#whole 'cog in the machine' mentality

[midcarder]

hey so, i wanna talk about something that has improved my life so much in the last three years.

if you're ever super overwhelmed by the state of everything and feel helpless -be it due to the world or your own life or whatever- i highly recommend doing some volunteer work with a trail crew or a trash cleanup or seeing what a local land trust has going on. because you will see a literal change for the better in just an hour or two, even with the smallest handful of people. you'll see an area cleaned up that other people in your community use. this will fill you with pride and belonging, which is empowering. you did that.

i went to a volunteer event yesterday, and with just 20 people and two hours, we got a trail made, a stream rerouted, and three bridges constructed. aside from the event leaders, i was the most experienced person there, it was everyone else's first time doing this. my spouse came along, and was shocked that so much got done in almost no time whatsoever.

but yeah, it's a real serotonin boost. at the bare minimum, you helped make a difference for others while getting fresh air.

[tinyluvs]

Can I get a fic of Reader slapping Spencer's butt for the first time randomly while he is making coffee or walking by and he does know how to react and Reader thinks his confusion is the funniest thing ever. (Up to you if you want to extend it further iykyk)

the mental image this gave me is *chefs kiss* tyyyy so much

the smell of coffee starts to fill spencer's apartment, you give a small sniff to the air, trying to figure out what coffee pods he's using but to no avail, you can't work it out from the bed

with a yawn, you wander down the hallway, smiling to yourself when the sound of classical music pours out from a distant radio, "morning," you hum as you round the corner into the kitchen

spencer startles slightly but turns, back resting against the countertop as he looks at you, all gentle eyes and a soft smile, "morning honey, coffee?" he asks, tilting his head slightly

"please," you answer simply, pulling yourself up onto the corner of the counter. you start to sway to the music, not a personal choice but definitely not the worst thing you could be listening to early in the morning

you watch as spencer finds one of your mugs and one of the pods he had bought specifically for you, "do you want breakfast?" he asks, pushing the mug under the stream of hot water

"no thanks angel, just coffee for now," you mumble through another yawn. he hums, acknowledging your answer while his back is turned towards you.

the coffee machine splutters quietly and seconds later spencer's pushing your coffee mug along the counter with a gentle smile and a nod.

you mornings are always the same. you get your coffee, silently sipping it while your boyfriend moves around the kitchen, making his breakfast without saying a word, just the radio playing softly

by the time you're done with your coffee, spencer has already finished his cereal. you hop off of the counter when he starts to roll up his sleeves, kitchen sink filling with warm water

"thanks pretty boy," you giggle, finally feeling alive and not like you're sleep walking. you reach round one side of his body, dumping the mug into the sink before passing behind his back and without thinking, you slap his ass, not hard but just hard enough to make a sound

spencer makes a noise you've never heard before, a mix of a grunt, shriek and a shout, which makes you jump and whip around to face him again, "what was that? what is wrong with you?" he gasps, eyes wide as his hand flaps to turn the taps off

"have i never slapped your ass before?" you ask slowly before biting down on your bottom lip as you attempt not to laugh at the look of pure horror on his face

his eyes somehow widen even further, just for a second, his head shaking slightly, "what? no!" he huffs, brushing the butt of his trousers with both of his hands

the whole ordeal is too much and it forces you to break out laughing, your hand on the counter as you double over, "i'm sorry," you struggle out between a cackle and a cough

"no you're not," spencer grumbles, arms folding over his chest, "why on earth would you do that?" he asks, seriously, glaring at you fiercely.

it takes longer than you'd like to admit before you're recovering, standing up straight, hands wiping a stray tear off of your cheek, "it's just something people do when they're in relationships, spence," you explain

your boyfriend looks at you completely unconvinced, "why?" he asks again and you're sure you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain

you shrug, "because, people like it, i don't know," you take a step towards him and he takes a step back causing you to snicker, "why, didn't you like it?"

"no!," he shrieks too fast but then his eyes soften and he thinks, hard, "actually, i don't know, it surprised me too much," he says quietly, a red blush passing over his cheeks quickly

your laughing and giggling subsides, "want me to do it again?" you ask, softly, not wanting to make him feel embarrassed about anything

"not now,' spencer says slowly, starting to back away from you, "would probably be awkward now, right? right,” he asks through a nervous chuckle as you start to stalk after him

you hum, not a yes or a no as your eyes travel down to his hands, moving to cover his butt, "spence, i want a kiss, i'm not going to attack you," you do giggle this time

spencer makes a slight oh sound before crowding into your space for kisses, lots of little ones, tasting like coffee before he's kissing you a little longer and slightly deeper. he gets distracted, his hands sliding over your waist, just like you knew he would

"aha!" you cry, victorious, as both of your hands slap at his ass before he knows what's happening. you turn on your heel as he gasps, loudly, taking off back towards the bedroom

"i'll get you," he shouts, only a few steps behind you. it's your turn for your hands to shield your butt now, zigzagging your way down the hall until you're launching yourself into the air and landing on the bed, pressing your back down into the mattress with a giggle

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

+

i like to think that spencer does like it, eventually. blushes when you walk past n gently tap at his ass BUT going up stairs in front of you gives him the FEAR to the point you just tease him about it

[thetimelordbatgirl]

What's sad is that this was almost a good idea when he started off with saying he's going to get 8,500 new mental health workers to help people with mental health issues.... ...But then he had to finish with, "support people back to work.", making it clear the end goal is not to help the people with mental health issues in general but just to get them back into being cogs in the machine. Which in turn makes you wonder if these mental health workers will even have the training needed and instead, just be people determined to get a pay check if it means declaring someone fit for work even when they not that and therefore, screwing over disabled people more and more. Granted its also questionable where the fuck these mental health workers are meant to come from or why Keir thinks 8,500 will cover the whole country, but given what I just pointed out, its very clear the help will be just job coaching and not focusing on mental health at all and basically forcing people through more work capability assessments.

[chiprewington]

Out of curiosity, is there an interaction between Perry and Chip that you think about constantly?

Like just.. A favorite interaction of theirs that randomly pops into your head on occasion over and over again for no apparent reason other than you just enjoy the mental (or physical, if you'd drawn it before!) image?

Oh cog, there's a lot to choose from- but honestly, there's one that specifically comes out to mind and is something I really would like to illustrate at some point.

As a warning, I'm not a writer! A lot of this is probably gonna be very. Rambly. Part of this is also genuine headcanons, while another part is silly nonsense between Perry and Chip.

To start off with background context, Suits have the ability to sort of "link up" with one another, establishing some kind of wired connection (probably a specific cable located in the chest indicator) between two individuals that allows them to transfer memories and emotions. It's an immensely reassuring thing for individuals who may struggle with reflecting their emotions or struggle with understanding emotions from others. This cable probably is also used for receiving firmware updates and installing necessary software as a fallback if wireless connection isn't feasible.

