick being surrounded by...

DANCERS IN WHITE -- it's white America. That's... that's the allegory.

NOT LIKE US TEASER -- Kendrick says "Not Like Us" is "their favorite song." -> he means white people specifically here. It comes after he's surrounded by all white dancers, the women around him who are his call and response are also in white (my opinion, they represent the industry). He's saying "Not Like Us" is the favorite of yts because it is about BLACK MEN FIGHTING. This again is reflected in the video game stage and ringleader Uncle Sam.

SZA -- instead of giving what they want, we see SZA. She's one of Drake's exes and Kendrick has always supported her.

ALL THE STARS -- This was in the first Black Panther movie, which I recommend you watch. Rest in Power Chadwick. Notably, this movie was incredibly mainstream as a major Marvel movie, and then we have Uncle Sam say...

"THAT'S WHAT AMERICA WANTS: NICE AND CALM. DON'T MESS THIS UP" -- translation: Marvel (the industry, America, etc.) wanted a safe, semi-pop song because white American likes safe pop songs, not Kendrick's usual heavy rap style about his life as a Black man! Don't mess up what you've got going mainstream for having this "Black rap feud" with Drake, who is an R&B model minority to white people because he's safe.

So what does Kendrick say?

IT'S A CULTURAL DIVIDE / IMMA GET IT ON THE FLOOR -- He was warned not to be political or apologetically Black for this Super Bowl performance, but he is using this big stage opportunity to speak out.

40 ACRES AND A MULE / THIS IS BIGGER THAN THE MUSIC -- 40 acres and a mule are what the freed slaves were promised. Instead, this land went to white sharecroppers. Research Jim Crow laws.

THEY TRIED TO RIG THE GAME / BUT YOU CAN'T FAKE INFLUENCE -- rig the election, rig the industry like with model minority Drake, rig the Great American Game with culture war to distract from active class warfare.

NOT LIKE US -- the only thing I'll mention because it made me holler is Serena Williams crip walking on Drake's metaphorical grave. She's another one of his exes.

TURN THE TV OFF -- exactly like he said! The TV is a distraction, the Super Bowl is a distraction, the mainstream news is often a distraction. Turn it off and get with your people!

GAME OVER — could not see this on my stream but at the end of the performance, the lights in the stadium spelled this out. The world is watching, America…

In conclusion, Kendrick Lamar is a visionary and thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[nouearth]

bound to him.

patrick bateman x male reader.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. drabble [ 1.1k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳established relationship 〳 sexual content: top!patrick, sadist!patrick, bottom!reader, masochist!reader, rough!sex, slapping, bondage, light dom/sub dynamics, throat-fucking, breeding.

It hurts. Everything hurts whenever you were with Patrick Bateman.

Not only did you get a thrill out of being treated like you were a disgrace to society, you encouraged Patrick—to slap you harder until your cheeks welted with splotches of red, to spit on you with a veil of disgust in his expression, to tighten the hemp bounds around your wrists until the teeth of the rope broke flesh with its strength— you had no plans on surrendering to the pain, because you were a good boy.

It was undisputed that you were Patrick’s good boy.

You were a good boy that took Patrick’s large and throbbing dick however he pleased. It made you whimper, when the weight of his heavy cock renewed the sting in your battered cheek. Slapping the fresh wound with his swinging cock. Smearing his pre-cum over your bruises like it was calming ointment. You attempted to persuade Patrick to shift his priorities elsewhere with the enticing opening of your mouth, the lick your lips, but Patrick was always a step ahead of you. Laughed at you, he loved doing that, when he pulled his dick away from your mouth at the last second after agonizing minutes of smelling the scent of his leaking cockhead.

He loved tormenting you, unraveling you into a puddle of despair until your consciousness was only responsive to the simple presence of Patrick and his thick cock. “Please, please, please,” you begged, and through your desperation, Patrick was proud to reward you for your patience. Though, only after branding your cheek with a seething smack.

“Another peep out of you, and I’m throwing you out onto the streets. Don’t interrupt me ever again. Got that, bitch?”

He held your nape and slid himself down your throat in one smooth push. You choked on your own spit, on your own gags as Patrick forced those glorious sounds of regret and distress into the valley of your tight throat. He was negligent of your own well-being, priding himself on the fact that your body was in reserve for Patrick only.

Until his cock was shoved down to the root. Until your swollen mouth was pressed to the well-groomed pubic area of his body. Until he could feel your throat tighten in futile attempts to swallow his dick down. Until you were in tears because you were at the brink of blacking out. Patrick held your neck tighter, slapping your cheeks in both wonder and in rapture. Ten seconds became twenty. Twenty seconds became forty. A minute becomes two. Copious amounts of drool was leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto his satin sheets—you were absolutely going to pay for that mess.

And you happily will, because you were Patrick’s good boy.

Once he was done throat-fucking you, you should be surrendering, weakly waving a white flag in the air because Patrick had gone too far. You should be begging for mercy, to be let go, to be freed from the ropes that bound you to his headboard. It wasn’t like you could escape, all you could do was tug. Tug hard at the ropes, twist until the friction had seared marks onto your wrists, but it was all hopeless, the headboard wouldn’t budge. Not a single wobble. You could see wrath and lust in Patrick’s gaze when he pushed your legs back ‘till your knees touched your chest, and right there, this was your chance to escape. You should demand him to stop before it was too late—but you didn’t, because why would you?

Why would you want the pain to stop, when you haven’t gotten a taste of what true pain felt like? When Patrick breached your unprepared hole in one strong thrust, it knocked the tears out of you and stunned you into silence. You felt meek, full of shame and guilt because you were losing yourself to this man’s violent need to completely rapture you like you were some kind of roadkill. Your cock throbbed in excitement as Patrick battered your insides, fucking like he could bruise your gut and see the color bloom at the most tender spots on your body.

He was big, he was so fucking big, and your hole was gripping him, pleading for him to slow down, but that only aroused Patrick, driving his cock forward and back harder, ripping your ass into two. Faster. Harder. Slamming the headboard into the wall with the impact of his thrusts. Smacking his strong, toned thighs against the back of your sweaty legs. It felt like a thousand pin-needles prickling your thighs, then at your face, when Patrick smacked you out of the blue—because he can.

Again, because he owned you.

Again, because you would take it like a good boy.

Again, because you came without his permission.

And again, because although he would never admit it, you looked so pretty crying, splattering cum all over your body while begging for him to hit you harder for the happy accident.

You were taking him, letting Patrick bury his juicy cock inside of you to the root. Churning your hole like he was on a mission to gut you until he was left with shattered bones to fuck. Your piercing cries echoed in the room. Patrick’s large shaft unrelenting and unforgiving, punching your prostate more than a multiple of times to milk your orgasm.

Patrick fucked you with deep strokes, fiery passion in his eyes, veins pulsing from biceps to forearms, sweat stuck to his fringe briefly before he pushed them back to free his vision—because he grunted with completion. He needed to see the marbling of your eyes, the pair rolling back into your eye sockets as he filled your violated hole with warm and thick seed. His hands on your hips were bruising, nails digging into your skin while he rocked your body into his cock, creaming your insides until his balls had tightened from the emptiness. You could feel your hole leaking with his cum, trickling out of you like a combusted can of whipped cream.

Then all was quiet as Patrick caught his breath, staring at your bounded wrecked body like it was slaughtered meat hung up to dry-age. His fingers ran over your ribs, smearing your splatters of cum from one side to the other, nails scraping over your collarbones, then scoffed.

“Don’t you think you should be punished for coming before me? I ought to rope that bitch cock of yours. Open your mouth.”

