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vesora · 1 year

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deferred occupancy [+ rant]

as per neville, this is the common fault of man and i agree. sadly to say, i have done the same.

what does deferred occupancy mean?

you are not occupying the state right now. you are waiting until you tap into the void. you are waiting until the 3d conforms. you are waiting until someone gives it to you. but you are not occupying it right now.

you have in mind to occupy it later or you will experience the state when it comes in the 3d, not realising that the state must be fulfilled first in imagination then it will materialise in the 3d.

do not keep creating, do not keep constructing, do not think of your desire as something that you are not one with already. you must occupy NOW. you must accept you have it NOW. daydream knowing what you are dreaming is true. script knowing what you are scripting is true right NOW.

you are not manifesting it. you have already manifested it.

continuously remind yourself that you are the only creator of your reality so that you do not become an inmate in this sense-world. break free from this illusion. you are the creator. you can control everything. you are a God in a human body. you are GOD. you are a beautiful divine spiritual being who is limitless. Humans were made in the likeness of God therefore we can do whatever God can do. There is no separation between God and me. None at all. We are one.

Stop viewing your desires as something not in your possession yet. Stop scripting as if you don't have it yet. You have it right now. The 4D comes first then the 3D conforms. The change in the 4D must be made. The change in self must be made.

It is fruitless to not occupy your state right now. You will keep daydreaming ABOUT your desires and not FROM. You will keep viewing the desires as something outside out of you, something that is not unified with you. This will lead you to keep running in circles, blaming the 3D for not conforming when it is you who has not changed self yet and deferred occupancy of your desired state.

Slam the door on any doubts or worries you have. I don't care, slam it. Ignore it. Oh what if my desires don't manifest? Who the fuck is the 3d to tell YOU, a GOD, what is a fact or not? Tell the doubts to go fuck themselves. Or gently scold them whatever floats your boat. Fact is, do not pay attention or you will keep running in circles. Just let go and believe. Just let go and try without controlling the outcome on a conscious level by worrying about time etc.. it will materialise soon, it has no choice but to!

Be still and know you are God {@lotusmi hehe}. It is done. Why? Because you said so. It is done because you fucking said so.

Remember who you are. You have the power to change anything in your life, simply by thinking from the desire; simply by becoming the desire. The external reality is extremely malleable and our creative mind is the Potter. We mold the external reality through our assumptions. If you assume something, it has no choice but to materialise. If you have FAITH, you will have it in the 3d. Even if you don't, you will still have it, especially if you work on your self concept.

Stop waiting. STOP WAITING! YOU HAVE IT NOW. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WAIT FOR. Your unwillingness to accept you have it now already is what is delaying the externalisation of your manifestations. Because creation is finished! It's done!

You lost 100 euros and you're stressed? No youre not, 100 euros is like 1 cent to you. Tell your subconscious that you're not stressed because you're a millionaire and handle the situation as you would normally because the state is not lost! The outer man does not manifest, the inner man does; the real self does! The subcon only hears what you tell it, so tell it wonderful things. Accept you have these things. Do not wait. Do not wait PLEASE.

You have everything you need right now. All the knowledge needed, you have it already. It is done. It is done because you said it's done. And who are you to say it's done? You are God, you are the ONLY creator / molder of your reality, outside forces don't exist. Even if you believe outside forces exist, they have NO influence in your reality; NONE AT ALL. So, how can you say you don't have it when you are the creator?

Occupy the state now. It is done. Stop waiting and think from it. You already are it. YOU HAVE IT RIGHT NOW. DO NOT BE A SLAVE TO THE 3D SENSES. YOU HAVE IT RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE IN CONTROL. YOU CAN DO THE IMPOSSIBLE. THERE IS NONE THAT CAN CONTROL YOUR EXPERIENCE EXCEPT YOU!!!!

THE 4D CREATES THE 3D. DO NOT PAY ATTENTION TO THE 3D. IT WILL AND MUST CHANGE IF YOU OCCUPY THE STATE EVEN BY JUST AFFIRMING. JUST HAVE IT RIGHT NOW. HAVE IT. YOU ALREADY DO. IT'S DONE

YOURE SCARED? NO YOURE NOT. WHY WOULD YOU BE SCARED? WHY WOULD YOU ASSUME YOU WILL FEEL SCARED WHEN THE DESIRES MANIFEST? ASSUME THAT YOU FEEL ONLY THE BEST EMOTIONS AND ONLY GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO YOU.

THE CHANGE OF THE 3D IS NOT PERMANENT. IT IS EASILY MOLDED. IT IS NOT HARD. YOU CREATED IT. IF YOU REGRET SOMETHING, GO BACK. BUT DO NOT LET THE FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN HOLD YOU BACK FROM MANIFESTING TRUE UNBRIDLED HAPPINESS.

FUCK FEAR. IT HAS NO PLACE IN OUR LIVES. HOW CAN WE BE SCARED WHEN WE ARE IN CONTROL OF EACH ASPECT OF OUR LIVES? HOW CAN WE FUCKING DOUBT OURSELVES? GET UP. STAND UP. YOU HAVE IT NOW.

#law of assumption #loa #manifestation #neville goddard #law of attraction #affirmations #manifest #manifesting #self concept #void state #vaunting #void #vaunt #affs #consciousness #states #spirituality

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magistralucis · 5 months

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Conflict in Literature + Necron Books

(Read more for titles and notes, watch out for spoilers)

Man vs. Nature - Devourer This is not the only necron vs. tyranid lit, but I thought the cover illustrated the conflict best. Out of all the horribad things in WH40K, the tyranids tend to be presented as the closest faction to a natural disaster; certainly in Devourer they do not logically justify their presence, nor can they be reasoned with, not by the Blood Angels or Anrakyr or the Tomb World he's trying to wake. Not mindless, but an amoral happenstance, like nature itself.

Man vs. Society - The Lords of Borsis Necron court intrigue played straight, with a sprinkle of delusion on the side. Since this story revolves entirely around the schemings and plottings of necron(tyr) society, with changes in dynastic hierarchy as the final objective, it fits best here.

Man vs. Technology - Indomitus This is an awkward placement, since Indomitus was not, well... a compelling story, with most of its tropes not being explored beyond their first introduction. But it is the most bare-bones way of describing this book's premise. Humans battling a robotic malignancy, albeit with a Bolivian Army Ending, which doesn't conclude the plot in either direction 😞

Man vs. Man - The Twice-Dead King: Ruin Ruin is an exceptionally deep novel, and fits every conflict listed here. It was the hardest one to place, because it's not so much choosing the one that goes best, rather crossing off every other conflict not central to the story. Both gods and the absence-of-gods are a problem in Ruin, as well as nature and technology, but they're not at the heart of Oltyx's problem. Society could be a big one, since Oltyx is an exile - but he’s not trying to antagonize his society throughout Ruin, he's trying to work with it, or at least save it from doom. Self and reality both count, but fit better with other stories in the Nate Crowley corpus. So man vs. man it is. His most important clashes are all with individuals ('man') - Djoseras, Unnas, Hemiun, arguably Yenekh in reserve - and by the end, his crownworld is overrun by the Imperium, who will become the antagonists for the second part of his tale. Man vs. 'Man', with a capital M.

Man vs. Self - The Twice-Dead King: Reign Again, this could have gone elsewhere. In man vs. reality, perhaps, or the god-related ones. But the self is where the conflict of Reign truly lies, since Oltyx's greatest obstacle is himself, and it is his inability to accept that which brings his dynasty close to destruction. Thank goodness he got over that one.

Man vs. Reality - Severed The emotional and philosophical core of this novella relies on it. Zahndrekh's inability to see the world as it is brings about the whole plot, and is at the centre of all of Obyron's musings. Interestingly, reality does not win at the end, at least not what necrons envision reality to be: a place of cold hard facts, with no room for emotion. Zahndrekh would rather dream the impossible dream, which might be the healthier way to deal with their situation.

Man vs. God - The Infinite and the Divine 🚨 𝔻𝕆 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝔹𝔼 𝔻𝔼ℂ𝔼𝕀𝕍𝔼𝔻 🚨

Man vs. No God - Crusade: Pariah Nexus Not a novel, not 100% about necrons, not even out yet as of now (Dec 2023). This is an inherently problematic conflict for WH40K, because gods are very real and very present in that universe... here I'm only thinking about the necron perspective, and the civil war unfolding in their lore. They banded together in a shared purpose eons ago, destroying the Old Ones who oppressed them, and sundering the star gods who subjected them to biotransference. Now they are as antigod as they could be, and they did not retain their bonds, they have once again turned on each other. So it goes.

Man vs. Author - Codex: Necrons (10th Ed.) (Collector's Ed.) James Workshop knows what they did. 😑

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smallgodseries · 4 months

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He is a tempting god. He calls from the shadows, offering a world that makes sense, offering a delicate yet immutable weave of claims and connections, a chance to render reality comprehensible in a way that few others can match. The human mind is drawn to story, after all. We like the rising action, the narrative connection. We like each act to be distinct and succinct and complete.

He can offer that. He understands human nature on a level few can match and fewer still would aspire to, for he understands something that is better off left in the apocrypha. He understands the means and the making of gods.

He turned himself into one, after all.

It began simple and small: a few connections drawn between terrible things, a dash of justification, a pinch of magical thinking, all combined into a draught of horrors. As more and more drank from his cup, he was able to make it larger, to add more ingredients and season them just so as to keep them all connected. Past a certain point, his witch’s brew no longer demanded any unity, any logic; all that mattered was that a thing be added to the mix, and it would be accepted by those who came to drink.

And then one day, he realized he was no longer adding anything at all, and the cup still did not run dry; the brew had become self-replenishing, and his first act of divinity was complete.

He can make it all make sense. He can make the day you were born correspond with the day you will die; he can make it fit together in a sweet and seamless whole, perfect and complete. He can take the loose edges away. All you have to do is open up the door and let him in.

All you have to do is give in to temptation, and drink.

We beg you to abstain.

#small gods #lee moyer #seanan mcguire #smallgodseries #icons and stories

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d3wdropz · 4 months

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DIVINITY: PROLOGUE ~ SUKUNA X READER

a/n okay I'm very excited about this!