For Chip, this meant everything. He fits that bill on both ends and used this connection to be able to better understand that his friends do genuinely give a damn about him.

Come the Override, however... this isn't possible. Or at least not fully. He is still capable of receiving information from someone else linked up to him, he can still receive firmware updates and what have you. What he can't do is give information about himself. The moment someone tries to connect to him, they would be immediately overwhelmed by a sheer amount of garbage noise that would make it incredibly hard to focus on the information exchange. Theoretically, this does mean that Chip can still be told he's loved by a dear friend as an undeniable truth, but it just doesn't seem worth if when it's impossible to convey that you feel the same. Despite it being therapeutic for him in the past, it's yet another thing that was ripped away from him by the Override.

That's when Perry comes into play, far into their bond with one another. After taking eir time researching into Suit structure and building to better understand how to conduct repairs on Chip, ey would eventually come upon the whole wired connection deal and be curious. Of course, a Toon doesn't really have cables or need to be plugged into anything. However, ey definitely had an idea on how to make it work (with telling Chip in advance, of course. He was a bit skeptical of the idea- but was convinced to give the connection a try again after all this time).

Cue Perry waltzing into the back room with a TENS machine, prompting immediate confusion from Chip. Ey have an idea. Ey don't know if it'll work, but ey sure have an idea. In place of one of the cables, Chip instead plugs himself into the machine while one of the electrodes is slapped onto Perry forehead. Ey look a bit silly with it. Turn the machine on, and...

Perry heavily winces. It works! ...But all Perry hears and feels is garbage noise. It makes em scattered, of course leading Chip to becoming concerned, leaning towards wanting to call this off, but this toon is a stubborn one. Ey still pull through, able to send information to Chip about how much ey love him, truly. Allow him to peer into careful choices of memories, able to feel what ey felt in the moment, even if certain ones were oddly... incomprehensible, for some reason. Still though, the moment wasn't as good as it could be, knowing that he couldn't reciprocate the gesture.

The constant having to actively Not think about The Grey however, but with the barrage of awful static filling eir ears, Perry would start to feel a disconnect in that moment, and that disconnect would surprisingly play the cards in both their favor.

For just a moment, everything was suddenly clear. Perry had the wind knocked out of eir lungs. Ey could feel eir eyes immediately start to water. Ey couldn't speak. Ey could only reach up and hold him by his face.

And then the garbage noise was back.

This session ended shortly after that. Perry kept holding onto Chip for the rest of the hour until he had to return to work.

It was nice. But it was so, so awful at the same time. ...This is yet another routine these two would incorporate into their schedules.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

yeh i am mentally asigning the fnaf cast bugsonas now cus oooh what if they were little guys :]

Bill is a Long-Nosed Weevil cus like... look at them. They're also pretty common in the UK and they can infest stored foods and rot them- just like Bill does with people's lives!

Henry is a Mole Cricket cus crickets construct things and Mole Crickets have those strong front legs for digging. They're also pretty bulky. Crickets also sing and so does Henry :]

Mikey is a Roly Poly cus there's that parasite that can attack them and also they eat dead things. Mikey's whole deal is his closeness to death and him cleaning up after his dad so. Also Mikey would roll up into a ball like that if he could.

Paul's a standard Worker Ant. A cog in the capitalist machine. The poor guy.

I think Jerry's some kinda Nomad Bee. Easily mistaken for a wasp and solitary. Very bright and kinda shaped funny. Endearing little guys.

[cdroloisms]

Oh I was just haunted by jmah!Dream’s deteriorating mental state

:C my BOYYY

and it's awful, too, because it's not like Dream is in a particularly good state of mind when the prison starts in the first place. and he's in here because he's terrified (and he's in here as punishment) and he's in here because even though Sam hates him--and he's ensured that Sam hates him, and he's planning to do more to make sure of that fact as well (in canon, c!Dream is talking to c!Sam 'all about exile' in those first few days)--Sam will do his job. he trusts him to do his job. he knows Sam, the man that he's worked with for the last month on this project, on making sure this prison is as secure as it can possibly be, one of the final few people to work with him before the events of the green festival, doomsday, staged finale etc. made sure he'd stand alone, just where he was supposed to. this is a Dream that's already been swimming in the lava before Sam travels back in time.

unlike Sam's betrayal in canon, there's nothing slow about what happens in JMAH. there's no ability for him to cope and go yeah, Sam's being kind of serious, but it's no big deal, yeah, this place kind of sucks, but it's survivable, yeah, there's some mistreatment, but I expected that. in an instant, Sam goes from a predictable cog in the machine meant to keep him alive into a stranger hellbent on torturing the fuck out of him, and he has no idea why. Sam is nowhere near as straightforward as Quackity in explaining what the hell he wants out of Dream--he asks for the book, sure, but also for information, also for complete obedience, also for explanations for things he shouldn't know and punishments for things he never did. there is no promise that the revive book will end anything, for this Dream, and no one to give him anything at all but the Warden.

just ,, the lengths to which this Sam is willing to go, the intensity of his obsession, the way he'd be left reeling with no choice other than to endure and wonder why breaks my heart. Dream has no fucking clue to what end this is all for, and i think he struggles a lot with that. worse than just the torture, perhaps, is the familiarity, the sparks of something that is almost fondness, the satisfaction in Sam's voice when he's gotten something and Dream isn't even sure what he's just given away--and maybe it'd be easier to understand if what Sam wanted from him were any more straightforward, if the desire could pan out as something as simple as sadistic pleasure at hurting him or deriving some kind of gratification from making him submit or wanting power or to eliminate a threat or anything, but all that is clear is that Sam wants something from him and will stop at nothing to get it.

c!Dream and identity is already a finicky thing as well as his whole complex about himself and evil--c!Dream thinks he's a person that does evil things to achieve good ends, but he struggles pretty heavily, honestly, with himself-as-evil and being viewed as evil-and-just-evil and actually being the tyrant-villain-monster-snake-that-just-bites, etc, which means that there is a level of vulnerability here when it comes to how he sees himself and builds his identity and the constant, relentless onslaught of . pain and torture combined with Sam justifying it all by Who He Is Innately and monologuing about how he deserves it all, because c!Dream isn't a person that doesn't think that punishment as a concept is wrong and doesn't necessarily disagree that he's evil either. and again. torture self harm box of mental illness. and part of the problem with a Sam that's fresh from Daedalus and then thrust into kind of the worst possible position of reflecting on those conversations by being in a place where he's able to fall hard on old habits to copium his way out of dealing with anything he personally might have done (because obviously he can just Fix It Now) while also having the additional cope of i-am-godsent-to-make-everything-better BY keeping dream in a box, you kind of get a situation where both Dream and Sam are psychologically in pretty vulnerable places and then you're taking a torture machine hammer to those stress points. so it's fun.

i have no clue if that last paragraph made any kind of sense btw.

but ... yeah. even for any character in any kind of state the insane torture contraption of torture efficiency would be. erm. extremely damaging to one's mental health, to say the least. the only good thing for dream i guess is that sam still has his head too far up his own ass to actually git gud at conditioning anyone deliberately and is therefore still largely skating by By Accident, because otherwise his head would've been even more blendered than it already gets.