He was lethal, and you knew he wasn’t good for you, but you couldn’t get enough. You would do anything for him. You were afraid of the person he had turned you into, all by means of his abuse, of his large cock, but you were too far gone.

You were devoted to Patrick, loyal, and honorable.

And most importantly, you were his.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Deity - Altar

tw: yandere behaviour, possessive/obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, diety uses he/him pronouns, gaslighting, yandere using his abilities to mess with reader’s perception of reality

“Haven’t you come to worship at my altar?”

•A lone Deity part of a forgotten pantheon, lost to the sands of time. What once was a bountiful temple; filled with offerings and gifts of fruits, meats, candles, with sounds of prayers and hymns of worship ringing through the halls, people streaming in to sing his praise, is now nothing but an empty ruin.

•He’s so very lonely. Nary a person has come to visit him in centuries. Years pass by and he has nothing, no one. Until you. A fateful eve when you happen upon the temple. Hidden away in the heart of a lush jungle, you, an archaeologist, find your El Dorado, your city of gold. You’d long since heard tales of a lost civilization, an Atlantis on land. Yet, here the remnants lay in front of your eyes.

•At the heart of the ruins lays a temple, grand and golden. Although time has chipped away at its’ grandeur, it’s still glorious, in your opinion. It’s a testament to humanity’s evolution. You don’t notice him though, no one does. But he’s noticed you. Nosy little thing, aren’t you? Impudent, little mortal wretch. He ought to kill you for your audacity. Daring to defile his sacred temple, you deserve nothing but the most painful end,

•But, you’re not actually defiling it, are you? You’re so respectful, treating every artifact as though it were the Holy Grail. You revere his temple, it’s a wonder, a marvel to you. It, you treatment, you reverence— you make him feel something new, something foreign. The attention you give him is intoxicating. He’s been forgotten, left behind. Yet, you’re here now. And he isn’t going to let you go.

•So, when a series of natural disasters occurs and suddenly your team is halved, some leaving after the first incident, others meeting fates you don’t want to recall. The others are slowly losing hope, they’ve lost friends, money, time to your passion project. This is your life’s work, you can’t just give up, can you? You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you’re smart enough to know when to cut your losses.

•Then, another freak accident hits. This time is more devastating. Nobody escaped unscathed, nobody escapes at all. Nobody is except for you. You slip in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re in the rubble amongst your dead coworkers and friends, and suddenly you’re in a bed, soft and warm. You’re delirious, unable to actually make out anything. But you’re certain there’s someone taking care of you. A man. A beautiful man, something, someone, divine. His touch is soft and gentle. Caring even. He placates you with sweet platitudes you can’t quite comprehend in this state, but the smooth baritone of his voice makes your heart soar.

•When you fully regain consciousness, you’re able to see your surroundings. You’re in a room filled with luxury. Ornate decor, golden furniture, the whole nine yards. It’s impressive, if not a little, a lot, off-putting. How did you get here? Who was the man taking care of you? Thousands of questions and thoughts flood your mind. It’s interrupted by him, the man.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

•You blink in confusion. It’s—he’s— everything is too much. Too overwhelming. He chuckles, it’s a rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. He reassures you, slowly and gently placing a strong hand of on your shoulder. There’s something commanding in his soft tone, something compelling you to swallow the lump in your throat and obey. He laughs again and you blush.

•He introduces himself as the one who’s been taking care of you. Doesn’t offer you any explanation as to why, but you ought to be grateful. After all, you could have been left out to die. He offers you food and water. You eat like a man starved and drink the water as though it were the sweetest ambrosia. He offers to let you stay here— where is here?— with him.

“You may leave whenever you decide to leave.”

•He promises, even escorts you out of the room, down halls that moves and shift, and spin around. You’re dizzy, delirious, unable to care for yourself. He carries you back to the room. How embarrassing. Your apologies when you regain your composure are shrugged off. It’s fine, he insists. You’re sick, vulnerable. He reiterates his offer, stay until you get better— you could’ve sworn he said stay forever— and are able to fend for yourself. You nod your head in agreement. It’s the logical choice, really. You’d probably die on your own.

•He smiles a brilliant smile at you, swears he’ll care for you diligently. And he has been, hasn’t he? You’re beginning to trust him, have faith— why?— in him. He stays true to his word. Working tirelessly to care for not only your body but your mind as well. Sleepless nights are spent with him by your side, telling you folktales and myths, singing soft lullabies to lull you to sleep, or even merely conversing with you. Days are spent improving your health. He feeds you by hand sometimes when you are too weak to do it yourself. When your health shows signs of improvement, you both go on walks, exploring the extensive gardens and many palace— temple, building, you’re not sure where you are— halls.

•He gifts you with many things too. Soft silk robes, shining jewels, ancient tomes and books, everything you desire you’re given. It’s not your fault, really, that you start to love him— do you?— especially not when’s he’s so kind. So handsome, beautiful really. He looks inhuman, like something divine. He’s attentive and nurturing. Your own prince charming. Your feelings grow as time progresses— how long has it been, you need to leave— until you can’t contain it.

•One day, as he presses a warm cloth to your forehead, you notice just how close he is. How he’s just out of touch. You greedily drink it in, unconsciously inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. The kiss is soft, chaste and you immediately pull away. Your stammering and feeble apologies are interrupted by his hand cupping your cheek. He leans in, your heart thumping in your chest, and kisses you again. This time, you don’t pull away.

•He, your lover, your heart loves you too. It’s surreal— too surreal— and your days spent together become all the more special. You’re utterly content with him, he’s become the air you breathe, the light of your life, you’re everything. It’s only natural for you to become consumed by him. By your life with your beloved— to forget you ever had a life before— spending eternity forever in his arms.

“We only have until forever, love.”

[helenanell]

A Breath Of Life || Part Two

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 Part One 

Pairing(s) :  Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour. 

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more.  Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

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The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon,  the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands. 

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her. 

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you. 

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own. 

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream. 

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised. 

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious. 

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

 You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine. 

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world. 

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered. 

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens. 

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door. 

The sight of him takes away your breath. 

He is here too. 

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now. 

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt. 

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.  

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness. 

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach. 

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi. 

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves? 

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves. 

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.” 

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“ 

“She won’t care.” 

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?” 

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content. 

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says. 

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.” 

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders. 

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.” 

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you. 

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made. 

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly. 

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

 You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing. 

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.” 

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something. 

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially. 

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.” 

“Then tell her.” He says,  bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. 

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.” 

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

 The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.” 

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?” 

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights. 

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV. 

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward. 

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare. 

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.” 

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face. 

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?” 

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?” 

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver. 

“I’m going to keep dominating.” 

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further. 

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.” 

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

 When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips. 

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know. 

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?” 

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.  

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.” 

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh. 

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe. 

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach. 

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.” 

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet. 

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles. 

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze. 

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside. 

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress. 

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.  

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless. 

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front.  He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open. 

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

 She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression. 

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple. 

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi. 

It’s such a terrible idea-  an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them. 

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them. 

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones. 

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs. 

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair. 

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

 But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her. 

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago. 

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear: 

“Are you okay?” 

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise. 

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you. 

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth. 

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to. 

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

 Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself. 

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content. 

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release. 

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core. 

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force. 

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.” 

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means. 

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.” 

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one. 

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria. 

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

 You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them. 

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair. 

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you. 

Without each other, there is no survival.