I'm planning on splitting up the story into a prologue, fight, smut, then epilogue. I love build-up and world building, not just the smutty stuff, so be prepared for more of a plot w/ porn set up- plans may change though and upload schedule will be chaotic so be prepared

hope you all enjoy!

pairing: True Form! Sukuna x Curse! Fem! Reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: Sukuna is feared and respected, a self-proclaimed "natural calamity". Shrouded in power and mystery, not much is known about him, other than the fact that if you bore him you'll likely face a gruesome demise.

Now where does that leave you? A powerful and new "natural calamity" as Sukuna would say.

content warning: no smut, fem! reader, canon-typical violence, descriptions of violence, blood, death, swearing, kind of anti-hero/villainous reader, canon! sukuna , slightly non-canon setting

credit to @cafekitsune for all the amazing dividers!!!

The Heian Era- a time that would later be recognized as the 'Golden Age of Jujutsu'. A period full of strong sorcerers- and curses.

Yet, no matter their strength, no one stood a chance against the reigning king: Ryomen Sukuna. The very mention of his name sent fear into those who heard it. While he stayed on top of the food chain, there was nothing to be done.

If a village wanted a chance at survival, they had expectations to uphold.

First: respect and fear the King of Curses. Even if he's miles away, when he is spoken of, it should be with care and respect. No one is sure if it's true, but there are tales of villagers speaking of Lord Sukuna in a lowly manner- only for them to be cut in-half before they could finish.

Second: his arrival should be met with offerings and praise. Not to feed his ego, but to give him a reason not to burn a town to the ground. If, for some terrible reason, a village has Sukuna housed within it, he is to be treated like a God. Anything less would mean the death of hundreds, such an easy act that Sukuna would do it with his eyes closed.

The third, and final, rule: everyone is beneath him. No one is allowed to look him in the eye, talk to him, or even breath too close to him. Weaklings are expected to know their place. If they forget, Lord Sukuna happily reminds them of his strength by crushing their windpipe with one of his four hands.

No village has ever really strayed from these rules after they were made- not if they wanted to live. Due to this, Sukuna's arrivals come with a sort of schedule: an invitation made in hopes of gaining his favor, offering and celebration preparation, the 'festivities', and finally, his departure.

The latest, pitiful town Sukuna has found himself in is in their third stage. He's seated comfortably on a pedestal of sorts, with Uraume close by. If Sukuna were to be honest, he finds these kind of events boring and tacky. He can't help but sneer when he looks into a sea of sad, lowly, humans giving him hollow praise to stay alive.

As Sukuna sits in his head, he thinks that maybe he endures this because there's nothing better to do. Pillaging and bloodshed isn't fun if don't give yourself the chance to relax, ready yourself for the next venture.

Another perk of being invited to these celebrations: hearing gossip. It's no surprise that Sukuna is not a very social man, and Uraume is no better when they spend all of their time with him. So these short instances give him a chance to hear the latest news.

It's not like he would be ignorant to anything if he truly wanted to know. He just finds more excitement in finding things out when villagers whisper their gossip to one another- it also gives him something to do.

Lucky for him, the townspeople are bustling with news. Their voices are full of fear and concern. They try to hide it, try to keep Sukuna's attention on the various gifts they offer him. It's not enough, sadly, and he's becoming intrigued.

This distress isn't being caused by him, from what he can hear and tell. None of them have verified or given a name to what is on their minds, so Sukuna decides to wait it out.

Night falls by the time Sukuna finally knows what's going on. By now, the offerings have been made, the praises have been given, and this meant it was time for him to take his leave. Both him and Uraume can see the sweat bead on the elder's heads as Sukuna remains seated.

Uraume is confused as well, but is wise enough to not question or make a fuss- Sukuna does as he pleases, sometimes with no rhyme or reason. Their job is to serve him, and right now that meant refilling his cup.

Just as he's about to call it a night, fed up with waiting for something interesting to happen, Sukuna hears it. Some young, quiet girl was speaking with her friend as they cleaned up. Their conversation was of some new curse- 'if you could call her that' as they said- was causing chaos in a neighboring village.

As Sukuna continued to listen, the girl shared more. She informed her friend that the curse seemed to appear out of nowhere, one that no one recognized. The rumors are that she looks human, beautiful even! But she's really a cold-hearted monster. When her companion scoffs and claims this to be false, that if this were true more people would know about it, the girl argues back. She explains that this has all happened within the span of a day or two.

Sukuna quirks his brow, slightly surprised by this news. He didn't sense any new cursed energy, at least to the extent that this girl is speaking of. If some curse were to be close by with this much power, he would know. But, it would bring some much-needed entertainment if this rumor were to be true.

Just as Sukuna was about to rise from his seated position, he felt something shift. It was as if a balance inside of him tilted. He tensed up and looked to the source, sensing it's placement. Uraume turned to the direction, having picked up on the intrusion as well.

Within seconds, a shriek was heard. It was quickly cut off by the sound of clatters. The shift Sukuna felt morphed into a detection of cursed energy just as the scream died.

As if the yell was some kind of alarm, the village quickly fell into disarray as people ran away. Families held each other tight as they rushed to the center of town, right where Sukuna was seated.

He watched as their determined faces fell, filling with fear and despair as they were met with the sight of the King of Curses. It was easy to see that the villagers were now stuck between two deadly curses, having to chose which death they'd prefer.

Without hesitation, Uraume calmly creates a rush of ice that destroys all of the obstacles between them and the curse that's entered the village- leaving behind a small pile of dead bodies. It was a simple and effective move, the opponent is caught off-guard and usually frozen in the ice. Oftentimes Uraume freezes the curse until they're veins are frozen solid, an easy victory.

So Uraume is left shocked when they watch the ice fly back towards them. It's wasn't too fast, they're able to create a wall that protects both them and Sukuna. They try to analyze the curse, but it's hard to see them through the ice.

Before Uraume could speak, a joyful laugh rang through the silent village. To any human, it sounded innocent and childish. But Sukuna and his attendent knew better, they sensed the power oozing from the curse, the malice behind that laugh.

With his interest peaked, Sukuna stood up, towering over the wall of ice after he cuts it away. He's left intrigued for the second time that night when he sees a woman standing before him, now only about 300 feet away.

She looks to be about 20, but appearances can't be trusted when dealing with immortal cursed spirits. Her body is adorned in a loosely fitting, silk robe. It's large and ill-fitted on her, falling off one shoulder, showing off soft skin. There are unmistakable dots and splashes of blood that stain the front of the pristine and bright fabric.

Her laughter dies down as she wipes away a tear. When she looks up, her eyes lock onto one pair of Sukuna's. An amused smile spreads on her face as she stands tall.

"Well, I knew there was something interesting here. I could feel it," she spoke carelessly, twirling a strand of hair and cocking her head to the side, "I didn't think it would be this fun."

By now, the rest of the villagers have snuck away. This left an empty town, with only the sounds of fire crackling and the curses to fill the night.

Sukuna can hear Uraume sneer, disgusted by the disrespect coming from this uncivilized curse, "Have some decorum." Their voice is full of malice, as they ready for another attack.

Deciding to take this chance to observe the curse in front of him, Sukuna doesn't stop Uraume from using Frost Calm. He watches as the cold air quickly makes it way to their adversary. Both curses are left confused as the blast is halted just inches away from the woman's face.

The smile is quickly replaced by a glare and disgusted look. She glances at them, giving the Frost Calm in front of her little thought, "I didn't come here to fight some insignificant, little snowflake."

With that, she sent the attack right back at Uraume. This time, it was different. It was faster, more concentrated, and dripping with an immense amount of cursed energy. Left with no time to react, the smaller curse is sent flying backwards and into some buildings. Their impact is made worse as the ice encases them.

"Compared to the sheer amount of cursed energy you exude, that little pebble was nothing," the woman takes a few steps forward. Only now does Sukuna notice just how unproperly done her robe is. As soon as the binding at her waist ends, there's a large slit that reveals her legs, just short enough to hide her more intimate parts. Even with a lack of shoes, her feet and legs seem to be clean- in fact everything about her seems to be unblemished except for the blood. It leaves the Cursed King confused, but he easily drops it.

If Sukuna wasn't busy observing her and trying to figure out what exactly her cursed technique was, he would find her attire humorous and immature. It reminded him of Yorozu, her naked introduction still recent. A quick thought crosses his mind: is it some new trend for female curses to walk around half-naked? He knows he has no room to speak but at least he wears proper pants.

Coming out of his thoughts, Sukuna lifts his head and smirks ever-so slightly, "You're one to talk, woman."

Anyone could tell that this lady is a talker, and she returns his smile with a mischievous one of her own. "I wouldn't know, I'm new here," she stretches, raising her arms above her head, "All I know is that when I sense something strong- like you- I find it-" her eyes seem to shimmer as she stares into his own crimson ones, "and I take it."

With a little more time to stare into her eyes, Sukuna was able to detect what that excited gleam was: hunger. Some part of him felt a shiver run down his spin when she licked her lips and lowered her arms, "The stronger they are, the better they taste."

This leaves Sukuna chuckling under his breath, willing to humor her, "Aw, so that's it," in an instant, Sukuna is right in front of the woman, towering over her, "you're a dumb little thing that just came to life, hungry for power."

She held her ground, staring up at him confidently with a sort of excitement in her eyes, "I wouldn't say I'm dumb," in retaliation to his attempt at intimidation, she quickly pokes his chest. It was a gentle movement, something he wouldn't have even noticed. If it wasn't for the shocking strength he felt as he was forced to lean back. "but you would be right about the other thing, I just came to be about three days ago."

For any other curse, they would have been sent flying a few meters back. If she were to have used that move on a human, their chest would have been shot open from the force. This interested her even more as she took a simple hop back, only for her to fly high into the air. She then sat herself on a nearby roof, leaning her head on her knees.

"You're the most interesting thing I've found, none of the others could talk, or lasted that move," she grinned down at Sukuna.

Both of them knew this was just banter. The fighting hasn't quite commenced yet. They seemed too invested in the other, neither ready to kill and miss out on this opportunity to chat.

