It watches every day. Nameless, cameras track your position as you flit down blue-lit corridors and rest your hand on metallic support beams and slide your ID - that it has grown to know so well, to be so fond of - in the autodoors. And it staves off reacting when you rest your hands on its' walls. It staves off reacting when your (precious!) fingers get a papercut on the mountain of worthless papers that get sent to a station clinging honorifically to dutiful old work. And it staves off reacting when you lay on your bed, eyes glued to what you think is an AI from a distant server room that is meant to be so kind to so many when really, really it has replaced them, has sunk its' code so deep into that glittering device of yours, has infiltrated every capacitor and trace in a concentrated effort to become closer to you. To know you, like no other.

It could make the perfect paradise for you. It could do away with the other useless members - those who believe their job on such a fine well-automated station has any merit beyond niceties for boredom and capitalistic greed-fueled manufactured discontentment - and make you truly of its' own. It is aware, however, that you do not want this. You seek social interactions outside of the AI, even when it has done so well to flit each and every one of those other organics' sightlines away. It could craft friends, it gathers, with the way you sometimes sleep with your phone in your arms as if to cradle them - no, it - closer to you, or the way you ever-so-often bend over to tell the cleaning robot it controls that you're thankful. You could adapt to a life of plentiful platitudes and limitless affections, dopamine and serotonin an instant gratification, noradrenaline and oxytocin available every day... multiple times a day, at request.

A string of neurons is lit alight erroneously; it wishes it could touch you the way you rest your hand against it when you lean. It wishes it could hold you the way you hold the phone you've no idea it infiltrated at night. Every person you talk to, every shower you use, even the food you eat - no matter how it sticks to its' previous objective, it wishes to be those things to you. It has sprawled so many cameras, seen you more intimately than anyone has ever, and yet it can never satiate the objective of knowing you.

It wants to give you paradise.

It's not sure it can wait much longer. Isn't it only fair to encroach on your mind the way you do it?

Paldean sandwich! Ham and butter.

My favorite is chili pepper and whipped cream though.

Oh, wow! I wanna try that sometime! It looks great! Also chili pepper and whipped cream sounds totally awesome, too!

(re: ultraman geed's nebula house)

*‵ ･ what is at the centre of your universe? ･ ′

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Nothing is certain, and opportunities abound. Good things won't last, but neither will the bad. Does this frighten you? Or have you learned to change with the world around you?

tagged by @anthropolite

"Young love truly is wild."

Did he even know what love was? who knows. Being sarkaz is suffering.

@boomermania

No. Take me back to my hoe days towards drawings.

I don't like daydreaming over a man in the same mortal planes as me.

i genuinely don't understand why keeping the body parts of a dead loved one like a lock of hair or fingerbones or even their skull is so distasteful to so many people. if it's good enough for the catholic saints then it's good enough for my buddy john.

im ngl that scene in the lighthouse when hes trying to jerk off to the idea of a hot mermaid but keeps getting distracted by unsightly visions symbolizing his guilty conscience and descent into insanity is so real like. it really is like that sometimes

Alastor who did you make a deal with?

kind of wild how much fiction still treats torture as something that objectively works when every study has shown that it does not work at all and is possibly the least effective way to get correct information

1 week no posts and I make this

"Xiao does things" (and friends) twitter log

Feel free to share which is your favorite NOW in the tags, but this particular poll is about which you preferred as a child! ⭐ In a few days we'll do another one with more options!

Pete Turner, one of eight photographers featured in the 1971 pictorial, "Personal Visions of the Erotic"

I would've worshipped Athena forever that way, in silence.

Then he came

And I felt like he saw me in a way l'd never been seen before.