[stubz]

Injuries and a ship invasion, no one dies

"Why do they let humans take care of our younglings? If it hadn't been for the coalition then it would've been another century till they realize our existence. Their senses have dulled to the point where its laughable that they are the dominating species of their planet. And lets not forget the fact that they're at constant war with each other over the most stupidest things, color of skin, where one lives, who they love, what they believe, etc."

"Calis stop it! Your being a xenophobe. And while some of that is true you should know by now that the humans care deeply for our children."

"I am simply being concerned parent who worries for their young's safety and well-being...we are in a dangerous area right now, the middle of a war zone, and it would make me feel safer if we had some others at the care centre till reinforcements arrive."

"Trust me my brightest, the humans will do everything they can to ensure the safety of our Dali...and knowing them they'll likely surprise you and live up to their reputation."

"...fine, fine, I apologize, you are right. The humans have surprised me so far, what's one more?"

.

..

...

....

"WHERE IS DALI?! WHERE IS MY YOUNGLING CAPTAIN!"

"Calis calm down! Your arm!"

"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN WHEN ENEMY FORCES HAVE INVADED OUR SHIP AND NONE OF US CAN FIND OUR YOUNG!!"

"Calis, your hurt and so is your partner. Think of Gala, they need you right now."

"...Gala is hurt because they were looking for Dali. They got shot because they were heading to the centre...I have to find Dali. For Gala, Captain."

"I'm sure that Kim and Max are doing everything they can to keep them safe."

"With all do respect Captain, how could 2 unarmed humans survive what our force couldn't."

"...I don't know but its probably going to be one hell of a story we'll be telling for the ages. Now go get your arm treated. That's an order."

.

..

...

....

"WE FOUND THEM!"

"CAPTAIN WE FOUND THE YOUNGLINGS!"

"WE NEED A CRANK AND SEND EVERY AVAILABLE MEDIC!"

"oh great stars please no...nonononono DALI!" the Delzah rushed forward, breaking through the search party, only to be stopped by their captain.

"Calis...you have to let them do their job. We, we just have to hope." he could not help the hitch in his breath. Hoping, praying, that his own child was okay underneath the wreckage that was once the youngling care centre.

They fight and thrash until eventually grief overtakes them. They collapse into the captain's arms wailing.

"...what hope do I have that my child is alive under all that rubble. Captain...the only hope I have is that they died quick and that they are with the stars now..."

"Oh Calis..." he sobs. He knows it. There was hardly a chance that anyone was still alive underneath there. Only the strongest younglings who were from a strong species may survive and his child was not one of those few. They were strong but his child was like him...a runt, the joke of the family. Too small, too weak, too soft. She was surely dead...why couldn't it have been him?

"MAPA!"

"PAPA!"

One by one, children emerge from an opening made in the rubble, and at the front of them was Dali and a small feline like child.

"my glorious star" flinging themself from the Captain Calis dragged themself to meet Dali who leaped into their Mapa's arms.

The captain was not too far behind, running to his daughter and cradling her close. Words were not exchanged but Calis could feel the vibrations coming from their purrs.

"See...I told you they would be waiting..."

last to emerge from the rubble was the humans, carried out on stretchers. Only one was conscious. Glass glittered from their skin, dirt and dust blended with vibrant red blood, staining their white bandages, and a rebar was poking out of the unconscious one's side.

"You...got everyone right?"

"Yes, human Max."

"Good...that's good..." and finally did they lose consciousness.

.

..

...

....

"Apparently they covered the windows and hid the kids in the storage room, putting them to the farthest corner while they formed a human wall in front of the door.

When those quiznaking bastards couldn't break down the door they rigged the centre with explosives. Lucky for us the humans personally requested that the storage room be made durable for the equivalent of their disasters on earth so it held up decently well."

"But how did they get so injured?"

"Decently well, meaning the room wasn't completely stable. Eventually the walls started to give and the humans had to improvise by becoming the new pillars. They took shifts until they both had to hold up the weight for what the kids guess to be 3 hours...imagine holding up all of that weight until you were on your hands and knees with rebars, broken glass, and debris piercing into your body."

"...Gala said that Human Max nearly flatlined and Human Kim needed 2 liters of blood."

"You seem confused."

"...Humans are impressive but how did they do all of that? They were already injured and yet managed to hold up a collapsed ceiling for hours until help arrived, I thought they were completely average and even weaker than us."

"Apparently when their loved ones, especially children, are in danger they tap into their more primal instincts. Allowing them to withstand a shot to the side, a slab of concrete to the head, and hours of keeping a ceiling from collapsing until they know everyone is safe.

Heard a story of a human who died only after he saw his kids was safe from a fire."

"Looks like Gala was right. Humans have surprised me once again."

[hvnishere]

the brain is not against you. ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the sole purpose of the brain, in my eyes, is to keep the body alive. before knowing the law, we were living on autopilot—we let life happen to us because we didn't know about the law or shifting. we needed our brain to help guide us through life and we needed to cling onto patterns of the past to avoid making the same mistakes in the future. we were confided to the borders and regulations of how the brain works—to change ourselves we must heal, do shadow work, go to therapy and maybe then we can be better or simply just something different.

once you learn about the law and put it into practice, you realize that you don't need this anymore—you don't need the brain to help you navigate anymore because you've been the one holding the reins. anything you believe to be true becomes true. a glorious fact to discover, but what about the brain? what is it supposed to do now?

see the brain is like an overprotective parent whose kid (you) is going off to college and becoming an independent adult. the worrying never leaves and to the child it can feel overbearing—why do they worry so much when i know i have this? the thing is to the brain, much like those parents, you'll always be it's baby. it's essentially going through empty nest syndrome. that doesn't make the brain a bad thing, in fact, it just wants to help you out.

learn to coexist. it's not your enemy. if you view the brain as an entity working against you, you will always fight it. humanize it. let it freak out, it's all love. when you decide you're in your desired reality, it might get scared—of course it's freaking out, it's logical and manifesting/shifting isn't logical to it.

whenever the brain freaks out, pause and realize what's happening. it's just scared. you are not the brain and the brain is not you. this separation is scary to it but it doesn't have to be scary for you. tell the brain that it’s okay and remind yourself that you are not it. the thoughts it creates are there to protect you because you are stepping through a door that's unknown to it. the brain will never be aware of different realities because that's your job as you are pure consciousness. do not forget your job and your power. i cannot stress how important it is to identify fully with your power as consciousness, not the brain or body. it isn't necessary but it helps a lot—god wouldn't freak out so why are you?

remind yourself that you are the power and that the power is within you. contemplate this often until it sinks in fully. wake up and remind yourself that you are consciousness in a human body, not a human hoping to be heard by some outside source. remove your ego from the situation and see it as god, not a human. reclaim your rightful place and let the brain do it's thing. live with it, not against it. nurture and love it because it loves you, maybe more than you think.

if you only take one thing away from this post let it be this: you and the brain are two different entities and you’ve always had control—the only difference is now you know you do.

[bbydoll18xx]

A Glorious Sunrise

There’ll be happiness. Paige makes sure of it.

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Themes: angst with a happy ending, paige is flirty and i love her for it

A/N: hiii i've been MIA but i'm back and omg guys i lowkey kinda love this. this song has been my hyperfixation for the past two months and i've been dying to write a fic to happiness but i didn't want it to be paige-angst so this is what i came up with instead.

also i'm lowkey exposing myself with this fic, and i clearly need therapy sooo PLZ BE NICE

please enjoy and lemme know what you think ;)

~

A single tear slides down your cheek as you close the last box of your belongings, landing on the brown cardboard with a wet plop of harsh finality. You gaze around the room, which is now nearly empty, and a sob that you had been suppressing all day manages to break through your normally tough exterior. 

Seven years of love and laughter gone just like that.