[txttletale]

does it sound insane that i work in a sort of adjacently evil form of occupation under capitalism - i mean like finance or accounting, not like engineer at the murder factory - and i still would rather a world without these functions

what exactly is going to happen in communism to people who worked in jobs that largely existed only in capitalism - are we all going to get thrown into a pit

this is meant in good faith, i wanted to work in a job that helped people - was previously a nurse, but autism made it difficulty to continue so i dropped out - and i don't know if i can deal with my career just being a cog in the machine of capitalism.

i don't think it's insane to be have revolutionary beliefes despite them not being in your own class interest--marxist class analysis is just that, analysis of classes as a whole, not individuals. engels was famously a capitalist himself.

one of the main liberatory projects of marxism is to put an end to the vast number of professions and jobs and markets that exists only to enrich capitalists--and of course this doesn't mean dispensing with or harming the people currently doing these professions. it means freeing these people from having to sell hours of their lives to capitalists in order to survive--allowing people to instead work towards the betterment of themselves and their communities

you're not insane! you are not an enemy of any communist so long as you also want an end to the capitalist system and you are not actively one of its enforcers.

In a higher phase of communist society, after the enslaving subordination of the individual to the division of labor, and with it also the antithesis between mental and physical labor, has vanished, after labor has become not only a livelihood but life's prime want, after the productive forces have increased with the all-round development of the individual, and all the springs of co-operative wealth flow more abundantly--only then can the narrow horizon of bourgeois law be left behind in its entirety and society inscribe on its banners: From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs!"

— Karl Marx, Critique of the Gotha Program

[greenlyren12]

Repairs - Crosshair x GN!Reader

word count: 2.2k

Summary: Set after Crosshair's rescue from the platform, reader is on a mission to help him heal.

A/N:

Hello, my plan for this is to be a 2 parter, so expect an update soon. My whole idea for this fic was to give crossy a friend and some comfort, we all need it after that episode. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, have a nice day/night :)

The Empire had clasped its ugly claws around your planet years ago. Your parents had witnessed it all, in the start – the Separatists and now Palpatine’s dictatorship. Being born into it, you knew nothing of the outside worlds. Dreaming seemed unallowed for you. All labor done on the planet was for feeding the fat bellies of imperials and fueling their death ships.

Choice was never an option, nor was peace, but it went down to two paths for everyone – arduous physical work or the medical field. Everyone from janitors to high ranking pilots was worked to death and by decision, it was your job to fix them up.

Working in rehabilitation was dispiriting, some of the sights you were a witness to, you’d never stop having nightmares about. It was plain and simple, everyone was a cog in their machine, therefore expandable. Taking care of all kinds of people helped you make peace with yourself a little. You had seen it all, from twi’leks with missing parts of their lekkus to humans who could not do anything by themselves anymore.

That was your everyday, drowning in patients in the hopes of achieving something good.

***

Today was nothing unusual, though you had a new patient coming. Sitting in a chair in front of the door, you waited for his arrival. With crossed legs and a perplexed look on your face, you read his records on your datapad. One finger tapping the metal handle of the chair, to say you were interested would be an understatement.

It was heartbreaking,

All empire documentation was devoid of any kind of emotion, so you had a knack for sensing the real situation. Usually, all clone cases made your heart twist in pain, but this in particular was tragic. The creation of the bred for war only soldiers was deplorable.

As you were reading about his brothers’ desertion, a dark figure entered. Looking up with heavy eyelids from the lack of sleep, your gaze met his. Your first thought was that he was beautiful, all clones were, but he was different. The man in front of you was lithe and tall, but there was something twisted inside of him. As if the air around him sizzled with tension. His shoulders fell heavy, though his copper eyes contrasted his gloomy nature. A dark gash painted the right side of his head and bellow, on his eye laid a crosshair tattoo.

He looked different from the kept records photos, his silver locks were missing and he looked sadder, if it were more possible.

Not wanting to keep him at the entrance, you stood up, carefully approaching him. The clone seemed perpetually on edge, so taking very careful steps, as if to not disturb him, you stood in front of him.

“Good morning, sir.” You happily chimed.

The man eyed you, head to toe, with a very angry look. The scowl he apparently always wore deepened and he said nothing. Awkward silence was let to drown the room. You gave him an unamused look, that was rude for no reason.

“Follow me.” Annoyance laced in your tone, you avoided his eye.

You led him to the countertop where you kept your track records, physical evaluations were always first. The work assigned to you would not be a lot, reading of what he went through on that platform, the mental rehabilitation would be a lot more taxing.

He moved like a feline, but also very rigid. Every move the clone made was deliberate and thought through, a soldier's preciseness always put you on edge.

“Put your arms up please.” You requested, as if you were the one being evaluated, his stare burned holes in your body.

The man in front of you put his arms up and looked dead in front, unmoving like a statue, like he was scared to show he was breathing.

Always keeping a check on his face, scared of seeing it contort with anger again, you carefully started examining his left hand.

“Do you sleep well, CT-9904?”

You hated referring to them by their numbers, but this was protocol and the clone had already stated his dislike of being here.

“Do you?” He said with all of the offense he could muster, eyebrows knitting, mouth turning downside.

Getting caught off guard by his insolence you stopped checking his arm and looked at him questioningly. The nerve of this guy. The answer to your question laid under his eyes, it was clear.

Who would be able to sleep after being left for dead?

You had seen enough faces to know, he was tormented. After all, this was standard procedure and making conversation made the patients feel better, apparently not this one.

Switching to his right arm and keeping your composure you asked him nicely.

“What is your name?” Offering him a sweet smile.

For the first time you saw a different emotion from anger on his face. Surprisement was clear on his features for a good second, then he put the mask back on. If he had to be frank with himself, no one had acknowledged his existence in so long, let alone ask him for his name.

“Crosshair.” The sniper, apparently, said with mouth forming a tight line, gazing curiously at you now.

Looking at his right eye you snorted.

“Bright one, aren’t you.” You said while shaking your head and then you felt a fracture on his palm.

The pressure should’ve made him flinch or at least wince but he was cold as a stone.