Sukuna glances up at her, crossing a pair of his arms, "Is that meant to impress me, woman?"

She only gives him a cheeky smile, "Not at all, I can tell that you're powerful, feared. Something like that would do nothing to sway you from fighting me." She closes her eyes thoughtfully, "I am curious as to who you are, you'll be the first thing I've ever cared enough to remember the name of. The first. . . 'curse'- if what the humans call me is true- that makes me need to try out my abilities."

His excitement only intensifies- this woman is something else. Sukuna can tell that this battle will be one for him to remember. It won't be simple, one-sided, and consist of him using his cleave to destroy his enemy in a second. He'll really get to go all out, get to have fun.

A rumble reverberates in his chest, a chuckle, "I'm your king, woman." Sukuna slicks his hair back out from his vision, smirking at and teasing the younger curse which only grows as she furrows her brows in anger.

She raises her hand lazily, keeping it level to her head, "You're getting annoying." The woman thinks for a second, before a smile graced her face, as if a light-bulb went off. She stands up from her seated position and jumps to the ground.

Out of annoyance, and some respect for her confidence, Sukuna averts his eyes from her figure as the wind blows her robe about. It doesn't reveal much, and Sukuna might be a tyrant, but he still likes to think of himself as a chivalrous adversary.

When she's on the ground again, she walks right up to him again. Her hands a clasped in front of her, joyfully. In any other circumstance, she would be a puddle of blood for getting this close to the King of Curses. But, Sukuna must admit that her presence has provided him entertainment for the night. So he allows it.

"I know! If I beat you, you'll tell me your name. If you win, I'll tell you mine. I'd love to continue this conversation, as you're the most fascinating thing I've come across in my short life. But- I'm itching to have a little fun." Sukuna listens to her ramble, rolling his eyes at her proposition.

Now, Sukuna can't help but find this plain hilarious. This stupid, little curse is making a simple bet and placing her life on the line. He could almost smack her on the back of her head from how absurd it sounds- but, if he were to agree, he'd get to truly see her abilities.

With a lop-sided grin, Sukuna extends his hand, imbuing it with cursed energy in preparation for the binding vow. He watches as confusion washes onto her face as she stares at his hand.

"What are you doing?" her voice is laced with frustration and bewilderment.

His brows raise before he lets out an exasperated sigh, "I forgot you're new- this" he nods his head to his hand "is a binding vow. It's a promise made with cursed energy that requires us to fulfill it. In this instance, it makes you're silly deal something that must be upheld."

She nods in understanding, taking an extra second to study his hand. She then shakes it, both of them taking a second to feel the difference in hand sizes. Hers is dwarfed within his, practically invisible when held in Sukuna's. This brief touch is also a chance for them to feel the others cursed energy on a closer level, more personal.

From what Sukuna could pick up on, before he dropped her hand, was that this wouldn't be an easy fight. He's both put on edge and roused by the amount of cursed energy coursing through her veins. What makes it even better is that she's completely unaware of the power she's holding.

He can't wait to be the person that forces her to unlock it.

The two take a few simple steps back. Sukuna grips his kamutoke in one hand, readying for battle. The woman, on the other hand, stands gleefully in place. She has no weapon, isn't readying any chants or dances, hell- she doesn't even look serious.

Even with her immature behavior, the female curse looks her enemy in the eyes with an intensity Sukuna's only seen in few. She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head, "Ready?"

Sukuna nods with content, watching from the corner of his eye as Uraume finally begins to make their way over again. The look he shoots them is enough for the servant to realize this wasn't something for them to interfere in. Instead, they stand in the background, ready to jump in whenever their master needed.

As both curses begin to emit immense amounts of cursed energy in preparation for the fight, Uraume can't help but notice a new emotion reflect in Sukuna's gaze. It's something they've never seen him express before, though most ordinary people usually experience it many times. It leaves them confused and wondering what the hell conspired while they were incapacitated.

The thing that's left Uraume stumped, that's making it's first appearance in the Cursed King's eyes, is admiration.

Admiration for the curse that's about to battle with him to the death.

final notes okay! wow- i'm sorry this took so long! i'm happy to get this ball rolling though, be prepared for some fighting and more explanation in the next part!

oh- also i hope sukuna isn't too ooc in this- it's hard to get that guy down!

hope you enjoyed!

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna imagine #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 1 month

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sometimes I see David Tennant's face in Doctor Who as he monologues about time travel/immortality/the eternal loneliness and I go...that's him. that's my rotten lil guy. my wretched wreck of a dude. wreckage in humanoid form. the lonely divine corrupted by himself forgiven by himself made by himself made by his companions made by the universe. horrible and horrifying and far too human and not human enough. the worst thing to ever happen to so many (Martha, Adelaide, Astrid, everyone else who flashed through that whole montage thanks to Davros). a corrupter. a corruption. a cleansing. a man carved out of grief and love and pathos and hatred and grudges and forgiveness who can only make the worst decisions with the best, most selfish of intentions. a man who loved until he lost everything. a man, more than any other doctor, who should never be left alone, and yet he dies alone, with the shortest regeneration speech of any doctor. desperately lonely, desperately tragic, a disaster of a man who is too careless with everything and everyone around him.

And yet I care about him so much, because he is also the man who at the end of it all, after he lost everyone and everything he held dear, after he lost rose and donna and sarah jane and jack and martha and mickey left him and he was more alone than he's ever been, he does the right thing. the kind thing. he stops the time lords from descending on the earth. he once again gives up his people because he understands that the Time Lords Victorious cannot and should not ever be the way to go. he steps in and he saves wilfred mott. he lets himself become the doctor once again. he doesn't want to go, but instead of taking that one final step into godhood, he gives his next self a chance at being a better doctor than he ever could be.

#I DID IT AGAIN #stupid rambling #meta #tenth doctor #character study of sorts #doctor who #my writing #eleventh doctor #hey ten's character arc and his corruption and his tragedy and his callousness and his grief and the way love splits him apart speaks to me #he loves and he loses and he's guilty of so many big and small horrors but at the end he makes himself the doctor again #he is in more pain than he has ever felt #has given up his planet & his people & his companions but he still gives up one last thing- his own life- & trades it for something better #he gives it all up for wilf #and for his future self #and I REALLY want a fic where Eleven went back to see Wilf now #david tennant #russell t davies #wilfred mott

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transmutationisms · 5 months

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In what way are phrenological principles still foundational to research psychology & neurology, and science in general? Asking out of ignorance and wanting to know more.

so, phrenology throughout the 19th century was a broad program of research principles, self-help advice, and social-hygienic prognostication. we tend to think of it now as being reducible to a craniometric chart and a crank trying to divine personality traits from a person's skull shape—this did happen, but phrenology encompassed much more than that. it was a driving force in the increasing acceptance of ideas like brain localisation (that the brain did not act as one, but had distinct parts that could behave differently and independently to one another), the related position that human psychology and personalities could be classified / taxonomised / measured (like, 'attention' as being a faculty distinct from 'judgment' or 'reason' or so forth), and the belief that organic derangements of the brain accounted for a person's individual social / economic / intellectual success, as well as social phenomena like crime, delinquency, or addiction.

by about the 1890s, the word "phrenology" had become more or less dismissed in mainstream french and british scientific circles, and it was portrayed as a pseudoscientific perversion of respectable craniometry / anthropometry. this happened for many reasons, including that british and french medicine were professionalising over the course of the 19th century and that phrenological practitioners were often unlicensed and operating more in a marginal self-help space (akin to many of today's astrologers) than in institutionally sanctioned scientific circles. additionally, after world war ii, phrenology's association with eugenics made it even more unpalatable; it was now seen to be politically dangerous even to those who had previously endorsed eugenics. the same happened to many other theories and disciplines of social-hygienic or degeneration-theory ideas.

however, the rejection of phrenology that began in the late 19th century and intensified in the late 20th has been largely superficial, and 'modern' science has never really grappled with the phrenological roots of so much neuro-deterministic and anthropomentric thinking, from psychiatry to a great deal of moralistic public health to the incredibly deeply entrenched, yet blatantly prejudicial in every way, idea that a person's appearance is indicative of their character or morality. fundamentally phrenology was a major driver in the acceptance (in many different fields) of scientific 'naturalism', a general rejection of prior christian teleological thinking and search for universally deterministic scientific laws instead. rendering mental action into the category of 'natural thing governed by natural laws' was foundational, for example, to darwin's conception of evolution and his effort to distinguish his own theory from the teleological evolutionary theory of robert chambers.

none of this is to say that scientific naturalism ought to be inherently rejected, or replaced with christian metaphysics; however, failing to grapple with the fuller legacy of phrenology, and eugenics more generally, because we don't want to upset what philosophical boundaries we think we've erected between religion and 'modern' science allows such eugenic thinking to retain its centrality in current scientific practice.

it is also always worth emphasising that phrenology, like a lot of scientific theories of self-improvement, has frequently been employed as a vehicle of liberal ideology, particularly in britain. although phrenological practitioners have at various times tried to ally themselves with a superficially radical sort of 'common man's' rejection of the élite scientific institutions, phrenology has at the same time followed a general trajectory whereby it emphasises more and more an idea of personal responsibility for one's own neuro-biological traits and associated character flaws. this is often seen as more palatable than outright hereditarian thinking because, rather than tacitly endorsing the expurgation of the biologically 'unfit', the liberal phrenologist affirms that people simply need to overcome, tame, or temper their own neurobiological defects in order to live productive, socially desirable lives. cf. 'negative' versus 'positive' eugenics.

if you're interested in this i would recommend roger cooter's 'the cultural meaning of popular science: phrenology and the organisation of consent in 19th-century britain' (1984) and philip rehbock's 'the philosophical naturalists: themes in early 19th-century british biology' (1983). cooter was an avowed marxist and his account of phrenology, science, and their relationships to industrial capitalism—while not flawless—is markedly different from any other prior literature on the topic. rehbock's book is less politically daring and less focussed on phrenology specifically, but clarifies some aspects of scientific naturalism and what is meant by distinguishing a 'modern' scientific episteme from earlier practices and principles.