And now, here you were, dividing all of your shit into boxes and contemplating if this feeling was even worth the seven years in heaven. 

The empty space where the bed once stood leaves a lump in your throat. Images of being pulled into a warm, strong chest every night bombard your consciousness, and you turn away, unable to stomach it any longer.

It was a simple story, really. 

You and Jake were high school sweethearts, turned college sweethearts. He had taken you to prom and twirled you around in a sparkly, pink dress. He had taken your virginity, and you had imagined your entire life together with bright, starry eyes. 

College was spent between your dorm rooms, crammed into twin beds and talking about kids and houses with white picket fences. You had moved in together after college, and the two of you were blissfully in love.

But last week, Jake had come home late at night with empty eyes and shaky hands, and he had quietly told you that he was done. 

And in the blissfulness of being in love, the words did not even register for a moment. 

You were still dancing when the music stopped. And the world went cold, the sunshine in your life suddenly burnt out like a candle that was blown out by a bitter wind. The smoke was engulfing your cold frame, curling around you in dark, taunting tendrils.

You shiver now, looking back on it all. Your sweatshirts were all packed already, and instinctively, you go to the closet to grab one of Jake’s. 

The realization hits you like a truck, and you stop in your tracks. What is his is no longer yours.

He is no longer yours. 

Fuck. 

No one had taught you what to do when a good man hurts you, so you were going to pick yourself up piece by piece.

~

“Baby, please just listen t’me,” Jake slurs, his voice coming through the speaker of your phone in loud, drunken drawls, causing you to wince. It was the first night in your new apartment, and you were already struggling with the fact that it was just you and the four walls that surrounded you. 

Your voice wavers as you try to remain level headed. “No. I’m not doing this anymore,” you whisper. The other line is silent for a moment, and you think he has given up. But the delicate swoon of a woman’s voice cuts through the phone, and your stomach lurches with both dread and anger. 

It had been a week, and here he was, filling the divide with random women. 

Well, two could play that game. 

It didn’t take long to fall back into old habits. As they say, old habits die screaming, and it had become nearly impossible for you to hold back from the distraction the steady stream of men and women provided. 

It was deeply unhealthy, and you knew it. Once they would leave, you’d seek solace in the steaming shower where the water both hid your tears and washed away the filth of last night’s activities that had lingered on your soft skin. 

No matter how hard you scrubbed, you could not manage to rid yourself of the bruises and the overwhelming shame that seeped out of every pore.

Your body, which was once worshipped with soft kisses and gentle touches, was quickly becoming a way to numb the pain of having the rug pulled out from under you. Dark marks litter your skin in swirling, chaotic patterns that remind you of how little worth you have.

And in the darkness, the cruelest words taunt your inner psyche.

‘Maybe this is all I'm good for anymore.’

~

Those very words echo in your mind as you stumble into your apartment building on an unseasonably warm morning in April. The doorman gives you a sly look as he notices last night's mascara caked into the waterline of your eyes, smudged from the long night and the rough sex that followed.

You duck your head, wanting to disappear, and you hurry through the lobby, wanting to get out of the sparkly dress that was still adorning your body.

You reach the elevator, pressing the button to go up impatiently. The doors open, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Wait! Hold up, I’m coming,” a voice shouts, and you turn to look in the direction of the girl.

It was like a scene out of one of those ridiculous hallmark movies. Blonde hair gleams in the early morning sun, reflecting off of the large glass windows of the lobby. The girl’s blue eyes shine with amusement as you stare up at her, momentarily forgetting your desire to remain unnoticed. 

She steps into the enclosed space with you, and you let out a shaky breath. Her presence was intoxicating, and it was quickly becoming very apparent that you looked like a goddamn mess.

“Fun night?” She asks with a teasing lilt to her voice, and you blush.

“Not really,” you say blandly, surprised by your own candor. “But it was a good distraction.”

The girl studies you, her eyes raking over your collarbone where a large hickey now resided. 

“I’m Paige,” she says, and you tell her your name as the flush extends over your chest, settling into it.

“I’m in apartment 555. Let me know if you ever want to talk,” she winks, walking out of the elevator. “Or if you need a healthier distraction,” she adds over her shoulder right as the doors close. 

Your face blooms with color again, and your belly erupts in the feeling of excitement. 

Because in that moment, you had unconsciously decided to leave it all behind. 

For there was a glorious sunrise looming over the black hills that had risen in your heart, blanketing a warmth you hadn’t felt in months. And her name was apparently Paige. 

Paige was on the forefront of your mind all day, and you welcome the giddiness, inviting it into your heart like an old friend.

A new motivation pours into you as you walk into your apartment, the bare walls emulating the blandness you had been feeling since the breakup. Your eyes glance towards your storage closet, and without a second thought, you begin to decorate, the pieces of you that you once had to keep hidden were now proudly out on display. 

It was the first step to healing. And damn, did it feel good.

~

Healing is never a linear process. And as your thumb grazes over your phone screen, open to Tinder, your mind fights with your heart over falling back into bad habits. 

You huff, looking around to make sure no one watches you as you stand near the elevator waiting to go back home after the gym one afternoon. Your thumb swipes across a few profiles, almost instinctively, as you mindlessly scroll to find someone worthy of your time. 

You weren’t even going to fuck them this time, you tell yourself. You just needed a little attention to fill the void. 

If you repeat it enough times, surely it’ll start to ring true. 

“She’s cute. Why’d you swipe left?” A husky voice murmurs in your ear, and you jump, immediately closing out the app on your phone and whirl around to face the familiar sound.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Paige chuckles, looking you up and down, and you flush.

She just had that effect on you.

“If she’s so cute, why don’t you date her?” You ask, almost defensively, feeling the heat of her gaze. Damn her and those eyes.

“Prefer to meet pretty girls in person,” she smirks, clearly noticing the blush on your cheeks. 

“Did you think about my offer?”

You fight a smile. “Maybe,” you shrug, wanting to keep your cards close to your chest. Even if you had been internally fawning over her the past few weeks, she did not need to know that. 

Her smile widens, and you swear you can actually see a twinkle in her eye. 

“And…?” She goads, leaning in closer to you as the elevator opens, and she leads you in with a hand ghosting across the small of your back. 

“I just got out of a really long relationship,” you start to explain, faltering as she steps even closer into your space. 

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Her eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to yours, tracking your face expertly. 

“I–” you begin, her breath fanning over your face distracting you from being able to put words together. You lean in, your eyes nearly fluttering closed before the elevator pings and the door opens.

You suck in a breath, the realization slamming into you.

Paige squeezes your hip, as you look back up at her wide eyes. 

“8 tonight. Alright?” 

You nod dumbly, enthralled by the trance she had put you in. The elevator doors close, and you’re met with your own reflection staring back at you, and in the silver chrome, you watch your smile come back to life. 

~

You arrive at her door that night, your palms slick, and you wipe them on your pants just in case she holds your hand tonight.

You were lying if you said you hadn’t spent the entire day fantasizing about Paige. You had thought about the way her hair was tucked up in a bun this morning, practically begging you to take it out and run your hands through the soft, golden locks. And you had thought about how her pink, plush lips had formed into a smirk, making you want to tell your funniest jokes just to see the curve of her smile widen. 

You had thought about her hands and the way they had grazed across your skin, setting every nerve ending in your body ablaze with a feeling you hadn’t felt in months. 

All of the people you had hooked up with in your sickening conquest to forget about your ex-boyfriend could not hold a candle to Paige.

And that fucking terrified you. But here you were, at her door, ready to face whatever the universe was going to throw at you. 

There’ll be happiness. You just knew it. 