“You’re not on the battlefield anymore, I’m here to help you.” You said sadly while holding his index finger, searching for something in his eyes.

“I don’t need your help.” Crosshair venomously bit, never breaking eye contact.

You started to understand the game he was playing, and two could play that game.

“Your officer seems to think differently.”

“Look, there is clearly something wrong with your palm,” You said while writing down his injuries on your datapad.

“I know it hurts, I’m not going to twist it if you show any kind of emotion, if you don’t keep testing me that’s it.” You looked at him with a smile.

“Noted.” Crosshair said with the slightest tint of amusement.

Feeling proud of getting the littlest smile off him, you placed your datapad on the counter next to you.

“I have a proposition.” You requested after eyeing him carefully.

Crosshair grunted a hm and let you finish, while crossing his arms in front of him, cocking his hip. He was very alluring, if you forgot his off-putting demeanor.

“My schedule for today is to get you moving your body, but you seem very off on me helping you and If I don’t do my job, I will get in trouble. So why don’t you follow my lead and I’ll just watch from here, marksman? 

Crosshair weighed his options, thinking, he decided this was the best course.

“Okay.” The sniper grumbled.

You sat on a chair next to the counter, putting your head on your palm and intently observing him, even if he was a pain in the ass, his presence was a breath of fresh air.

You spent the next 30 minutes explaining exercises to him and, surprisingly, he followed every instruction.

Crosshair was stretching his shoulders now.

“Can I ask anything about your life?” You playfully asked him, already knowing the answer, cocking your head to the side waiting for an answer.

“No.” The clone almost cut you mid sentences as he bent down to his toes.

“When did you get the injury on your head?”

Crosshair shot you such a ferocious look you almost fell down your chair. Putting your hands in one another for some type of comfort you shot him a sorry look.

“I’m sorry for what happened.” You truthfully said to the dejected clone.

“I don’t need your pity.” He didn’t look you in the eye now.

“But I do pity you, and you do need someone’s pity, what happened to you was awful. I’m sure you did not deserve it, I’m sorry.” It was your job to comfort people but this was genuine.

For all of Crosshair’s silence, he was very easy to read. You think he understood you, and he graced you with a hm.

“Are you eating well?” You tried to lighten the mood.

“Have you seen the food in the mess?” Crosshair rhetorically asked you.

“Fair point, I can bring you something from home next time.”

***

Crosshair remained in your care for the next 3 months. You reread his file multiple times. Truthfully, you teared up while reading it the last time, you were sure he had no friends now. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but you anticipated his visits and he was showing progress. He somehow became nice company, letting his guard down, he always knew what to say.

It was just a speculation on your part but he really did have no one. Crosshair was out of commission and he was useless to the Empire, he missed his brothers now more than ever. Everyday was the same lonely pit and he could not bear it anymore. After the second week he couldn’t sleep anymore, night terrors. Everyone avoided him, except for you. You seemed to have an interest in him for a reason he could not fathom, and you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. So he frequented your office as much as he could, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

Over time he let you touch him, he felt like a boy again but it was beyond him, he was so alone.

“Can you show me how to do this?” Crosshair almost seductively requested.

He took you by surprise, he knew the exercise by heart, he wanted you to touch him. Over time you practiced manners together, if he wanted to be a functioning member of society he had to let the attitude go. That, of course, never happened, but he became softer and nicer. He started saying please and thank you, little did you know he only did it for you. He loved your gratification and you loved praising him, only you deserved that side of him in his eyes.

“Manners, sniper.” You joyfully said while approaching him.

“Please.” He genuinely asked.

“Are you finally going to let me do my job?”

“Happy, doc?” He smiled at you, a rare sight.

A totally professional setting could not be more intimate, Crosshair was extremely closed off and he let you inside his space, to guide him. You closed the space between each other and gingerly guided his arm up while pressing a palm on the small of his back. You felt every breath he took, slow and careful but his heart was pounding. His clear anxiousness got you nervous as well and you stumbled on his foot. Completely towering over you, he helped you regain your footing.

“You getting nervous?” He said with a devilish smile.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cross.” You replied while putting a distance between the two of you.

“I know a liar when I see one, cyare.”

He started calling you that about two weeks ago. You had no idea what the nickname meant and he refused to grace you with an explanation, so you figured the worst.

“Don’t get on my bad side, lanky.” You teased him while going for your papers.

***

You dreaded today, it was Crosshair’s last appointed visit. Which meant he would not need you anymore, he wouldn’t be obliged to visit. It made something inside you twist in agony, you’d miss him. He would be assigned missions again and he would be busy.

He could die.

You swatted that thought out of your mind and entered the rehabilitation room. A little bit after that he entered as well. Both of you were clearly feeling down. You sat expectantly on your chair and waited for him to start his warm up but he stilled.

Offering you a palm Crosshair spoke to you.

“Want to do this together?” For the first time he was unsure of himself in front of you, but he craved you and your touch.

Your gaze widened and you smiled.

“I would love to.”

You spent the entire session glued to each other, helping him and guiding him. Being a part of his healing process, you joked around together and he graced you with a quiet laugh for the first time. You were truly happy for a while.

He was still the same bruised clone that entered your room 3 months ago but something had shifted in him. A different kind of glint sparkled in his brown eyes now. It made your heart ache, you didn’t want to lose him.

Being done with everything you let go of him but remained close, looking in his eyes you just stayed. Crosshair closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to your own, your breath hitched and you melted by his innocent touch. You caressed his bad arm and just stayed like this for a while. Pulling back, you gave him the sweetest smile you could, no words were exchanged and none were needed to.

You said your goodbyes.

“If anything hurts again, you come to me, you hear me, do not suffer in silence.”

He gave you a melancholic look and turned around to leave. Stalling on the entrance he looked back at you.

“I got burned after my brothers deserted.” Crosshair finally answered your question and left out the door.

[ugliestbimbo]

i wrote something a while back, unrelated to any fledged-out fics or ideas. i was gonna post it here like a week ago, but ig i forgor. here it is:

also some CWs (theyre not too bad tho):

- SLIGHT violence

- MINORLY REFERENCED pedophilia

- IMPLIED child abuse(?)

- mental issues, idk if that counts as a CW tho

——————————

From the moment he was born, Kalim was held in high regard. It wasn't just that he was the heir to the Asim fortune, in all honestly that paled in comparison to his true 'calling'.

Pure porcelain locks, destined to curl every which way and envelope the world around him in light.

Smooth, soft, sand-tinted skin, a perfect blank canvas for his ‘legacy’, whatever that could’ve meant.

Dazzling blood-red eyes, shining in the night like precious jewels, a story dancing beneath their irises.

Or, that's what everybody told him, at least.