#hps

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ash-rigby · 26 days

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Verdant Transmigration (Spring/Fertility God) [M/M]

Featured Characters: Male human and a male nature god.

Description: Marion, a cleric of one of his town's four resident nature deities, undergoes a ritual to become the next Vessel for Ta'lir who, among many things, is a god of fertility. A merging with Ta'lir requires a more physical element than a purely spiritual one.

Contains: Masked Nonhuman, Size Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Sex Magic, Fellatio, Hand Jobs, Self Lubrication, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Excessive Cum, Mild Cardiophilia.

Completion Date: March 23rd, 2024

Word Count: 3485

This isn't the next requested piece but it was the one I was getting ready to submit to this year's Spring issue of M❤️NSTER. I wound up not making the deadline but I like it too much to wait a year to share it, so I finished it up and here it is!

Marion walked into the ritual chamber under the gazes of many, his nude body catching the flickering firelight. He knelt on the floor of the temple as one of the other priests began to lay out a circle in sacred earth around him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, drawing in the spicy yet floral smell of the incense. Drums beat softly on all sides and the sound of low flutes seemed to tickle the nape of his neck.

He wasn’t nervous, as those around him expected him to be; he had spent the last three days since the previous Vessel’s death in deep meditation to prepare for being the next. Adola was a magnificent woman, a constant through all of Marion’s twenty-five years. A solemn presence with a gentle, motherly hand. Her grace had inspired him to devote his life to the god she carried within her—whom he would carry in her stead.

His city enjoyed the watchful eye of four nature gods, corresponding to the seasons and each with their unique divine favors to bestow. Some blessings and miracles, others that brought simple comforts through the unavoidable trials and pains of life. Whatever their will, it was channeled through a human host; a Vessel that embodied all they were and served the people. But a mortal body is a mortal body, releasing both spirits in death.

With Adola’s passing, Ta’lir—a god of Spring—had returned to the Ethereal Grove where he fell into dormancy, awaiting rebirth into the mortal realm. The Transmigration ritual for each god involved a performance to inspire a merging of their spirit and that of the willing Vessel. There was the exuberant dance for Summer, a melancholy yet ultimately hopeful song for Autumn, and a grueling test of endurance through cold for Winter.

Ta’lir, among other things, represented fertility. Pleasures of the flesh were a common mode of worshipping him. As a priest of Ta’lir’s temple, Marion had partaken many times; alone, with one or two other clerics, and in the grand orgies. He was more than prepared for what was required of him in the ritual ahead. A spiritual and physical union with Ta’lir.

Marion felt a presence step in front of him. There was a rustle of fabric and the sound of bare feet padding against stone. He opened his eyes to see the High Priestess smiling warmly down at him, her face framed by long, brown hair. She held an ornate cup carved from wood in her hand which she leaned down to hand to him.

“Euphoric passage to the Grove,” she said in blessing as Marion took the cup.

He brought it to his lips, familiar with its contents. The cooled, maroon-coloured tea was brewed from a dried mix containing amiculus clover petals; a powerful aphrodisiac despite its mild, unremarkable flavour. Its influence on the body was enough to carry over even in the spirit through astral projection. Euphoric indeed.

Marion gave the empty cup back to the High Priestess. Another cleric, short in stature, took it from her and replaced it with a shallow bowl of dark paint. She knelt and began to mark him with the shapes and lines that would be branded into his skin once he merged with Ta’lir, denoting him as his Vessel.

The tea quickly took effect. Heat swirled in Marion’s stomach before migrating lower as a pleasantly tingling pulse. His cock throbbed, gradually filling without a single touch until it stood erect. Need washed over him but he would not be stroking himself or seeking partners in the crowd around him. For once, that wasn’t a part of things; his body and ecstasy were promised solely to Ta’lir that day.

Marion breathed, his cock full and heavy. The High Priestess’ touch was warm and soft, her captivating bluish-grey eyes frequently holding his as she worked. He shivered at the memories of times he had the honor of worshipping with her. A hitched gasp left him, hips jolting slightly, as she finished the final line—a single, agonizingly slow stroke up the underside of his shaft.

She left him panting in the center of the circle, stepping back to join the other clerics who began to chant. The sacred earth gradually gained a bright green glow. Fractal patterns drew themselves into existence and spread inwards from it. As they reached Marion, the lines painted on him erupted with the same light. He was struck by the extraordinary pleasure of it.

His entire body felt alight and sensitive. Nobody was touching him, but the very air seemed to caress and tease. The chanting grew louder, the glow around him flaring as the ripples of invisible sensation intensified. It was like a fire; wild, blazing, hungry. Nipping, licking and leaving trails of desperation across every inch of him.

He fell back and only just managed to catch and hold himself up on his shaking arms, legs spreading open of their own accord. The flutes faded out but the drums beat harder, the sound of them pounding through him. Somehow in perfect time with every throb of his leaking cock.

Marion tilted his head back, face angled at the ceiling bathed in that green light. Splayed out like this—wantonly moaning and achingly erect—he couldn’t help but feel like a beast crying out for another of its kind to mate. With that thought, the words came to him, spilling from his lips as if someone else had seized his voice.

“Take me, Ta’lir,” he implored to his dormant god. “Oh, Lord of my flesh. My erotic master. Take me!”

His vision became an all-consuming white. Images flooded his mind but did not linger on a single one for long. Wet, dripping holes swallowing his shaft. Slick cocks rubbing against his own. Tangles of hot, sweaty bodies thrusting and grinding. Groping hands. Eager mouths. On top of the drums and chanting came a rising, desperate cacophony of disembodied moans.

Just as Marion felt it all coming to a head, like he might just cum, a hand was placed on the center of his chest. It gave a hefty push and everything stopped.

The surging, full-body pleasure was whisked away in a second. Though his cock still strained and he could feel the effects of the tea coursing through him. Silence settled around him like a fog, broken only by his heaving breaths.

Marion was outside; he could feel a cool breeze on his naked form. There was birdsong and the whisper of leaves. The smell of earth, flowers, and petrichor filled his senses. He only realized then that the white light was gone, leaving darkness. His eyes were closed. Feeling slightly foolish, he opened them and awe took his breath.

The Grove was laid out in all its glory before him.

He was kneeling on a stone circle, carved with the same patterns that had sprung up in light back in the temple. Four tall, mossy pillars rose around him, made into the shape of rabbits standing on their hind legs, noses pointed skyward. Beyond that was a rich, verdant sprawl; long grasses, full bushes, and a dense wood that ringed the clearing he was in.

Directly ahead was a short staircase which led to a colossal tree. Marion gazed at its thick trunk and spotted a carved-out portion in the middle which contained a floating, glowing green mass. Lower still, sitting on a throne that melded into the tree, was the unmoving form of Ta’lir.

Marion stood, not expecting the strength in his legs given what he had just gone through, and walked towards him. He had seen all of the sculptures, scrolls, and murals depicting Ta’lir’s likeness, but nothing could have prepared him for the radiance of the genuine article.

Even sitting, the god was tall. Whatever visage he had, if any, was completely obscured by a wooden mask of a hare’s head that bore three eyes. There was a thick, lush mantle of vegetation growing from his shoulders that flared behind his head, speckled through with flowering clover. The torso and arms of the body looked carved from wood, though sleek. Marion could see the intricacies of it. There were joints that would allow Ta’lir to move with the ease of flesh and bone.

The chest was a hollow like the one he had seen in the tree, though the hole was grated over with thin, uneven, wooden lines that intersected and split here and there. The result was a myriad of varying-sized, ovular holes. There were no innards to speak of; sunlight peaked through them to show the solid plane of the other side.

The wood of the upper half faded into the more flesh-like appearance of the lower, though green and mossy. Marion swallowed when his eyes travelled there and he laid eyes on it. Though dormant, Ta’lir was sporting a large, impressive erection. His thick shaft, with its enticing slight upward curve, stood proudly. Waiting. Propelled by piety and arousal that had far from relented, Marion wasted no time in kneeling between his god’s legs.

His hands lighted on Ta’lir’s thighs. The cock before him was almost intimidating, but reverence won out. He mouthed at the hanging, virile balls before working his way upwards. The taste was an ambrosia on his watering, roaming tongue. He licked the sensitive underside of the head, bringing his hand up to the shaft as he did. The sheer girth of it showed itself as his fingers couldn’t close around it.

Marion closed his lips over the round tip, stroking all he could. As he did, he felt a sudden throb against his palm. It came with a sound; a deep, heavy heartbeat sounding above him. He looked up to see the mass in the tree beginning to pulse just as a bright green glow came to the eyes of Ta’lir’s mask.

The large body drew in a breath—into what lungs, Marion didn’t know—and released it with a low, appreciative groan. Ta’lir shifted, his head rolling on his shoulders before tilting down. Marion’s heart pounded as their eyes met, but he didn’t dare stop; he couldn’t bear the thought of taking his mouth or hands off Ta’lir.

A chuckle, cavernous and gratified, resounded in his mind rather than outward.

“Hello, dear one,” Ta’lir said, his voice thrumming through Marion’s entire being. It was reminiscent of the feeling he experienced during the ritual, though far less sourceless. “And have my thanks for—mmhn—for restoring me.”

Marion responded by taking Ta’lir further into his mouth, bobbing his head and pumping his hand over hot, turgid flesh. The god moaned and it went straight to Marion’s dick, spurring such an intense throb that his eyes briefly rolled. He could cum like this. Just from sucking Ta’lir’s cock. Just from the divine presence of his voice. He upped his pace, yearning to please and dizzy from the pleasure of every noise his efforts worked out.

“I know you,” Ta’lir said. “This eagerness…this lust. Oh, sweet Marion.”

With a wet sound, Marion pulled off of Ta’lir, his hand never stilling as his chest warmed in admiration.

“My reputation precedes me, Lord?” he asked breathlessly, eyelids flickering from the simple action of Ta’lir brushing a tender finger behind his ear—what it was going to feel like getting fucked by this being in this state was beyond his comprehension.

“Come here,” Ta’lir said, tapping his thigh. “Let me see you.”