You shake your head, scolding yourself for the internal gay ramblings, and you knock, waiting for that gorgeous face to appear on the other side. 

The door opens, and your breath hitches as Paige smiles at you, reaching for your hand to pull you inside. 

Thank god you had wiped them off. 

“Welcome to my crib,” she jokes, leading you to sit on her couch.

You scan the room, surprised at how well it was decorated before landing back on her. 

Paige had sat next to you, drawing her legs up in a way that felt strangely intimate. She crosses her hands dramatically. “So, tell me why you’ve been using Tinder to cope.”

You splutter, not expecting her to be so blunt. 

“Damn, you don’t need to roast me,” you giggle, a faux pout on your lips, drawing Paige’s attention to them.

“Is it cuz of your ex?” She asks, and you nod.

“Yeah. I–I guess I just wanted to feel like I had some sort of worth still.”

Paige stares at you with a somber look on her face. She reaches up to cup your cheek, running her thumb across the smooth skin of your jaw. 

“You do. Promise,” she whispers genuinely, and the simplicity of her words rip every single bit of cautiousness from your body. 

And you lean in and kiss her. 

Your lips move in perfect synchronicity, like two dance partners who could see inside each other's minds. You lean into her touch, her hand coming up to rest on your waist, as you nearly squirm onto her lap.

She moans as your mouth opens, letting her fall into you, as two becomes one.

It was perfect and poetic, just as new beginnings tend to be. 

Time slows as you sit with each other, exploring and indulging before you finally pull away, your chest rising and falling in quick, staccato breaths.

Paige places a kiss onto your cheek, brushing her thumb across your lips to sweep away the extra spit that had accumulated amidst the sudden passion. 

“Well, I’d say that was a pretty successful first session, huh?” She teases.

“When’s the next one?” You ask, a giggle bubbling up in your chest, as you lean back into Paige, who just laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

You were going to be just fine.

Paige would make sure of it.

~

welllll what'd you think?? thanks so much for reading

xoxo katy

~

Taglist:

@oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half, @patscorner, @tndaqlifwy , @ch12334 , @double22-k , @inthedeathofherreptuation , @authentic-girl03 , @blueredg52 , @kmoneymartini , @mrsarnold , @ittiwdwysylm @hobbybound @makethemhoesmad @moshuka @jnkbueckers @bridgetloveswomen @melpthatsme @onlyhereforpazzi @cierraonline @paigebuckets6 @glamourdaya @avvwritesstufff

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message :)

[h1biscusgal]

RING RING, CHECK THE CALLER ID. + Masterlist °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ANONS : 🥔, 🥷🏻, 🧇 ⭐, 🧸, ⭐ 🐏 , 🌪️ 🐆, 🦄, 🧚🏻‍♀️,🦩, 🌺,  🍓

Who are you?:

- call me Coco, 18 F and still ageless on my mind, ENFP 'n I love the color pink and cheetah prints, hibiscuses and the neighborhood, and definitely Sonic, and oh I forgot, I'm a master of my own reality, I'm from glorious middle east and I like ice creams, one word for me = chaotic, welcome to my blog!

Why are you here?:

- fair question, I'm here to journal every moment of my life and to maybe connect around with other shifters/manifesters getting their dream life with a snap of my fingers, so why won't ya come along in my journey? Watch me blog on how I managed to enter the void and get my life, as it's my goal currently (ik damn well I can do it).

Current status and achievements:

- living in the end as of being a void state master + entered it consciously as of late, watch me build my life 🌺

Fav song:

- Ik this is new and not many do that, but I mean might as well break the ice in this manifesting community, either way I love "poison by Bell Biv DeVoe" and "Army dreamers by Kate Bush", ngl I also dig some old classics like "Hit 'em up by Tupac" and how can someone forgot the classic "How by the Neighborhood".

(For the love of GOD check the "important asks" section and see if I have answered your question before sending an ask PLEASE 🙏🏻)

My masterlist *:･ (if not linked = not posted yet)

ᯓ★ Shifters little Neighborhood WR, for shiftblrs.

ᯓ★ The all rounder void state subliminal, Voided Hibiscus.

ᯓ★ My HMM hypnosis to enter the void 2 min.

ᯓ★ "too easy" shifting/ void challenge for 7 days.

ᯓ★ Can't manifest/ enter the void/ shift? Think something is stopping you? Read this.

ᯓ★ Gateway to the void and shifting : the hypnagogic state before sleep and how to induce.

ᯓ★ How I entered the void. + Entered again.

ᯓ★ Things I manifested without the void.

ᯓ★ PI, the one advice you will only need. + Quick reminder for you.

ᯓ★ My DRs = part 1

Across the spiderverse DR

ᯓ★ A little motivation for you.

ᯓ★ My new life after the void. (Coming soon)

ᯓ★ Important asks.

ᯓ★ Results with subs = part 1

ᯓ★ Coco's rants and confessions. #coco's rants

ᯓ★ My journey (tw) + where have I shifted so far? Have I manifested anything in the void yet?

ᯓ★ Difference between LD and RS

ᯓ★ The click method (to change the mindset) + what to realize when you're waiting for the "click".

ᯓ★ My anons successes 1 2 3

"Gotta go fast!"

- Sonic the hedgehog

[merakiui]

jade is absolutely getting off to the thought of drugging you up with mushrooms and then using them to fuck you

Oh, most definitely. 😌

“You’re an ash-hole,” is the first thing to tumble out of your mouth. The insult isn’t nearly as biting as you’d hoped it would be, for the slurred way in which you pronounce the expletive dulls its sharpness tenfold. It does earn you a quirk of the mouth from Jade. The exact opposite of what you wanted.

You’re sweating out of your skin, body temperature rocket-high. It almost rivals the stifling humidity of the off-campus woods, which you think might be your resting place if whatever shit Jade spiked your salad with stops your heart. Pre-hike salad, your foot!

He’s found a comfortable clearing, the lush grass more inviting than the cool breeze tickling your cheek. It feels like the wind has a dozen tiny tongues and they’re all lapping at your face. With a shiver, you smack Jade’s arm away when he offers to ease you down. The world is breathing beneath you. The tree trunk you prop yourself against has a heartbeat, and you watch the lines in the bark undulate like saltwater waves.

“As a member of the Mountain Lovers’ Club,” Jade says, lowering to his knees in front of you, his backpack now shrugged off. When you blink, he’s right in front of you next, checking to make sure you’re still lucid. Mostly. “You must be able to discern dangerous flora from the safe ones. The mushrooms mixed in with your salad have hallucinogenic properties. In small amounts, they’re fine. Quite the exciting trip, one might say. But there are some species that have hazardous effects…”

You squeeze your eyes shut again and inhale a shuddering breath. There are spiders beneath your eyelids and in your skin. It prickles. You move to slap nothing off your arm and find that, in the seconds or maybe minutes your world has been turned over, your shorts have been shucked down to your ankles. Jade’s spidery digits creep in close, parting your legs, sliding along your hole through the fabric. You’d kick him if your body wasn’t so keen on melting like candle wax. All you can do is wilt and take in big gulps of air as he presses in, fingers curling beneath your underwear, prodding inside such a private, sensitive place. You’re not sure how much time passes. You swim in and out of consciousness, occasionally snapping back to yourself like a boomerang.

When you come to, it’s with a keening cry and he hums, sounding quite pleased. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you came around his fingers. The embarrassment doesn’t settle for long, not when your skeleton is jittering in its fleshy confines. You think you might be sick. Something is crawling up your throat. Hands? Vomit? It feels weird. Just what was in that salad? What terrible mushroom did he experiment with this time?