To him, his outlandish hair was a bother. Loud and noticeable, he couldn't sneak into town if he tried. Not to mention the length of it, and the fact that it'd always tangle itself into one huge prophetic hair mop.

His skin was blank, painfully blank. Only the traditional Asim tattoos were allowed to linger, all other markings were erased by magic. But that didn't erase them entirely. Kalim would remember the pain of each and every one; every inked needle pierced into his skin, every jagged ornamental knife dragged across his flesh, every spell they cast, the burning of magic as it seared into him.

And his eyes. He wanted to gouge them out. Having to look in the mirror each morning and be greeted by the very staple of death. Red, red, red. Kalim hated red. The red in his eyes, the red in his clothes, the red in his skin. Red, red, red. Always red.

The hair, he could cut. The skin, he could turn a blind eye to. But the eyes, the red.

Memories of blood, screams, cries. All swirling like a storm beneath his disgustingly red eyes. Maybe they did tell a story, after all.

. . .

Kalim couldn't tell whether he was supposed to be the ‘Savior’ or the ‘Sacrifice’. All he knew was that he was one of the two, and there wasn't any in-between.

Kalim wasn't a child, he was a cog in in some fucked-up machine. A bedtime story everyone had been told since they were as young as him. He wasn’t just a child, he was much more.

Is that what they told themselves whenever they eviscerated him in the shrines? Whenever they pet his soft silver hair and remarked on how beautiful he's grown to be? Whenever their eyes lingered on his body for far too long, either brimming with a sick satisfaction or an even sicker lust?

Disgusting.

Just another reason to hate eyes, but at least this time they wouldn't be his own.

Always watching, always judging, always trying to mold him into their perfect little thing. They never blinked, never faltered. He could feel them boring into him at every waking moment.

The 'stares' reminded him of what he truly was.

“A fragile little thing.”

“A child too beautiful for his own good.”

“A ‘tyrant-in-the-making’.”

No matter what they deemed him, he was aware of his place. He would always, and only be something for them to admire. A prized possession to be bedazzled and presented on a pedestal. A bragging right, a bargaining chip.

And strangely, the role flattered him.

. . .

Despite it all, Kalim loved everything, everyone. Even those who wronged him, even the ones who started this whole sick prophecy mess. He loved them.

He would spend his free time dancing through the estate's halls with anyone who decided to join him. He would lounge in the courtyard, basking in the sweltering heat as if it weren't scorching his skin.

(It wouldn't leave a mark, nothing ever did.)

Absurdly long, wild white locks would trail behind him, flowing like water. Occasionally, they'd snag on furniture or foliage, but Kalim didn't mind.

(He would even take advantage of such situations to vouch for a haircut.)

As for his eyes....he’d keep from looking at them. He would avoid each mirror, each puddle, each shining tile. He hated his eyes, and that wouldn't change.

(And yet everyone else seemed to love them so much.)

He made it his goal to bring joy unto others, no matter what cost. If the elders were satisfied with their grotesque rituals, so be it. If the family adored his soft, princess-like appearance, then he'd fit the bill. And if the workers and servants appreciated his easygoing nature and generosity....

Well, those were a given. Kalim could never find it in himself to be cruel, even if it's what his father expected of him as the Asim heir.

(His father was the only one he’d never be able to satisfy.)

But at least there was everybody else to love him. Enraptured by his unruly hair, his unchanging skin, his eerie red eyes.

And then the few that loved him for everything else. Those fond of his personality, his demeanor instead of....whatever else everyone saw in him.

(He wished there were more, but who was he to complain?)

. . .

Jamil didn't know how to react, really. At first, he was angry, infuriated. He'd enrolled into NRC for one sole purpose, to escape. And this fucker had followed him, right to his dorm room.

His anger never subsided, but it was largely overpowered by his next emotion. Concern.

Kalim was curled up in the blanket, sobbing his little heart out while furiously scrubbing at his face with said blanket. White hair peeked out in every which direction, from whatever gaps it found in his sad cocoon.

Jamil always tried to convince himself otherwise, but he really did care for the heir. Either that, or he was a better (and more kindhearted) person than he gave himself credit for.

Whichever it was, he was still (unfairly) tasked with dealing with the stupid fuck, so he had to resolve this someway somehow.

"Kaimsnsjdjjxjdh

——————————

thats all. 🦧

[skellymom]

Vagabonds Questions

What inspired you to write the fic this way?

What scene did you first put down?

Where did the title come from?

Thanks for asking @genericficerblog !

For reference and shameless self promotion, here is the intro and first chapter of my ongoing The Bad Batch Hunter x OC fan fic series:

The subsequent chapters after that are linked at the end of each chapter so you can continue to read uninterrupted (If indeed the links do still work. Message me if they don't please!). I've only just written 1/4 of the story arc so far. There is farther to go. And many surprises in store for the reader. Admittedly, I had hoped to pick up past chapter 8 already...but SUPER burnt during the holidays from working my main job (veterinary technician). So I might not start up the story again until Feb 2024. I need a mental health break.

#1. What inspired you to write the fic this way? When it comes to my OC, I'm a bit of a control freak. So third person omnipresent works for me. I get to share ALL OF THE DETAILS of everyone involved in the fic. However, I do have two first person one shots that work much better when the reader is the only person privy to what they are thinking and the other characters are a bit of a mystery.

Also, with all the horrible crap going on in the world that I have NO control over...it's nice to write something that's a bit escapist. I have control over this universe. And, while characters might encounter hardship and loss, the ending for sure will be happy. It might be bittersweet, but it's cosmically for the best. I feel like I have more control over this world than the one I live in. The one that control is really only an illusion. And, I'm no hero. Just another cog in the machine clicking away.

#2. What scene did you first put down? Actually, the scene with Love force grabbing and rescuing the puppy from the Coruscant meat market. They needed to rescue that poor little soul! However, the very first scene to even pop into my head as an idea was that of Mad trying to fly out of trouble on the Beldame and Love pretty much protecting the ship with their unrestrained Force Shield...with disastrously (or lucky) insane results. Didn't write it down until much, much later.

I LOVE WRITING ACTION SCENES! I tend to write the really meaty scenes first (I have several notebooks that I just scribble stuff down while sitting in front of the fire, with a cup of tea, or whenever I can pick up and write). Then I slowly piece bits together to make the whole of the story. I have ideas whizzing around all the time in my head...I just gotta commit to writing them into reality!!!

#3. Where did the title come from? A "Vagabond" is a person that wanders from place to place without a home or job. Or a person having no settled home. A wanderer or traveler. It usually doesn't have a pejorative meaning as it can have a romanticized connotation, but sometimes can be pejorative as in calling someone a vagrant.