Marion obeyed, climbing up into his god’s lap and straddling him. His cock raged, weeping onto Ta’lir; a simple but effective tribute. He was panting, well aware of his hole’s proximity to what every part of his insides ached for. Three glowing eyes gazed upon him. Though no emotion could be discerned from them, he could sense the radiating fondness.

“Such a handsome figure,” Ta’lir marveled, fingertips lightly trailing over his Vessel’s sides. The smile in his tone was felt. “And this…”

His hand went to Marion’s dick, taking it between his massive forefinger and thumb. He began to stroke. Slow pass up. Pause. Slow pass down. The pattern repeated as he remained fixated on Marion’s face, drinking in his moans.

“My previous Vessel was a woman without this,” Ta’lir said. “I did love the change of pace, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss burying myself.”

Marion gasped; unable to speak, shaking from his god’s touch and the waves of his voice.

“You must get a lot of attention,” Ta’lir continued, stroking a little faster. “Such a big, gorgeous cock. This heat…and you throb so strongly. I can’t wait for it to be mine. Oh…we’ll do great things together.”

Marion felt his other hand reach to caress the small of his back, gliding down over the mounds of his ass. A long, dexterous finger breached him with surprising ease; was it his imagination or was he wet? His spirit’s burning desire to take Ta’lir into him in more ways than one must have manifested such things. That one, brief coherent thought melted away as he was deeply penetrated, a second finger swiftly joining the first.

They pumped rapidly, striking true against that near-blindingly sensitive spot inside him. His body jolted, back locking into a rigid, trembling arch as his breath halted. He was lightheaded by the time he was able to suck in air again through in quick, whimpering heaves. With a loud wail, he partially collapsed against Ta’lir, his fingers curling onto the inconsistent lattice that was his chest.

“T-Ta-Ta’lir! I can’t, I can’t—ahh!” Marion cried. “I’ll c-cum. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum! I’m—!”

“Not until I do,” Ta’lir corrected, almost sing-song. “By what other power did you think we become one? I’ve been asleep for days…allow me some amusement.”

Marion’s head swum, time becoming an unknown blur. He wasn’t sure how long he experienced Ta’lir fucking him on his fingers, but every second was exquisite. If one was keen to equate the word to denial, that is; and he was.

“You’re amazing, Marion,” Ta’lir praised. “Sucking me in so well. If this is how you take my fingers, then—.”

“Please, Lord,” Marion begged, forgetting himself at a mere insinuation. “I…I need it—.”

“Not yet, my dear,” Ta’lir said, probing faster into the wet, yielding passage. “Not yet.”

True to Ta’lir’s promise, release didn’t come. Marion remained tottering on its edge. He bounced unconsciously, meeting the thrusts of those thick, relentless fingers. His cock felt engorged, hugged by his balls as his body was trapped in those euphoric seconds before orgasm. The roiling pressure, the fever overtaking his shaft, feeling the rivers he was leaking. He had never known such ecstasy; the Grove’s influence was a marvel.

Marion felt no exhaustion when Ta’lir finally removed his fingers. There was only exhilaration and hunger. He shifted his hips, moving until his ass found Ta’lir’s dick. Meeting the glowing eyes once more, he nudged it insistently. His hole was dripping. Twitching. Wanting.

There was that chuckle again. “How rude of me. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Lord…thank you.”

Marion lined himself up and lowered down. His body shouldn’t have been able to take it entirely. Couldn’t have been able to. But it did, opening up as if driven by pure devotion. Every broad inch claimed him slowly until Ta’lir bottomed out.

“Oh…oh, you’re perfect,” Ta’lir praised.

The joy of such a connection with his god was overwhelming and Marion nearly cried. He sat there in hopelessly aroused disbelief, stuffed full and feeling every pulse that throbbed alongside that constant heartbeat. It grew faster as he began to grind.

He kept it slow; now that Ta’lir was inside him, he found himself wanting to savour it. Shallow thrusts were achieved as he lifted up slightly and slid back down. Even that pace felt like being stirred up, the sheer size of Ta’lir’s cock stretching him past his usual limits. His sweltering walls caressed and squeezed—mostly of his own doing, but involuntary clenches were inevitable.

“Yes,” Ta’lir breathed, a visible shiver running through his large frame. “Dance for me.”

His hands came up to cup Marion’s undulating torso, settling over his ribs as the thumbs found his nipples. The wide pads rolled and teased. Marion arched into the touch, expelling a breath that was equal parts a moan and a laugh; it tickled for a moment before settling on pleasure.

It wasn’t long before Ta’lir took control again. Effortlessly, he began to lift Marion up and down his cock. He would get him halfway up the shaft before dropping him to the hilt, that mysterious slick leaking out around him. His head tilted back against the throne as he groaned long and deep.

“Take me…take me.”

Marion’s breath hitched at hearing his own words echoed at him. “I’m yours.”

Ta’lir growled, a sound juxtaposed with the serene herbivore his mask depicted. It was more arousing than it had any right to be. He gripped Marion’s hips and began to pound up into him, grunting with each thrust. His cock seemed impossibly harder; thicker, swelling in its confines.

Marion’s mouth was open, stunned silence occasionally broken by moans cracking his voice to a higher register. He swallowed up that monstrous shaft as if he had been made as its sheath. Like he would be hollow without it. But Ta’lir would fill his empty spaces. Until death parted their spirits.

“I’m yours, I’m yours—ahhh, I’m yours!” he chanted.

He felt himself moving. Ta’lir was standing, hands supporting Marion’s ass as his cock stilled firmly inside. He turned them so he could kneel backwards on his throne and press Marion into its back. His thrusting resumed, faster than his previous position had allowed. A quick clap of meeting flesh filled the Grove.

Marion clutched at Ta’lir. The scent of earth and something more akin to a mammalian musk flooded his nose. The latter grew stronger the more Ta’lir thrust, close to overwhelming the rest and laced with intoxicating pheromones. Marion could practically taste it and drool began to gather in his mouth. He moaned, his hole becoming a desperate vice against the burning beast of a shaft plunging into him.

Gone were Ta’lir’s words, replaced by growls and other feral noises of pleasure as he slammed. Those once-gentle hands gripped, digging deeply into the meat of Marion’s ass. His precum was abundant and incessant in its flow, adding to the lewd squelch of every thrust. It had to be running down his balls, making a mess and dripping onto his throne.

The ever-present heartbeat above their writhing forms raced. Marion was vaguely aware of the glow of that pulsing mass reaching for them in vein-like streaks down the tree’s trunk. Their markings ignited and he felt the first tell-tale throbs making their way through his cock, matching the pace of that pulse. He was close. They were close.

“Cum with me,” Ta’lir said, his voice rough. “Cum…with…!”

He suddenly stilled deep inside and warmth surged into Marion a split second before his own orgasm gripped him. He wailed, explosive ecstasy rushing into every extremity as he excessively came. It seemed endless, spurting from him as his hole milked a similar, copious stream from Ta’lir.

There was a flood; dripping down his sides, flowing into him. Pump after pump. Two voices, loudly moaning, were beginning to be drowned out by the furious thumping of the tree’s pulse.

Marion’s vision whited and—.

He was back in the temple, kneeling in that circle. His abdomen and thighs were covered in splatters of his own cum. It didn’t cease upon his return, pleasure working through him and making his hips buck as his cock continued to burst. His hole twitched uncontrollably; he could still feel the heat of Ta’lir’s seed and the stretch of his girth. The room was silent save for his own unrestrained moans as his divine orgasm was given proper reverence.

A faintness washed over Marion as the magic tied to the ritual abated. He collapsed and was descended upon by some of the other clerics. They welcomed him back—a greeting for him and their god. He was vaguely aware of being wrapped in multi-coloured, flower-embroidered cloth and carried to the baths. Gentle hands cleaned him with steaming, pleasant-smelling water as he continued to shiver.

Through heavy eyes, he inspected what he could see of himself. The painted marks had permanently bonded to his skin in swirling lines of brilliant emerald green. But otherwise, he felt no different and a distant pang of concern came to him.

Did it work? Had he been enough?

The High Priestess was carding her fingers through his hair when a familiar voice came to him, clear in his mind; murmurs of praise and contagious excitement for a promising future.

End

Masterlist

#text #spicy #ash originals #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster boyfriend #nature spirit #nature god #oc:ta'lir #oc:marion #i'll be getting to work on that next request now

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hanasnx · 6 months

Text

"hosanna."

darth vader x f!reader

SUMMARY: you live to serve your sith lord. WORD COUNT: 1.3k | CHARACTERS: darth vader NOTES: as a former christian child, this song speaks to me on a level i cant explain. it is not a testament to my current religious standpoint, this is not pro or anti anything. merely a song analysis format in the perspective of a darth vader smut writer. "hosanna" by hillsong united. @xstarkillerx heavily influenced this fic WARNINGS: heavy religious themes | sexual content | coitus | unprotected sex | virginity loss | objectification | worship | size difference | mentioned: blood, suicide | no y/n

Heal my heart and make it clean.

“Please, my lord.” your desperate croak echoes against the floor as you press your forehead to the stone in your kneel. You beg not for traditional mercy, but rightful extinction. To bask in the company of the Sith Lord can only mean one thing. Finally, your mistake will be remedied. You’ll be scorched from the face of this planet by his righteous fire, fit to continue your spiritual journey with the help of his guided and generous hand. When it raises to clench around your neck, to squeeze the life from you, your soul will escape your wretched and human body.

Open up my eyes to the things unseen.

Sights you cannot fathom, planes you cannot reach, heavens you are unallowed to cross all become possible in the benevolence of his presence. A great exhilaration, the cathartic rush you’ve been bound to chasing your entire lifespan is at your fingertips. They prickle in anticipation, driving you to near tears over the discovery of divinity. To be at his feet overwhelms you, and you’re wracked with sobs. The pilgrimage you’ve been tasked with is at its end. Darth Vader stands before you, and you cannot bring yourself to utter another word in fear.

Show me how to love like You have loved me.