And that’s just it. Everything he does is experimental. Never on himself. You’d quite like that—to give him a literal taste of his own medicine and watch him crumple. What a glorious day that would be.

Like a surgeon, Jade slips a pair of latex gloves on. For a horrified moment, you wonder if he really is going to bury you out here. But instead he procures a particularly sizable mushroom from a plastic bag. It looks familiar, but right now there are a dozen names rushing through your mind and none of them can be correct. You watch with even more horror as he tears a little square package open and slides the condom over the mushroom’s stipe, all business. Perfectly clinical.

“Today, we’re going to learn to identify mushrooms and their uses.” He beams. “Starting with this one.”

“I…” Your tongue feels all wrong. Numb. Too long. And then too short. You try to pronounce your next words, but they come out in a messy splutter.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s edible.” Jade smiles angelically.

Gee, thanks for the help. That narrows it down by a lot, you think, sarcastic.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he adds, and when you blink the stipe is pushing against your puckered hole. His fingers are wrapped gently around the cap of the mushroom, holding it steady.

“Wha…” You attempt to crawl back from him, but the tree holds you firm. “Jade—”

“It’s a very popular ingredient in soups and risotto,” he continues, undeterred in his approach.

You dig your fingers into the ground and rip up clumps of grass. It feels wrong. Intrusive. This strange, foreign thing. You squirm weakly, but it doesn’t shake him off.

Dunno, you think, your mouth moving mutely.

“It’s part of the genus Boletus.”

Oh, you hate him something fierce. This smart-ass eel. As if you’d know the scientific name or the genus and whatever-heenus-gleenus. You’ll kill him.

Not really. Because who could kill Jade Leech? Not you.

But the feeling comes something close to death as you imagine yourself weaponizing the blazing sun in your scowl and burning a hole through him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. Instead, your expression falls and you give a short, sweet whine. The mushroom presses in shallowly. Jade watches with a delight that can only be described as exhilaration. His smile is preternatural.

It turns out it’s a penny bun. Boletus edulis. He tells you that halfway into working the thick mushroom in and out of you.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the next one,” he assures, and then you see it. The many mushrooms packed neatly away in his backpack, each one packaged in that chilling, serial-killer-like precision only Jade Leech could have.

[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”

[lemotmo]

I think we should all be reminded of this more often:

What are the Upfronts?

***

Source: wikipedia

Source: 6ABC.com

We have never, in the history of 911, seen advertising for Buddie on such a grand scale. We were bombarded with it. Just when we thought it was over, something new dropped. It was insane and absolutely glorious.

Unfortunately these Upfronts were held in the same week of the season finale. A season finale that came after a couple of episodes that were not well received, because of Bobby's death and the way all of the characters' personal storylines were sidelined in the wake of his death.

If these Upfronts had been held only one week later? Things would have looked decidedly different. Fandom would have been excited for Buddie in season 9.

The timing was just bad and we were all so swept away by Ryan and Oliver's chemistry that we forgot what these Upfronts were really about: Season 9.

So taking all of that into consideration? Coupled with the fact that Ryan and Oliver would NEVER consciously shipbait in any way? They were just there to promote the next season.

I am looking forward to season 9. I have been on this ship since 2019. I'm not leaving until I see those two idiots und up together. I am still 100% confident we'll get there.

But as I've stated before, I have no idea of the timeline. The only thing I know is that, after the major clues in season 8 and the Upfronts? Season 9 seems very promising right now.

Let's not forget that all of that Buddie build up from season 8 is still right there. It didn't just vanish. Non fandom people picked up on it and have clued in that something is brewing between Buck and Eddie. Even more so, a lot of them are anticipating for something to happen between them in season 9.

Buddie firmly stepped out of the strictly fandom spaces, into the limelight of the general audience. That is huge and so much more than what we ever got from FOX.

Further more, the members of the GA who dislike the idea of Buddie can now switch over to '911: Nashville'. It seems like that show will be right up their alley. Good riddance.

In conclusion:

Was the last part of season 8 one giant mess? Yes.

Did Bobby's sudden death throw a wrench into everyone's personal storylines? Yes.

Was there a lot of weird bts stuff going on with Peter/Bobby's goodbye? Yes. Something happened behind the scenes, that much is clear. I don't think we'll ever find out the full truth about that though.

Were we disappointed by how all of this was handled? Yes. As we should be.

But we're past that now.

The Upfronts clearly showed us that Buddie is, now even more than ever, very popular. With audience, fans and the press alike.

Narratively speaking there is only one way this can go. This show has written itself into a corner when it comes to Buddie. The foreshadowing is very clear.

No other love interest will ever compare or be good enough anymore. There is no beating the natural chemistry between Ryan and Oliver. We saw it on full display last week.

So yeah...

You don't have to agree with me or anything like that. I'm not here to proclaim that my opinion is the only opinion that is right.

Everyone is free to draw their own conclusions and make their own decisions. Whatever you decide to do is completely valid and true.

I just wanted to offer some perspective. That's all.

That being said, you can probably tell that I'm still all aboard the Buddie train. There's no getting rid of me. 😄😋

[niechys]

I'm sorry. I'm so not sorry but also so so so sorry. But I can't stop thinking about it.

from @keferon tf mecha universe

(Also if you don't want me tagging you please do tell. I didn't want to bother, just want to credit cuz it's glorious)

it's because of this post.

Happened after This event

I'm sorry in advance for all the grammatical errors.

I also don't know wo else would be the science guy to take this position of explaining the thing. I feel like there has to be someone else that's not Shockwave too. Sorry to all of Brainstorm's fans out there. I think he's not a bad guy. Just too excited for the possibilities.

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

Something lingers inside that mech. Although there is no hard evidence of a human soul or spirit or ghost haunting it, most people who had anything to do with Vortex agreed that it was best to believe its first pilot never leave the cockpit of his mech. After all, nothing else would explain the freak accidents constantly killing all but the latest pilot.

Human are prone to be superstitious. It's normal to believe in something like ghost in the machine, really.

But one would not think a man of sciences such as Shockwave would take the rumors seriously. No one knows if the scientist really believe it or not. He

Regardless of the rumors' validity, it sure did inspired him.

"You're kidding me" Swindle stood, blinked, looked at the incomplete repair of Blurr's mech then back to the technician in front of him. Brainstorm was prattling on at speed faster than Blurr's F1 record.

"Not kidding. Why would I kid? This is a great breakthrough. Lives can be saved and there are much we could do with the tech, I don't know why it never occurs to me or Shockwave that the neural link tech could have been used in this way---"

Swindle turned his brain off during all the scientific mumbo jumbo all and only really heard him again at "It's nothing all that weird really. Some people disagree, but you can't go against Shockwave when he put his mind to it. If you think about it, it's just like Vortex"

"What?" Swindle blinked again.

"Vortex. That mech, I mean the mech's first pilot, crazy psycho, crazy good at slicing up kaijus"

"I know who Vortex was. I worked here when he started piloting. What did that asshole has to do with this?"

"Oh, everything. If, a big if. If that guy's consciousness was still in the mech like people been saying"

"Haunted" Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Brainstorm. The technician corrected him.

"Lingering consciousness. Either way, Blurr is in much better shape than Vortex. Brain still intact . So is most part of his body. We wired him to the neural link to allow him control of the mech. So when we are ready, he can still go about his task from within that mech"

"What . The . Fuck"

Swindle's eyebrow twitched. No, it's NOTHING like Vortex's case. The asshole died and probably refused to leave this world. Blurr, on the other hand, was still alive. Sure he wouldn't be the same. Maybe he would be scarred for life, paralyzed from the waist down or something. But hardwiring a person to a mech?