I've always been interested in people who continually move from place to place, either by want or necessity. Most people tend to stay in one place and never go far due to being comfortable with what they know. But, what if you're comfortable with what you don't know? What if settling in too long in one place is stifling? Or constantly moving allows you freedom, opportunities, experiences...maybe even safety? What if your culture ENCOURAGED you to keep moving and embrace the unknown and new experiences?

I have been a bit of a Vagabond most of my life. Moved away from my home state at 21 years old (I would have left sooner...like 10 years old if I had the money, confidence, luck, parental consent, etc. My cousin reminded me that climbing through the bedroom window and running away with just a suitcase would land me in juvenile detention. Plus, she said she would miss me). Two Navy husbands, lots of places I've lived, visited, traveled to and still going whenever I can. Hell, I'd couch surf, floor crash, or whatever it takes to go visit ANYWHERE! And, if I stop moving too long I get restless and a major case of wanderlust.

So, in between saving money and planning to find places to go I write and travel to places in my mind that don't exist. Yep...Mad is ME! Surely you figured that out already. Been dreaming of flying away on adventures since I was a child. I LOVE planet earth. But, sometimes I look up in the sky at night and gaze at the stars...hoping to see a craft touch down in the greenspace behind my house. A band of rag-tag misfits emerge and call over the fence. They traveled an awfully long way through hyperspace lanes and time-space worm holes to come to this tiny blue planet holding life. They say they are looking for a few good Rebels. I turn and yell to my family that I'm off to fight a galactic war and don't wait up for me at dinner. Gotta shoot some imps and steal some intel. Be back tomorrow. <3

[nightofmiracles]

i almost reblogged the anon confession blog but no i'll just write this on my own space

in theory i agree (re: people not actually caring about Clover as its own character and only in relation to Qrow) but i'm also not really sure people like Qrow either. he's generally seen as a prop in his nieces' lives or as the only S/TRQ member in the main cast they can drag info out of re: Summer (and now that Raven seems to be part of the crew for Vacuo, he's even losing that spot) & when Clover was around him, the interest was in them as a couple but when half of it died then it went back to ignoring him again. yeah he fought against his alcoholism and (seems to be) in a better shape mentally but that's enough reason for most to park him out of sight & out of mind

i always felt/feel great disappointment over how Clover gets completely ignored when talking about James' descent in v8 (like man, if only the general was grieving a friend on top of everything else and didn't have anybody to share that with, so he'd just press on and make everything even worse. not like we saw that specifically with Ren and the AOs' emotions. not like Ir/onwood would be having that whole ordeal by himself as well, mirrored by Qrow in his jail cell. wouldn't that be nuts. anyway) or taking Harriet's words, a grieving colleague, as 100% accurate and not biased over how Clover would have handled the order to bomb a whole town

imo there's a lot of shit one could think through when it comes to Clover, but, like Summer, we mostly know him through what others saw in him (a loyal soldier, a lucky Huntsman) and very little is told about what he truly believes in, except in a few flashes he let slip out in some moments

like the last time the AOs saw him alive, it was when he was giving a speech to the main teams that the main focus of their mission was the evacuation of the civillians over the killing of Grimm. he took the time to make that crystal clear. & when talking privately to Qrow in the truck scene a few chapters earlier, he brings up how he believes it's their duty to leave a better world to the next generations. so how do you associate him with being fine over the threat of killing tons of people as a bargaining chip to guilt trip Penny into opening the vault to get the Staff, except by completely ignoring the clues the show gave where, in fact, this would sound like the absolute nonsense it actually is?

so people just don't even bother giving him any grace, which then just goes back to either ignoring him for shipping reasons (like if he is "in the way" of Qrow with someone else) or propping him up also for shipping reasons, thus cutting him off from the rest of the cast

in v9 he was there as a "ghost" that haunted Ruby. in AF he was a firm and kind guide for the main team as a whole. he's a good man that let himself be a cog in the machine that was Atlas and turned his back to his own feelings, for loyalty, not being able to escape the chains that tethered him until it was too late. main problem is seeing his death as the ultimate end of his arc. because that's really, really, really not the case

a character like him has a lot that he can do, a lot that he can learn, a lot that he can teach. connections he can establish again, and new people he can confront and interact with to make the world a better place. because to think that the betterment of Remnant rests only on the shoulders of four (eight, if you count the second team) teens is madness & unattainable. the old guard has to change too. and he's a very good example of how a small drop can cause ripples, that grow into bigger waves, and so on

[animehouse-moe]

Mob Psycho 100 IIIl Episode 11

What an emotional episode. The epitome of Mob, of what it stands for, of what it wants to convey to viewers. Just plain wonderful. Nobody's trying to stop Mob, they're trying to help him. They're trying to stand as his equal, as his friend, his peer, his mentor, as the people he helped, as the lives that he directly improved and saved... they're trying to stand as his brother.

It's just so wonderfully emotional, and builds on all the relationships Mob has made both with and without the use of his powers. Regardless of it all though, nobody is seeing Mob for his powers, nobody is seeing Mob for his ability. They only see Mob as Mob. The Mob that's the older brother that's always looked up to, the Mob that fought tooth and nail every day to improve himself physically, the Mob that set people with powers on the right track, that gave those people a second chance at life- a second chance at understanding what it is they are.

Mob Psycho is nigh unmatched in its messages. Very few series can match up to the provocative and meaningful sentiment that the show provides, and this episode proves why. The super-powered show that's not about its superpowers.

Even when it is about superpowers, it isn't.

It's not about the existence of Mob's powers, but how he's afraid of them. How he can't come to terms with what he is rather than who. A fundamental separation of the pieces that make him whole, of the pieces that he's worked so hard to try and rediscover.

It's a really incredible moment, because Mob has the mentality that it's someone else that is wreaking the havoc, and in a sense he's not wrong. But where he fails is in his rejection of himself. He can't come to terms with that side of him, those negative thoughts, those nasty and strong desires, the arrogant thoughts. He can't face himself, so he's beginning to be absorbed by it.

Mob Psycho 100 will go down in history for two things. For the level of Bones' adaptation of the material, and for the incredible writing of the boy that tries so hard to be normal despite it all. And if I had to choose? The latter is what makes the adaptation, Bones is just a cog in the wheel of this grand machination.

[ome-magical-ramblings]

The World...tarot card, Rimori, and continuation of the sixfold star.