You’re brought to stand. His hand cups your chin, and you burn from his touch. By his grip, he raises your gaze, and you scan the ample length of his imposing form. Cloaked in black, shrouded in terrifying mystery, your weeping is quieted in the presence of his glory. The image of his expressionless mask in front of you runs your blood cold. You’ve seen his likeness etched into your planet’s culture, yet that awe is incomparable to the one that roars through your veins now. Legends depict his dark figure as a hunter. An insatiable pursuant that stops at nothing until the galaxy is cleansed. His abysmal love for all things is shown through his relentless protection of it. With a step, he shakes the very crust of the terrain he walks upon; with a wave of his mighty hand, corrupt civilizations fall and armies stab themselves so as not to face him; under his leadership, his empire thrives and spreads to the untouched and the perverted in his name. Dry mouth struggles to swallow as he remains silent, doubtlessly counting your sins as he scrutinizes you. You always knew you were to be judged, and here it is. Yet, you’re stupefied. His thumb against you does not feel like you thought it would, pinching your skin coldly.

Break my heart for what breaks Yours.

“Do I displease you?” you whisper. A single tear breaks from your eye in your tremble, grazing your cheek as it falls. A knuckle comes to dab at the moisture, and you flinch. His encasing is to hide his unseeable majesty from the galaxy. It is said a single look upon his true self will devour you whole, tearing you to shreds where you stand, and blaze your eyes from their sockets. If you survive the encounter, you’ll live out the rest of your blackened life consumed by his image as the last thing you saw, in blind search of it through endless deserts. Already you condemn yourself, cursing your own household for its transgressions against him and his vision, your appearance is unsatisfactory, your soul has been dipped in gold to weigh down the scales. You’ve been too prideful, vain, greedy. How could you have ever hoped to be here with him when you’re a demon in skin? He senses it, he must. You will atone.

Everything I am for Your kingdom's cause.

There is nothing you won’t do in his name. There is nothing that will keep you from him. Your boundless devotion towards the Sith Lord cannot be bought, cannot be measured. You are his vessel, a path to reach others, your eyes are his eyes. Can he see himself through you? If he, a being of endless power, were to attempt to inhabit your body, would you combust into ashes under his boot? Still, you try. Storms bend to his will, mountains bow by his word. What could you offer to him that is not within his scope? “Anything.” you plea through a broken voice, your hands hooking into your outerwear to pull it off your shoulders. His hand releases your jaw, and you step back for any offense you may have caused. Since his command suspends, you continue. Your straps are tugged down, and your knees buckle, dropping to the ground. Desperately, lovingly, you bare yourself to him, you crawl to his feet in worship.

As I walk from earth into eternity.

There’s nothing you don’t give him throughout the night. Anything you can comprehend is surrendered to him. You’re afraid. While he’s inside you, you’re afraid. Rooted deep, sheathed inside your purity, touching sacred parts of you that has never been offered to anyone else. You’re afraid of him. He’s said nothing, exhalting himself using you as you’ve invited him to, but in your eyes he’d need not ask. You are his. Large hands grasp your torso, bunching up the fabrics of your clothes, ripping seams more and more with each thrust. The pain of consummation is one you thank him for with lachrymal essence dripping down the corners of your eyes, wetting your hairline. The sins of the flesh are a stranger to you, until he breaks your virginity, fucking you through the blood. So as not to surprise him, you swallow your cry with a palm over your lips. Disillusioned with your surroundings, focused on the heat where your bodies meet, you notice how he’s changed his pace. A gentler angle to his hips as he caresses your insides with his member. Regardless of its stiffness, the velvety outer layer is sweet against your walls. True rapture introduces itself to you, growing in pleasure with each stroke. His cape veils your nakedness to the outside world, shielding you as he presses you to him in a surprising demonstration of humanity. Symbolically, your forehead kisses the crest of his headpiece, a stark contrast from the stone you’d bowed on, he is showing you forgiveness. Humility. He is grateful. The sensation of being filled by him becomes not only bearable, but welcome. Your wails are no longer wracked with the despair of ache, but of staggering passion. Newfound life flows through you, rejuvenating you, manifesting in the beads of sweat on your brow, and the tears of thankfulness as they stream from your blurring gaze. On the edge of your peak, you take pride. He wants you. He wants you. He wants you.

Hosanna, Hosanna.

You can’t see yourself, but you’re outside your body. The warmth of existence embraces you, curling around you like smoke. There’s nothing but comfort here. Nothing but a stretch of unconditional love and acceptance. Finally, finally you’re here. You’ve reached your heavens. You can feel it all around you. It is the light. It is eternity. It is. It is. It is.

You are. You are. You are.

As you open your eyes, the fleeting feeling dissipates. The prickle softens, your breathing evens out, the white hot sensation of your orgasm passes over you. No. No. No. It was right there, it was in your hands. You’re alerted as he pulls from you, the wet sounds of your joint pleasures spill from your spasming entrance, pouring down your body that still remains. Your body that drew your soul back in from salvation. Darth Vader does not realize he’d given you a taste of the Force in his ecstasy, entwining your souls to see through each other’s eyes for one honored moment. Nor does he foresee the future of you begging for him over and over again, just for a mere taste of it at your climax.

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lazyyogi · 1 year

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THE OMKAR (OM)

Om is the first mantra. It is the seed syllable of reality Itself.

Om begins and concludes every ritual, meditation, and mantra. Om begins and concludes that Thing we perceive as the Universe.

Om encodes the destination, the map, and the practice of the spiritual path.

The dot embodies the non-dual divine reality inherent in/as all Beings. The loops of the symbol demonstrate the shapes of human consciousness: waking life, dreaming, and dreamless sleep. Dividing the space between Reality and the shapes of human consciousness is a single swoosh, the Illusion.

This symbol is the reason for why some make a distinction between awareness and consciousness. Consciousness can change into many shapes, textures, and flavors. While dreaming, waking, and dreamless sleep are a few, consider also the shapes consciousness takes when exposed to psychedelics.

Yet even while consciousness can shift and change, there is an unknown knower of all these changes that is itself changeless. By unknown, what is meant is that consciousness cannot know this awareness any more than a cartoon character can know its cartoonist. However, that awareness can know itself.

The awareness in all living Beings is that divine reality. Some call it awareness because it is aware of consciousness due to the knowing capacity inherent in awareness but awareness is much more than just that. So why not call it Divine? That is just as good a description for its staggering majesty as any other.

Through an inexplicable and illusory occurrence, this awareness (or Divinity) has mistaken itself to be a single fragment of existence confined within the three shapes of human consciousness. From this arises the experience of separation, individuation, and suffering. All the while, the divine awareness is still the divine awareness. That's why this is called an illusion. It doesn't actually and never actually happened.

And that's also why Enlightenment isn't really a transformation but more like finally remembering or realizing how things actually are, hence realization. A person doesn't become enlightened just as a cartoon character doesn't realize they are the cartoonist. It is the cartoonist who remembers themself.

A non-dual teaching summarizes this succinctly: "There are not two selves, one that realizes the other."

In the end, the only real Self that we have and are is that divine awareness.

All of this and more is encoded in this lucid symbol and simple mantra...

#om #aum #hinduism #sanatanadharma #yoga #zen #spirituality #buddhism #mantra #enlightenment #realization #philosophy #meditation

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wobster109 · 13 days

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Why is Aventurine Preservation-Imaginary?

(The real answer is, it's probably just HoYo filling out the path/element roster, but we'll play along!)

We'll tackle his element first. It's not the easier of the two, but it's the one with less info to sort through. The basic element types are:

Elements: wind, fire, ice, lightning

Sorta-abstract: quantum, imaginary

Physical: physical

It's a pretty funny system, all things considering. Here's Gepard, he can summon a massive wall of ice through will alone! Here's Dr. Ratio, he can make a massive tower just by thinking it into existence! Oh and here's Luka. Ordinary human. Pretty good at boxing.

(Not including Trailblazer here - probably the stellaron helps her swing that bat extra hard or something.)

And in the middle, you have Guinaifen, Hook, and Serval, who use the element but do not create it from scratch. For example, Serval is conceivably using electricity from her electric guitar.

Most of the elements are pretty self-explanatory, but Quantum and Imaginary are a bit more abstract. What are these types? What do they mean?

Quantum: technology, information, data, uncertainty

In my mind, Silver Wolf is the classic quantum character. She uses hacking to change data. In her hands, the data is always shifting. Fu Xuan is another direction that quantum can go - she's a diviner, and her job is peering into the future and making sense of the uncertainty. And then Qingque has elements of both: she works in divination, and also there is uncertainty in each hand of Celestial Jade.

Imaginary: Logic, abstraction, math/physics/metaphycs, theology

For some reason, Imaginary feels to me like dealing with the grand existential questions. There's Dr. Ratio on one end, knowledge is the measure of all things, and then there's Luocha with religious symbolism all over him, the devils, the church, the insanity in his character story, healing you with a cross necklace. Welt with his black hole - there's some kind of physics in there!

But this seems more like a philosophy than an element in battle. So in practice, what Imaginary characters have in common most of all is summoning miscellaneous objects 😅 black holes, dragons, chalk, etc.

So on that note, Aventurine fits right in, summoning dice and coins all over the place! Watch your he-ead~ 🎶🎵

I would've expected Aven to be Quantum. All the RNG in his kit. . . all the gambling, all the uncertainty. . . it seems more alike Qingque's tile suits. He even has card suits on his shields!

Perhaps the Imaginary is more about his character. Much of his story is intensely existential - what's the good of his blessing when everyone he loves is gone; why are we born if it's just to die. Perhaps he brings not just another answer, but a new way to see the question—not Why am I here, but All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

A more direct question that he himself discusses is why he's Preservation. We know he was offered the chance to become a Masked Fool, and seek Elation - the pursuit of happiness. Yet he turned it down.

As his alter-ego says, he and Preservation have nothing in common.

Interestingly, he also gives himself the answer.

He didn't choose the Preservation. Aventurine chose the IPC.

But wait—aren't the IPC the bad guys?

It is fascinating to me when people make out the IPC to be the villain of this tale, or talk about him "escaping" the IPC as if he's being held hostage. Not only did he choose the IPC, he gambled everything, including his life, just for a sliver of a chance to join them.