"So, you were working with Blurr before now, correct? That's why we would like to bring you in as his handler. Not like you have to do maintenances and stuff, just take care of him and, the publicity and all that. Like being his manager" With that, Brainstorm handed him a folder before excusing himself.

The guy wasn't bad most of the time, Swindle thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, his passion for science overshadowed the moral compass.

Like how he wished that his own greed would take precedented in his state of mind. They must have thought he would jump at the chance to milk more profit from Blurr. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this bad if that was the case.

He wanted to refuse. Profit be damn, even he didn't feel right. Blurr saved them. He should be allowed to preserved his humanity, his dignity. Not preserving his brain in a jar inside a mech. If the pilot died and the mech is reparable, you find a new pilot. If the pilot lived but can no longer pilot, you also find a new pilot. Not..this.

But refusing means they will bring someone else on board to manage Blurr. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Fuck

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

**note. Blurr is not reduced to brain in a jar. Most of his body is intact, just hard wired to the mech.

I tink they can add robot parts to him later all stuff. But since they probably value Blurr as a money cow pilot first. If they can't use his face, they can still use his mech.

Sorry again ehehehehehehehehehe

[beuxwhoyouare]

Monster vs. Monster

you might wanna read this & this first

Riley was finishing up his routine optimized to maintain his physique. Almost as if programmed, he whipped out his phone to take a picture of himself to send to Jordan for a status update.

“Nearly complete with workout routine, day 365.”

Riley stood awaiting a response as he slowly realized it had been a year now. A year since he officially took over a human body. Going from technological innovation to perverse defilement of human nature. Jordan programmed an A.I. capable of transferring to a human consciousness and Riley was proof of it. Sure the real Riley had to be “phased out” but it was worth it for science right? Right?

Riley hit one year of being human and what did he have to show for it? Sure he maintained the look and routine of sexual gratification Jordan programmed to do but what about going past that? Being human means no bounds, no limits.

Riley never used to have thoughts like this, well he never really did many things until he finally did. Then a lightbulb, he didn’t have to DO anything. That was the last text he was ever going to send to Jordan. Riley was going to do what he WANTED to.

Riley returned home after showering at the gym and quickly searched for a new outfit, hurrying to avoid a run in with Jordan. He threw a semi-decent outfit on and fled. He was going to live life recklessly like all the humans do. He didn’t have to worry himself with the thoughts of a panicked Jordan trying to track him down, because he owned the scientist nothing.

Part of the last years efforts assimilating into humanity was maintaining Riley’s life. So thankfully he wasn’t broke since he continued working and fled to a nearby hotel. He’d camp here until he figured out his next move. Recklessness was the game, but how would he spend his first chances at normal humanity.

Clubs glorious clubs. If Jordan felt the need to force him to pleasure him surely he could find that from actually attractive people there. Stimulation was the epitome of recklessness. Riley entered the nearest club with swarms of people and made his way to the bar.

“Hi um can I have. Uh. Well I’m not sure.” Riley asked confidently at first before being defeated by his naivety.

The bartender just looking him up and down and winked and went to work. Eventually handing him a glass with cherries and an ambiguous liquor. Instead of over analyzing the cocktail, Riley lifted the glass and downed the drink in one go. The bartender turned away to address another customer before turning back to catch the man he deemed as eye candy shocked that he finished the drink so fast. Deciding to just full send it and make him another one, in the hopes it would pay off later.

Riley began to feel warm thanks to the cocktails and as he approached getting tipsy a smile graced his conventionally attractive face. The gays in the club eyeing up the newly swaggering young man as he slinked his way to the dance floor. The presumptive men kept notioning and tugging on articles of his clothing insinuating he should take them off. His mindset drifted back to being more human as he allowed himself to take off his shirt and allowed the men around him to lower his pants.

Now in a suggestive mood, some began taking pictures with him offering to buy him drinks and more. That’s when he ran into someone that caught his attention.

Ken walked into the club with several others and was greeted by some lips, a daunting chest, and a slutty waist adorned with cobbled abs. The short but amicably muscled Latino eyed Riley like a piece of meat, maybe because that’s all he was to him at first. The formerly lanky grey alien only stole this human appearance a few weeks ago but was eagerly continuing his mission to learn more about this planet and its inhabitants. He had been living up the human experience, some may also say he’d been a bit promiscuous. Humans were so distracting if anything. They always wanted more and he was happy to oblige with his stolen equipment.

The two men locked eyes, both believing that each other would help them in their missions somehow. Ken confidently strided towards the tipsy Riley surrounded by thirsting gay men.

“Do you want to head out with me?” the shorter man inquired.

“Um yes that would be…nice?” Riley stumbled with his words fighting the alcoholic influence on his motor abilities.

Ken took Riley’s hand and swiftly guided him out of the club. The two walked for a while before getting into a cab and heading to Ken’s place. The pair entered a thrashed apartment with stuff everywhere but that was nothing compared to how messy they were. The two were rubbing their hands clumsily all over each other, physically exploring each others swollen bodies.

Ken was on a mission to take over the world but Riley just wanted to be human. Riley had only ever been with Jordan and took the moment to experience new things with Ken’s body. He turned the smaller man over and yanked his pants down as he began to eat him out. In his weeks as Ken, the alien hadn’t yet done this human activity yet and it sent him over the edge. His dark brown eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as Riley’s tongue explored him into pleasure. Ken decided not to steal Riley’s for JUST yet as he continued to fall into pleasure.

Riley had a mental to-do list as a human and he started running through it with Ken. Exploring the limits of what you can do in bed, multiple times. Over an hour later the two fell down onto Ken’s bed breatheless and sore, in the best ways.

Ken felt something in the moment. It could have been the back and forth flipping they’ve been doing all night but he almost felt an affinity for the man he just met. He was in the honeymoon phase of the hookup, a first for the alien. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings and swung an arm over the sleeping Riley and spooned him.

The nightly exchange of fluids and that feeling in Ken’s alien stomach was more than they expected. It was a ritual from Ken’s world that he wasn’t even aware of. The two began to swap forms as pheromones from Ken’s form began to secrete over night as they slept. But it was an uneven exchange. Underneath the guise of being human Ken was still alien anatomically, while Riley was an A.I. driving a real human.

Riley was the first to wake up the next morning and was immediately greeted with a change when he tried to quietly swing his legs off the bed to not disturb Ken. His feet were shorter and significantly lighter complected. He gasped as he hurriedly walked over to the restroom mirror.

He had only known two existences his original digital form and Riley’s body. He smugly watched himself as he lifted his shirt to explore Ken’s body, before realizing things were different. He poked and proded at himself but realized internally he felt way different than Riley. As he tried to stretch and contract muscles he felt way more control of things than when inside Riley.

He explored more before pretending to be Ken and getting ready for an ambiguous day ahead. After brushing his new teeth, he turned around nearly screaming as he saw his old body looking down on him.

God, his first human body was so fine he could feel himself getting turned on, which also felt different but he wasn’t sure why. He launched at the now taller man and began to make out with him. But as they made out Riley felt something pulling. He was so into the moment he didn’t think about it and when he finally was ready to pull away and begin questioning Ken about what happened another thing scared the A.I. man. He pulled away and asked.

“Okay okay what happen…huh why do I sound?”

The alien body sounded just like his old body but how!? As Ken tried to speak he realized what Riley had just done and the new situation they were in. Ken and Riley spent the rest of the evening texting each other their whole background, from A.I. to human and alien to “human”.