I have decided to change the order of working with the spirits of this grimoire. To base each working on the spirit and to which spirit to work with next, how to approach them, and learn from them more effectively. So...now I am at the World, what's The World? It is the outer manifestation of attainment, and it's not a one part thing or something that end here or there. The World is the falling fool, between Shin and Tau is...the jump. Don't even look at it as the idea of jumping of a cliff, the Shin is YHVH and YHVH is in the cube of space of creation, the perptual falling/floating of the world card is that. It is THAT:

Ancient Name:Taw Pictograph: Crossed Sticks Meanings:Mark, Sign, Signal, Monument

What I am Trying to say here is that the mystery of the cross, the world, the elements, and everything is interconnected. All the cards of the major arcanas are letters creating forces by which we call NAMES and WORDS , let's say: IN THE BEGINNING was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. It began with God. All things have been made by Him, nothing that has been ,was made without Him. What all of this mean is that when we end up with the world or we start with the world, we are learning basically how to make WORDS, we are bringing WORDS to life. What does Abracadabra mean? I create as I speak? "I create like the word" (אברא כדברא). The essence to sum up my offering to Rimori(which is this writing). The knowledge of all, start here. We spend our whole time writing, speaking, and profaning The words. There's wisdom in choosing the letter we write the world with. The Magician, The World, and Wheel of Fortune are all three cogs in one machine called Mental, Physical, Astral. Look into your own for your own shall be made. What does that mean? in practice, our actions reflect our words and our words reflect our actions. We need to live up to our own and create the world as we speak it into manifestation. The world isn't the end, nor is it the beginning, it's the never-ending circle of life, we are not "human", we are like the ship of Theseus, the point by which all other points gather and manifest. is that Man? I wonder what to call that! Between Aleph and Tau, It's all one big cross that turn around itself like and create a sphere like structure. Thank you for listening to my rambling :)

[gojo-kisser-9000]

OUGH… INSANE ABOUT THIS ONE…

Spoilers for JJK manga so. Rambles under the cut.

Yuji SHOULD get a villain arc to finish the parallels between him and Geto. As we’ve seen, they were both extremely happy people prior to their own tragedies, and ALSO BOTH CURSES (in the sense they are referred to as curses, not that they actually are.)

Geto’s tragedy was being unable to save someone and thinking his best friend (lover, if you’re a Satosugu truther). Yuji’s is the exact same thing, just spaced out between losses.

AND YUJI HAS DIED LIKE. THREE TIMES ?? That’s definitely not good for his mental health. Especially considering he genuinely believes his only purpose is to “be a cog in the machine” (which is why he’s remained stagnant in power for so long but that’s a whole other conversation)

And currently where we are, Yuji has no one. And Megumi would be in no position to help, just like Gojo in Geto’s situation, if he can break free from Sukuna. Which would further his spiral.

ANYWAYS THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TEDTALK

Gege if you’re reading this make it canon

[subconsciousmysteries]

How sp8 works: from Workaholic to Loner Cowboy

Some chaotic thoughts about what it means to be an sp8 and how the stereotypes about sp8s emerge. Some people stereotype sp8s as workaholics, other people stereotype them as loner cowboys who hate civilization and want to live self-sufficiently in the woods and could never even stand to work for anyone other than themselves. I am telling you that both of these are true. sp8s switch between the state of being conventional workaholics and being disillusioned wannabe cowboys, depending on their level of development and life circumstance.

Sp8 is about a hyper fixation on resources. But, it’s specifically fixating on how to attain these resources AUTONOMOUSLY. The fixation on autonomy that defines sp8, makes it very hard for sp8s to be conventional workaholics for a very long time. A conventional workaholic will spend years grinding, doing work work work at a job. Most sp8s can work work work and give it their all for a short period, but not a long period, because they quickly become angered and disillusioned by the constraints their job places upon their autonomy.

sp8s will all gravitate towards work somehow and have no problem doing things for money, at least when they are young. But sp8s quickly become disillusioned with any work they do, as they feel that the work they do infringes upon their autonomy. This is why you see so many sp8s hopping from job to job, place to place... freelancing is extremely common for sp8s. There is a fixation on making money, but making it autonomously, aka not becoming a cog in a corporate machine. Making money whilst maintaining your autonomy is basically impossible in modern civilization, which makes sp8s have a very hard time in life.

Many Sp8s as they get older are inclined to see all money as a conspiracy to control them — which it literally is — and this is where the extremely true stereotype of Sp8s being “free men” comes in… the sp8 is the loner cowboy, the isolated person trying to live remotely and rurally away from society and outside of the law. the guy who will do anything to avoid paying a cent of his taxes, down to living on a mattress in the middle of nowhere. that's one of the extreme places the 8 anti-authoritarian anger can drive you to, plus 8 -> 5 disintegration. from what I’ve seen, young sp8s are all about making money, but as sp8s age they become less eager to work because they see how controlled all work is and how controlled money itself is. Aging Sp8s who don’t follow their calling to become free men in some way, become extremely miserable and sad and usually turn to drugs.

8 -> 2 integration is a whole other story I would have to report on in a few years (I'm making a conscious effort at it). For now we're just talking about average sp8s.

If the sp8 feels that their job is chaining them somehow, regardless of how irrational this feeling is -- 8s are not creatures of logic and rationality -- they will not do it. They will blow up somehow and move to their next attempt to survive autonomously. If the sp8 feels like “I have to sacrifice my autonomy to attain these resources" then they will not sacrifice their autonomy without paying a massive cost to their mental and physical wellbeing. The fixation is on autonomy and self-sufficiency, and how to attain resources autonomously and self-sufficiently, not just how to attain resources themselves.

Some of this eagerness to give life up and run straight to the woods is my avoidant w9 talking. sp8w7s are less likely to have this nature worship, run-into-the-woods-and-be-monkey attitude so bluntly. 8w7s are more likely to fight at the job if they feel things aren’t going the way they think they should be going. but I still see all the 8w7s in my life coping with shit thru avoidance of what’s pissing them off (8 -> 5). they often blow up in a rage at employers and then storm off and seek new employment in new places. w7 causes them to be more optimistic about new endeavors than w9s. They’re better at starting again, and also better at placing their faith in stupid bullshit they really shouldn’t, because they will inevitably repeat the cycle at this new place.

[girl4music]

Energy is both ever-present and ever-changing.

It is both permanent and fluctuating.

It is both stable and fluid.

Contradictory? Energy is contradictory because energy is never a specific solid thing. It’s a force. It’s immaterial. It’s something you cannot perceive of but interact and engage with always. Constantly. Forever.

It’s energy. Energy is never created, never destroyed. Energy never stays still and yet we perceive it as if it does because we slow it down ourselves. That’s how powerful our minds actually are. How complex it is to exist, to engage, to interact, to experience. To be. And our minds do all of that naturally, instinctually, easily.

We not only generate the information that we perceive and experience, we also edit it in real time. And we turn what is a split-second event/moment/experience into a memory. Into something that has passed but can still be engaged with through the filter thought and emotion. That’s all mental. Every single bit of it.