They didn't kill his family, enslave him, brand him, or make him kill 34 other slaves. Certainly, the IPC has used Aventurine's talents and self-destructive behavior to their benefit, and is not particularly concerned with what becomes of him. They are big, corporate, and easy to hate. But they are also not the cause of his tragedy.

It's not the IPC, but rather the Katicans, that kill Kakavasha's family. His sister describes them as "bloodthirsty, cruel, and insatiably greedy." Personally I can’t say with confidence that the Katicans are villains without knowing their full history, but either way, the conflict is between the Avgins and the Katicans.

My feeling is that the IPC is amoral - they are not actively out to do harm, but neither will they go out of their way to avoid or prevent it. They are focused primarily on profit. Sometimes that means taking over a planet against the people's will. Sometimes that means making gambles. . . or sacrifices. Other times, it means hosting an Aetherium event.

So, why does Aventurine choose the IPC? What's interesting to me is, he isn't a slave to the IPC in any sense - not even in the lack-of-choice sense of Topaz's planet. He had a choice. He could have become a Masked Fool. So, why?

It all comes back to this:

"Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back if you see fit. Exploitation and treachery are simply tools of the trade. But remember, I don't make deals that don't pay off... So, I hope you don't disappoint me."

The IPC is a tool to him, a means to an end. He expects that the IPC will use him, and in exchange he intends to use the IPC.

But to what end?

It's got to be something big. He could have become a refugee or an ordinary IPC employee, and instead he took the risk of lying about Tayzzynronth's remains. He let himself be arrested and brought to Jade. "I bet you won't send me to the gallows." Death was a possibility, so it had to be worth that risk.

My guess is that he wanted to save the Avgin people.

(And in this sense, Preservation is his true path after all.)

His sister tells him, "As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry." Perhaps his goal was to save the remaining Avgin people, bring them away from the land of rock and sand and hardly any rain, and give them a home where they could prosper. Or to environmentally transform his home the way the IPC transformed other planets. To do that, he'll need more money and power than an IPC grunt's income. But with a Stoneheart's power, the IPC's money, and the Intelligentsia Guild's knowledge, he could make that happen.

(It feels off. It feels like too simple of an answer.)

But the Avgin people are all gone. Aventurine specifically says there aren't any left. Now that his reason is gone, what will become of him?

In a way, he does offer us an answer.

Aventurine: There will come a day when the sky will drizzle, and I will hear the call of Gaiathra Triclops and know that it is time for me to go and be reunited with my family. Aventurine: So until the time comes... I should be preparing. Kakavasha: Preparing for what? Aventurine: Preparing to face them, Kakavasha, and to make them proud.

He will go on to live a good life. What form will it take?

I don't think he can ever completely shake off the responsibility of being the last surviving Avgin. It would be quite a leap for him to settle down and have a family, so perhaps he'll have to pass it forward some other way. Either by preserving the culture (another museum management event?) or by dedicating his wealth and power to saving other peoples.

The thing about being somewhere is, you can't help but grow into it, and it grows around you. And now, he has. . . allies who are a bit closer to friends than he might think.

He has two coworkers who willingly handed over their cornerstones for his plan—cornerstones more precious than life itself. He seems to genuinely look out for Topaz (advising her against getting involved in Belobog), and she talks about him cheerfully during 2.1. And I am sure that bringing him into the IPC was a significant personal risk for Jade, especially since he'd already caused the IPC a major financial loss. For Jade and Topaz, he has—if not their trust, at least their respect in his abilities.

And he has the Intelligentsia Guild's top Mundanite fussing over his survival. Not for the Avgin bloodline, and not for profit or the success of a mission. Acheron refers to Ratio as his “friend”, and he doesn’t bother to deny it.

He has three allies/maybe-friends involved in a grand scheme with him, and isn't there something addicting about scheming together? Something as marvelous as what the Trailblazer has with the Express? So, I don't think he'll leave the IPC anytime soon. He carved out this path with his bare hands, made a life and a purpose for himself, and even made some friends along the way. Now, it's time to live it.

#honkai star rail #spoilers #aventurine #the IPC #character study

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vesora · 10 months

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the spoon does not exist. - movie scene linked

the straight spoon does not exist without your awareness of it.

you do not bend the spoon, you bend yourself. you bend your awareness. the spoon is illusory. perception is subjective.

"What he sees before him is not a spoon, but rather an idea his brain has created of a spoon—his own perception. He can change reality by changing his perception."

"Neo remembers this exchange as he becomes more confident in his ability to break the rules of the Matrix. All he has to do is remember that the rules he breaks aren’t actual rules. Just as there is no spoon, there is no gravity, there is no time—all these things are lies the machines tell his brain. Neo can fly, for example, because he can see gravity is a false construct. Once Neo understands that “there is no spoon,” he gains more power in the Matrix."

using a movie to explain that reality is false may be unorthodox but hear me out. the matrix is simply a sense-based prison. a self-made prison made up of limitations and false constructs. there is no logic, there are no facts, everything is illusory and can be changed but in order for you to gain awareness of a different version of reality you must realise that the spoon is fake.

"Anything is possible in the Matrix, yet Neo’s lifetime of conditioning within this system has kept his belief in his own ‘Oneness’ from truly taking root. Logic implies that all things are known and must follow certain parameters and patterns, yet nature is anything but logical. In this context, "there is no spoon" is meant as a means for Neo to let go of his logical presumptions of what constitutes reality. As the boy says, “...you’ll see that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.” The limitations of Neo’s reality are self-imposed by the lense through which he’s been taught to see the world. By letting go of what he’s so sure ‘he knows’, he finally opens up to what’s possible."

Morpheus tells him “You have to let it all go Neo; fear, doubt, and disbelief.”

the movie itself does give way to things external to the person - agent smith - but you do not need to take it literally. there is no external. the only agent smith that exists is your own self imposed destruction. 'breaking out of the matrix' is just breaking out of a falsely identified with reality and realising that you are above any human law, above everything for you are reality itself. be nonchalant to agent smith, he is POWERLESS for you have realised the truth. the truth that you can manipulate the so-called matrix. the truth that your realisation of your power is all that is needed.

it is hard to realise that everything you believed was real is illusory, it can be overwhelming to 'take the red pill' and realise the greatest truth that you ARE the creator and no human law applies to your divine nature. realising the truth does not take away from special moments or imagined memories, it liberates you from believing that this body is all that you are. it opens a new door of actual UNLIMITED possibilities to experience anything you want to experience, knowing that you are not victim to circumstance and you can easily experience something different. you are in control. there is NOTHING holding you back. you can fly right now if you want to. you can teleport to japan right now if you want to. there is no such thing as impossible, the only impossibility exists in mind which we know is illusory.

realise the spoon is fake and bend your awareness to live life out of misery, pain and destruction and direct your awareness to love, peace and fun.

#law of assumption #loa #manifestation #manifest #affirmations #matrix

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getcuboned · 2 months

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The hardest thing for a show to do without absolutely Destroying its audience's belief in stakes is fake out deaths. It happens all the time during a season or even series finale: A main character dies, but then is revealed to be mildly/moderately/extremely hurt (throw a dart).

All the emotional payoff a character dying is immediately followed up with a cathartic return of a beloved figure. When its done right, it's Effective. That's why it was so popular, that and another reason.

The other reason is that its relatively Easy. It doesn't require the writers to change the status quo. Silly fun adventures with the gang go on as always without any real changes. This is so Cost and Idea effective, that it got overused and now everyone is jaded.

Now there's good ways to do this of course. AtLA comes to mind: Genuine threat of death, maguffin from last season finale which has been haunting the previous episodes comes into play, and the status quo changes: Aang is recovering from a serious injury for weeks, is furious that he died and failed Again when the world needed him, and he can't tap into god mode anymore.

So what's this got to do with the tags? Well if you know you know. Otherwise spoiler warning so gtfo already.

Sir Pentious, and I suspect Adam, did die a fakeout death, but the death part was genuine. Sir Pentious was not found in the rubble of the Hotel. Sir Pentious didn't respawn and explain that Adam's divine energy beams weren't angelic steel. Sir Pentious was Genuinely dead and the status quo has genuinely changed.

But! The show's premise is that the Hotel can help sinners redeem themselves. Redeption isn't a reward you seek. Its a condition that one meets on a personal, individual level. Sir Pentious came to the Hotel as a spy, and when he was shown that Charlie was willing to forgive him, it changed his understanding of the world. He realized that he could improve, it just starts with one good sorry.

Sir Pentious put aside his self loathing, his shame, his anxieties. He used his inventions to put himself on the line rather than keep himself out of danger (I mean that's what the airship is all about isn't it?). He fought for the people he cared about. He died to protect the ones he loved. And that transformation: from a paranoid worm of a human being (slimy? Snakes are not slimy), to an actualized individual willing to put himself on the line, earned him salvation.

Now Sir Pentious is an Angel! He's in Heaven! Even more so he bypassed the Pearly Gates and functionally respawned In the Seraphim's boardroom. Frankly He was one of the older sinners to be around so it doesn't surprise me the implication that he's powerful enough be worth the notice of the Seraphims.

So what about Adam? Why do I mention him? He was killed by a filthy janitor. Well. As another post mentioned: In the 10,000 years that Adam has been in charge of killing his own descendants because Lilith and Eve (where the fuck is she anyway?) screwed him over with the assistance of a short, dumb, naive angel (poor guy just wanted to share his ideas, look at him. 10,000 years later and he's hardly got a drop of malice in him that isn't put there by someone else), Adam has become Prideful, Slothful, Lustful, and Wrathful. Even one of those is enough to make you fall. Yet he was tolerated by heaven, most likely due to his extenuating circumstances.

Adam has died. He died full of Wrath, and Pride. He died because he was unmotivated to come up with a better solution, and unwilling to keep himself in shape. He died because of his Blood Lust.

So I think that very early on in season two, we will get to see Adam's demonic form.

Two fakeout deaths! But not really. Both characters have provably died and both (theoretically) will create a new status quo not just by dying, but by reincarnating across enemy lines.