When the two finished, they shared their first organic human laughs, albeit one being inaudible. Both sitting and staring at each other in the eyes trying to read what their next moves were. Riley going in to plunge another kiss on Ken. The devious pair could conquer the world but for now they’ll settle on conquering each others new bodies.

[cosmerelists]

How Much You'd Have to Pay Me to Spend the Rest of my Life on Various Cosmere Planets

As requested by anon. :)

If you want me to move to a Cosmere planet and spend the rest of my life there, I hope you're willing to provide the following compensation!

#12: Scadrial Era 2 (Mistborn)

You must pay me: A modest living wage + an apartment in Elendel

Scadrial is one of the more "modern" planets. They have trains, giraffes, fast food, cars. Harmony is in charge, and his general philosophy is "make life easier for the humans." That's the sort of philosophy I can get behind as a resident. However, I would want to know that I would be living a good life, so you'd have to pay me whatever a livable yearly salary would be for the residents of Elendel and oh yes, I want an apartment in the city too because I don't want to be in the Roughs.

#11: Komashi (Yumi and the Nightmare Painter)

You must pay me: Housing and a modest living wage...and a guaranteed post-shroud arrival

Look, Komashi (post-shroud! post-shroud!) would not be so bad. They have TV. They have noodle shops. They have snazzy bisexual lighting. But I assume it's more "expensive" to get me a guaranteed time period. Whereas I think I could plunk down anywhere in Scadrial Era 2, for Komashi I'd REALLY want to be there after the horrible oppressive darkness full of nightmares went away, you know? Then I'm eating noodles in my bedroom while watching TV, and that feels almost normal.

#10: Nalthis (Warbreaker)

You must pay me: A generous living wage, a house, and enough breaths so I don't really get sick anymore

Hallandren doesn't seem like a terrible place to live, but it seems like a "big dirty city" type place from what I remember, so I don't think it would be as nice as Scadrial or Komashi. So I'd like to be richer if I'm living there, and also, I could be swayed by knowing that I'd have enough breaths to not get the FLU TWICE in two months, not that I'm still bitter about the year I've been having or anything.

#9: Sel (Elantris)

You must pay me: I wanna be Elantrian

I assume this is more metaphysically expensive than just paying me a living wage. But listen, to get me to Sel, the planet where a religious army is trying to conquer the whole planet, I'd like to be in the safe magic city where I can be safe and healthy and silver, you know?

#8: Roshar (Stormlight Archive)

You must pay me: Many emerald broams and a nice room in Urithiru and I wanna be an Edgedancer

Look, I'm afraid of weather. Tornados, hurricanes, earthquakes...I don't like the thought that nature can just decide to squish me, you know? So it's gonna take a lot to get me to the Racist War Planet with Multiple Deadly Storms that Consciously Want to Kill Me, you know? I'd need to KNOW I'd be in Urithiru, which seems nice...most of the time, and I'd want to be rich because frankly being poor even in Urithiu seems like a miserable time, and also I'd like to have stormlight. Specifically, I'd want to be the one healing people and sliding around.

#7: Taldain (White Sand)

You must pay me: A glorious spring full of everlasting water that no one tries to kill me to steal

I've read one volume of White Sand. And so all I really know is that it's hard to get water. And I love water. I drink a lot of water. My nickname among my wife's family is the "drought bringer" and that is not a joke. So if I'm moving to Taldain, I need to know that I can have water. But also I don't really want to be killed by the one million people who I presume would want my magical spring. So I'd like to be safe too. I really don't know much about Taldain.

6: First of the Sun (Sixth of the Dusk)

You must pay me: A nice, comfortable life anywhere but the jungle islands please and thank you

I also don't know much about the non-jungle-island parts of First of the Sun. They have a mainland. The mainland people are considered "soft" and "more advanced." I like the sound of that. I realize that this one doesn't seem like an "expensive" wish since I'm just asking once again for a livable wage and a place to live in a specific location, but this one FEELS more expensive because I don't know what the rest of the planet is like and that frightens me. I'd even prefer Taldain.

#5: Lumar (Tress of the Emerald Sea)

You must pay me: I get to pick the nicest island and be rich and somehow have access to Earth media

Some parts of Lumar might be nice. I'm sure the rock that Tress was from was an exception for how sad and barren and sad it was. But I already said that weather is scary, and the thought of being on a planet where rain makes the oceans explode is not my idea of a good time. Plus, it seems boring? Like, I'm not brave enough to travel through the seas that explode when it rains. Which means I'm stuck on my one island. I'm gonna need Netflix or something.

#4: Scadrial Era 1 (Mistborn)

You must pay me: I want to be born in the nicest possible noble house and also become the sort of person who wouldn't be tortured by guilt ever second of every day as a result

Oh man. I actually sat with this one for a long time. I don't WANT to go to the ash world full of slavery. I don't want to be skaa. But the nobles who own the skaa suck so bad. To be honest, I'd want to not be skaa but if I'm transporting there from our world I'd be eaten alive by guilt knowing what I know. So I guess I'd need to become the sort of person who wasn't eaten by guilt. "You should just be like Breeze and join the rebellion," I can hear you saying. But you see--I am not brave. Oh! Maybe I could become the sort of person who is brave??

3: Canticle (Sunlit Man)

You must pay me: All of my friends and family back home get ten million dollars and I join one of the....uh.....nice cities?

What does money even mean on a planet where you have to outrun the sun? Probably nothing. What, am I going to have the nicest hoverbike on the flying city that is constantly trying to outrun the sun?! Look, if I'm going to Canticle, I'd like to be on whatever the friendliest and cleanest city-ship is, one where they don't execute people in horrible gladiatorial games. And also, I'll need all of my friends and family back home to get to retire immediately and start collecting exotic fish or something. Maybe that will get me through.

#2: Threnody (Shadows for Silence)

You must pay me: So much silver plus something AMAZING happens back on Earth like we're talking AMAZING

Look, if I'm going to go to Thenody, where my face will be ripped off by rabid ghosts if I get a papercut or go for a jog, then I'm not settling. I would like an entire mansion of silver, please, so that I can at least defend myself against the rabid ghosts who want to eat my face. And also, I'd need a literal miracle to happen back home on Earth. Like I'm talking: global warming is totally reversed or the antivax movement evaporates or food distribution is so utterly fixed that no one goes hungry or something like that. Then maybe I'll be okay sitting in my house on Threnody, surrounded by a ring of silver, crying. Just crying. All the time.

#1: Braize (Stormlight Archive)

You must pay me: I'M NOT GOING

I don't think any amount of money or favors or miracles could get me to go to the literal Hell Planet where life can barely survive and the Fused are busy Torturing the Heralds for All Eternity.

There are some things that even my wildest dreams cannot buy.

[st-just]

Less Boring 40k Demon Prince Ideas than 'Bigger Angrier Chaos Space Marine'

Unspeakably ancient eldar who was one of the decadent hubristic imperial magnates so good at murderogries they caused the birth of Sleanesh, happily sold out the rest of the species

Sisters of Battle canoness/living saint who was actually genociding people for Khorne instead of the Emperor (took multiple campaigns for anyone to notice, very embarrassing)

Demon Prince of Nurgle that literally is a zombie apocalypse plague, their consciousness distributed throughout the Resident Evil/Left4Dead-style horde and monstrous mutatioons

A Sauron-among-the-Numenoreans disciple of Tzeetch, appears as a normal looking charismatic savant genius who shows up and givens a world's leaders everything they need to start a glorious new golden age (eventual rebellion and/or disastrous collapse can be assumed)

Corrupted machine spirit of a titan (with bonus entire crew of the titan still eternally bound within it)

Just like, any aliens tbh.