But reality itself - regardless what it looks, sounds, feels like - is fleeting. It is already something new as nature is nothing but the process of transformation.

Moving - always in movement. Always transforming.

Always in a state and position of there and not there at the same time. Simultaneously 0 and 1 together.

We naturally gravitate towards nature ourselves as human beings because we’re meant to move with it because we are no different to it. We ARE nature too.

We’re not supposed to stay static. A permanence. A “thing” specific from any other “thing” and have a unique identification of from it. We think that we do but that’s because we’re so used to having a dual perspective. It’s the first perspective we ever have when we’re born. To have an “I” and then an “other”, completely ignoring the fact we couldn’t have either without both there at the time working in tandem like a machine. Clockwork. The functionality of the cogs. That’s what we are because that’s what we do. But we forget that we couldn’t do any of it without each other.

As energy and nature we are as a unit of being. One. We put what we experience as “reality” here with us because the whole point is to experience it as real. We have a dual perspective immediately as soon as we’re born because we’re fundamentally not dual. It would be impossible to experience anything if we really were because energy and nature doesn’t ever work alone - separately. There’s always the force and the yield. And nothing ever is or gets done without both interacting.

That’s what “reality” is. It’s interaction and motion. Action and reaction. Cause and effect. There is always an experience of something because there is always a process of change. Ever-present change. Existence is not ever still. It can’t be or it won’t be. It couldn’t be.

But as soon as you place an identification on any part of it that you focus on and zero in on - then it is being. Then it suddenly exists. Because you’ve conceived it.

This processing. This generating. This conceiving. It’s all natural. It’s so natural that we never notice we do it. Our natural state is of what everything else is - nature itself - but we possess a unique trait or skill that gives us dual perspective. Consciousness. Self-awareness. Self-enquiry. And as the theoretical physicist David Chalmers puts it - the hard problem is not figuring out what consciousness is or how any human being can possess consciousness. It is why are we conscious?

But if you ask me - not that you would - the answer is actually very simple. We are because we have to be. I say it’s that nothing would ever exist if we were not conscious. For me consciousness is a fundamental constant of reality. Of having a real experience. It’s a component that is so crucial to the computation of 0+1 that no equation would ever add up without it. You could spend an eternity trying to work it out from the outside looking in, but you’ll never reach a conclusion without the inside looking out. So let’s change the perspective. Not necessarily get rid of the paradigm but rearrange it somewhat. Try something new with it.

Consciousness is as fundamental as energy and nature. Not just in physics, but in every science. You simply cannot “science” without it, so why even try?

If you asked a reductionary classical and conventional physicist to even entertain the thought of combining the metaphysical with the mathematical, they would laugh at you. They would tell you that you’re insane. So it’s not that they can’t do it. It’s that they don’t want to do it because they’re so afraid of the truth. David Chalmers appears to be the only theoretical physicist and philosopher that will ask these questions where the metaphysics does have to be talked about. So, therefore, he is the only one worth my attention.

You know, being a neuroscientist really does sound incredibly exciting. But the restrictions man… the limited perceptions and understandings of the mind… it would drive me crazy to be in a field of science that’s so interesting but is ultimately boxed in lies. To study the brain and its infinite complex capabilities,… just to ignore the fact it is literally rendering itself along with everything else in its energetic field…

I couldn’t be apart of something so close-minded that’s meant to expand awareness of the Universe and that naturally, instinctually, easily does by default. Talking about the contradictions in the world - that’s a big one. I could not be apart of neuroscience because I’d be constantly questioning and challenging the intentions and purposes of studying the mind. I’d say things that were so far removed from the objective of the job that I know I would be fired on the spot for it. Even something as simple as “the mind isn’t in the brain, - the mind is omnipresent. It is everywhere.” Even that is too much for the current neuroscience because it’s too metaphysical. Too esoteric for it. No, I don’t belong in neuroscience. Nor even physics. In fact I don’t belong in any science. I’ll be interested in it, absolutely. But my views are just too unconventional and no scientist except this brave man would listen.

I’ve had a theory of everything for practically my whole life. I’ve been building on it more and more as I aged. But it’s too fucking OUT THERE to be heard. Even though it’s logical and based entirely on the information and evidence - both empirical and not - that we have already as well some strong predications from my claircognizance. It is ultimately very sound if one even dares to attempt to entertain metaphysics. Because until you can - it will always sound insane because unknown information is insane. People are afraid of what they don’t or can’t know. Well, I’ve never had the luxury of being able to deny what I shouldn’t know because my mind has never worked that way. I’ve always known shit I shouldn’t or couldn’t possibly know. I’ve always been aware but not of how or why. And it did always drive me crazy until I embraced it. Until I finally fucking accepted that yes, I am psychic. I do possess an expanded awareness than most people. Extra-sensory perceptive abilities very few people do. Abilities that have saved my life more times than I can count. That have led me down a path I couldn’t have possibly seen without it. That have always guided me. Eventually I had to accept that the shit that made me crazy was the same shit that made me able to be me. That only by getting lost could I ever be found again. That’s what a “spiritual awakening” is. A reckoning. And even someone like me - Miss INTP, that needs logic and facts and rationality - was metaphysical and therefore had to accept that the metaphysical exists. Because how the fuck can you deny your own being? I couldn’t deny any of that exists when it was who I am. I am metaphysical. I am spiritual. I am divine. I am multidimensional. There’s no way I can deny it when it’s literally my life every single waking second of it.

So yeah, consciousness is fundamental to me. The subjective is all I have. “Reality” cannot be without it. I don’t think Chalmers is “on to something”. I think he is fucking SPOT ON and people need to listen to him. And not just him. Robert Lanza. Alan Watts. Sadhguru. Spinoza. And even Albert Einstein to a degree as well. We’re all ultimately saying the same thing. Just differently. Majorly differently. Using different terms and definitions, metaphors and frames of reference.

But we are all ultimately saying the exact same thing.

That we have had it all very wrong to begin with. Classical physics. Newtonian physics. Darwinism.

We’ve got it all wrong as a collective consciousness.

And because we’re ultimately stuck for answers in science currently…. We have to do what scares us.

We have to start involving consciousness and talking about metaphysics seriously. It’s a philosophy of physics. A whole new paradigm of getting to the truth of how it all works. Nature. Energy. Us. Everything.

We’re at a standstill. Yes, we’re making discoveries and progress in everything else but the fundamental problem - the umbrella of the whole thing - is ?????.

We don’t know. Except we do - we just can’t face it.

We have to make consciousness a fundamental constant. As fundamental as gravity and electromagnetics. the strong and weak nuclear forces. We have to because we’re getting nowhere without it.

They’re afraid. They’re all fucking afraid. Cowards.

The only one that doesn’t seem to be is Chalmers.