#hazbin hotel spoilers #sir pentious #hazbin hotel #writing advice #hazbin adam #lucifer #hazbin lilith #hazbin eve

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hamliet · 3 months

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BSD 112: War and Peace

Now that the manga has finally caught up to the anime, I shall say that I am still pretty convinced Fyodor will pull a Jesus and be fine.

That said, I hella loved this chapter. The themes, man. Essentially Fukuchi is inviting Fukuzawa to become God, though I would NOT be surprised to see a certain new character show up considering this entire chapter is basically Fukuchi and Fukuzawa trading paraphrased quotes from A Certain Novel.

It's a battle of free will vs peace, and how we walk that line as individuals and societies... war is futile and hell, and pointless because what even is a state anyways besides some arbitrary idea we've all agreed to for... reasons, and yet if you remove the ability for war and conflict as a whole, you don't really have humanity but instead mind-controlled slaves.

War is not a polite recreation, but the vilest thing in life, and we ought to realize this and not make a game of it... as it stands now it's the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous.”

Every action of theirs, that seems to them an act of their own freewill is in the historical sense not free at all but is bound up with the whole course of history and preordained from all eternity... Man lives consciously for himself, but serves as an unconscious instrument for the achievement of historical, universally human goals.

It's true that people are born where they are born, and caught up in the stories that are grander than they are. Everyone likes to imagine what they know and what they experience and what they want and believe is True, but is it? Or is it merely a product of how they've grown? Is it a product of the centuries and millennia of people before us who create wars and conflicts and use us in them?

Yes, humans are used as unconscious instruments. But is that all they are? All they should be? Fukuchi seems to think yes. If they're currently used as instruments of war, then why not use them. as instruments of peace?

Fukuzawa, however, thinks otherwise.

It's an existential question humanity has been wrestling over since human beings have existed, and it won't be answered anytime soon because there is no neat answer. It's the paradox of human nature and human existence.

He had learned that, as there is no situation in the world in which a man can be happy and perfectly free, so there is no situation in which he can be perfectly unhappy and unfree.

Dictatorships are known, obviously, for suppressing free will and free expression.

Now, in War and Peace, Tolstoy's answer is love. And God, who is Love. But love first and foremost since Tolstoy himself wasn't super religious when writing it (later on he was though).

Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one thing we are interested in here.

Yet, if you remove the ability to choose love or violence, then:

A man having no freedom cannot be conceived of except as deprived of life.

And it's pretty clear what lesson Fukuchi has to learn:

Life is everything. Life is God. Everything shifts and moves, and this movement is God. And while there is life, there is delight in the self-awareness of the divinity. To love life is to love God. The hardest and most blissful thing is to love this life in one's suffering, in the guiltlessness of suffering.

Life sucks. War is hell. It makes life feel like it's not worth living. But without free will, you are not alive at all.

For if we allow that human life is always guided by reason, we destroy the premise that life is possible at all.

Anyways, even if Leo Tolstoy does not appear as an actual character with the supreme ability of "War and Peace," well, he sure is influencing this arc a lot.

#ask hamliet #war and peace #bsd 112 #bsd meta #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #bsd fukuzawa #fukuchi ouchi #bsd theory #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs 112

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chocoenvy · 2 years

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SAGAU!Vampire reader x various

uhhhh.. y-yeah... while i was sick i had two fic ideas, this being one of them. I could barely write them bc i had a massive headache. So fuck you inspiration, coming at the worst time >:(

Warnings: Completely SFW, slightly comical, all of the characters mentioned act like simps

You had given them everything, weapons and artifacts they could only dream of. Shown them things they never would've gotten the chance to otherwise. Taken their monotonous lives and turned them on their heads, traveling every corner of the world with them and holding their hand along the way so loving and tight.

You were so real in their world of fake skies, staring fondly at them from beyond the stars and abyss.

So, naturally, the moment your gaze became concrete and close, they'd treat it as a divine gift. They'd treat you like a divine gift.

You were a nervous wreck entering this world, much unlike the statues they'd carved in your image, all of which were poised and graceful. Then again, nothing about the statues they'd made reflected how you actually appeared nor acted.

The mostly glaringly obvious issue was... well...

"Please suck my blood, your grace!" Venti was already all over you, his arms wrapped around yours and his head tilted to the side to fully expose his neck, "You can take as much as you want."

With a completely serious expression, Ei grasped the bard's shoulder with unrelenting strength, "Your grace," She didn't even spare him a glance, her striking purple gaze completely settled onto you, "Ignore him. Please, take my blood instead. I won't feel a thing due to my new body."

Zhongli was very obviously gritting his teeth at the other two archons, he grabbed both of them by the collar of their shirts and tugged them away from you, "Both of you need to calm down. This is very unflattering behavior to be displaying in front of their grace."

The glares the two gave him looked as though they were ready to start another archon war.

"It's-it's fine... I just..." You fumbled with your words, admittedly flustered at how willingly they were to give up their blood to you. "Do-" You coughed into your hand to get rid of some of your embarrassment, "Do you... even have blood, Ei?"

She blinked and a soft dust of blush appeared on her face, "Ah... Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out." She nodded self-assuringly.

"A-ah," You chuckled, your face red, "Do- do any of you understand how... uhm... intimate drinking directly from someone's neck is..?"

They all blinked at you owlishly, even their attendants (representatives from each nation, all of which you recognized as characters you knew) stared at you.

A startled laugh escaped your throat, "Oh you-you don't..." Your eyes flickered between the archons and their attendants, all of which were looking at you expectantly. It was odd that you felt like the prey in this situation, "Well, uhm... sucking blood directly from someone - especially their neck - is often seen as a... romantic gesture..."

"So..." Lady Ningguang put her clawed hand up to her mouth in thought, her red eyes peering at you, "Whoever you decide to be your blood bag, is essentially your consort?"

At that Venti's eyes lit up and Zhongli had to physically restrain him from jumping to hug you again. Ei, on the other hand, slightly deflated. If you were right about her not having any blood would she become the least favored? It's a thought that shook her to her core after all these years of being loved by you, your gentle hands taking care of her, would you finally drop her?

"I-I," You stuttered, all the attention on you activating your innate fight or flight. Usually, in these types of situations, you were being hunted. This... was definitely not something you'd ever predicted to happen, "I wouldn't go there yet." You nervously chuckled, "Usually I just drink animal blood and such and even then I drain it out into a container before drinking it. It's been... hm, it's been years since I've had human blood. Maybe since I was a child just cause I was growing a bunch during that time."

You glanced around and noticed their sympathetic gazes, Jean had opened her mouth and you knew what she was about to offer so you beat her to it, waving your hands dismissively, "All that is to say, I don't need human blood. Much less drinking straight from the source."

"But..." Venti pouted, "You deserve some luxuries don't you, your grace?"

You huffed, "Luxuries, Venti, that's what human blood is. Not a regular meal." A dark look overcast your eyes, "I don't want to hurt any of you."

Their hearts clenched as the corners of your mouth tugged down.

"Apologies then, your grace," Jean bowed her head to you, "Just know that if you ever require anything be human blood, animal blood, or anything at all, we'll get it for you." Her smile was warm and comforting, like a vanilla coffee.

A dark part of you salivated at the thought of her blood, whispering in your ear that if you thought she was like vanilla coffee then why don't you take the opportunity presented to you and prove it.

You pushed the thought aside, forcing a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Jean. I appreciate it." Your fangs flashed through your smile, a natural predatory gleam in your eyes as the thoughts of them so willingly offering themselves to you never left the recesses of your mind.

Your fangs unconsciously elongated. It was obvious that you were hungry from the look in your eyes and now protruding fangs.

"Would you like to eat something?" Zhongli offered with a small smile - though there was a glint in his eyes showing what he'd like to really offer - "Anything you want, we'll get it for you."

You smiled, "Just animal blood is fine-"

As soon as those words left your lips an arrow whizzed in the air and landed on an unsuspecting nearby animal. Venti held a proud grin on his face, prancing over to the animal, his bow disappearing just as fast as it had appeared.

You blinked owlishly as he presented to you, "Here you go, your grace!" He grinned widely, "Completely fresh!" A giggle escaped his throat and - considering the circumstances - it felt a little intimidating.

"Ah- I-" You gingerly took the animal from his hands, "Thank you."

Perhaps it was from the fact you had just been torn away from everything and everyone you'd ever known and called home. Or the fact that you were under quite some stress and you weren't sure when the last time you ate was.

Either way you quite embarrassingly sunk your teeth deep into the small animal. Greedily sucking all of the blood out of it. Under normal circumstances you'd be a lot neater about it, more careful and definitely not eating like this with an audience. But you were under high stress and running low on food so you, quite animalistically, sucked the animal dry.

Once you had gotten your fill, your brain was a lot calmer and clearer. You pulled away, licking any excess from your lips, "Ah, sorry about that. I'm not usually this messy."

You diverted your eyes away from them as you cleaned the blood from off your face and hands. Though, they didn't have the same decency to look away as you did. In fact they were all staring quite unabashedly at you licking away the blood. Jean and Venti were even blushing quite obviously at the scene.

Zhongli sent a dirty glare at the two - Venti mostly - to tell them to calm down and not make you uncomfortable. Jean cleared her throat and forced her blush down, but Venti merely rolled his eyes at Zhongli and continued to enjoy the scene in front of him.

"You're so unprofessional, Venti." Zhongli frowned down at the archon, "Your grace, if you wish, we could provide you a feast back in Liyue."

"Or Mondstadt!" Venti cut in.

"Or Inazuma." Ei frowned at the other two, a dark look in her eyes.

There was tension between those from the three nations as they all glared at you, "So?" Zhongli tore his eyes away from the other two archons, "Which will you choose?"

#sagau #genshin cult au #genshin sagau #sagau cult au #genshin self aware #ei #zhongli #venti #uhhhh sorry this has been bugging me for a hot minute im not fucking with it anymore #i started writing this when i was sick and got too tired to finish it for like three days #and like i wanted to do more but you know me can't choose anything ahaha-#so i'll probably do three branching paths where you go to mondstadt liyue and inazuma and that'll have more vampire content in it #i also had two other fic ideas while i was sick so i'll try and work on those slfkjasdflkasjdf

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