#exercise more faith

[livinglifeagainblog]

Daily Devotional

In Mark 11:22, Jesus emphasizes the power of faith in God. This verse serves as a cornerstone for understanding how trust in the divine can fundamentally alter our perspectives and actions. Faith, as described here, isn't just a passive belief but an active, dynamic force that can move mountains in our lives. It encourages us to lean not on our own understanding but to fully surrender and depend on God's wisdom and timing.

Reflecting on this, we see that faith shapes how we approach challenges and uncertainties. It teaches us that with God, what seems impossible becomes possible. This kind of faith nurtures our spiritual growth and guides us daily, reminding us that our strength lies not within ourselves but through our connection with God.

Concluding Prayer: Heavenly Father, I thank You for the gift of faith. Help me to always remember that through faith in You, I can overcome obstacles and face my days with courage. Strengthen my trust in You, so that I may rely not on my own understanding but on Your divine guidance. May my heart always be open to the lessons You teach me through faith. AMEN.

Follow-up Questions:

What is one are of your life where you need to exercise more faith?

How can you actively trust God in that situation starting today?

While these devotionals serve as spiritual guidance and inspiration, they are not a substitute for professional advice or personalized spiritual counsel from qualified individuals. For issues deeply affecting your life, seeking out such counsel might be beneficial.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

im possibly maybe cooking dash

[caointeag]

Send a 👀 and I will describe how my muse sees yours / what they think of when they look at them.

Maron. When they first met he terrified her. He was nothing like Theon, he was a true Ironborn, the kind that stalked the nightmares of the western coast — and herself. He smells of sea and salt. His eyes are a clear ocean blue, and he is as treacherous as the waters he sails. Like some living avatar of their drowned god. Terrible and pure evil. Only marginally better than the stories of his uncle Euron but not from lack of trying, only for lack of opportunity. She loathed the reminder of the ocean, her one embarrassing phobia, because what business does someone who lives in a landlocked place being so scared of open waters and the people mad enough to love them? She would rather put them all to the sword and be done with it. But the ironborn have ships and the North has none. They both want independence and to get that concessions will need to be made and deals made with demons.

Frequent exposure forces one to cope, to learn and experience and shift. To survive one has to understand one's enemies, one's fears. Maron is not a god. Not a supernatural force or her nightmares made flesh. He's a man. An intelligent, infuriating man. He is dangerous yes, but he is not gleefully cruel. He can be reasoned with. He has loved ones and foods he doesn't like. He's no different than her sworn sword Yrre. Simply a violent man with a good mind. If anyone had told her she'd be on an ironborn ship she would've assumed it would've been as the spoils of a raid — perhaps in some ways that's still true. But as it is she's spent more time with them in their own world than probably any other northman has outside of being chained up in a ship's hold and she has begun to see the reality behind Old Nan's stories.

He is like Father and Jory and Ser Rodrick and Robb and Jon and every other proud northmen she knows. It should not shock her so much, go far enough back and the northmen and the ironborn share a common cultural ancestry as first men, but it does. And now she cannot unsee it, in him, in his crew. They are like us. He proud and strong and steeped in the ways of his people that so many others scorn. She thinks of Cersei in the wheelhouse making not so subtle jabs at the headscarf her mother had made for her. Her mother who was alien to the North as well but took it as her own. She thinks of how they mocked Balon's declaration of kingship. How King Robert had spoke of the first Greyjoy Rebellion. Maron lost everything then, a brother, his family his home, his body for a time. They took those from me too, these soft southern lords. They share a mutual outrage, a shared wound.

He is a man. And a handsome one at that. She can only imagine he was not married yet because he was held by Stannis. Even if greenlander lords would hesitate to marry their daughters to an ironborn, even a Greyjoy, there would have to girls on the islands throwing themselves at the chance to be his lady. But then again, he is proud. Likely a minor lords second daughter would be beneath his consideration. I am the first born daughter of a Great House, we're of a kind, and a better match for each other than I would be for Lord Wilas no matter how kind I hear he is. The thought is shocking, terrifying even, a sudden wave nearly capsizing her ship. She tries to banish it but the damage is done. She can't stop thinking about fine blue eyes, clever words, a fierce laugh, board shoulders and large rough hands.

She is falling in love with him. She knows it with the certainty of death. With death's inevitability. She respects him too much not to love him, admires him too much to want anyone else. It sets a new fear in her. She has no experience with this really, she spent so long trying to avoid this aspect of life she doesn't know how to handle wanting it. Isn't sure he'd want her even and has no interest in making a fool of herself finding out. He can have anyone he wants — and likely has. It doesn't bother her really, the expectations for men and women are different but it does leave her feeling at a disadvantage. She doesn't even know to begin with a courtship, especially with a man who would laugh in the face of the customs does she know. It's easier to try and ignore it, to run like a coward from her own attractions like always. She's not Robb. She sacrificed all her recklessness long ago, too scared of consequences to take risks ever again. Hopefully this madness will pass. She just has to weather the storm.

She loves him. It's as painful as a deep inhalation of sharp winter air, collapsing her lungs inside her with the power of it. He's tall, strong, handsome, traditional — everything she wanted in a man without realizing it. She loves his voice, loves it more when he speaks his own tongue, so alien to her. She loves his kindness and his brutality. Hands that have buried axes in flesh have cupped her own so gently. He's ironborn and she knows what that means, there's maybe one in twenty customs of their she does not hate. But she cannot begrudge him any of it, though that makes her complicit in his crimes. For all his evil she cannot condemn him. Not when he has held her as she wept bitter tears over all she'd lost. Not when he'd let her follow her own customs to carry out the sentences on the traitors who'd stolen everything. Not when he'd breathed life back into her, given her a reason to keep living.

Maron was not just a man, he was a force of nature. When he stood on the deck of his ship or with axe in hand the Gods looked on him with favor. You could see it in those terrible blue eyes.

for @azmenka

[qqueenofhades]

Okay all -- few quick thoughts about the Elon Muskifying of the government, especially the takeover of the Treasury and associated financial data for every single US citizen and organization, that we are learning about in detail today.

Don't panic. This sounds bad, because it is bad. It's really, really bad. It's outrageously fascist bad. But we've still gotta take a deep breath and get through it.

This is the kind of shock-and-awe exercise of untrammeled fascist power where they are absolutely counting on gleefully terrorizing, paralyzing, and stunning you into mounting no resistance, or just giving up and giving in. They are literally live-tweeting it in real time and boasting about all the access and influence they have right now. They want you to know about it and feel like you can't do anything, so you might as well let it happen.

We have to show them that's not true.

TIME TO MAKE SOME NOISE. Because it's Sunday night, I've gone ahead and contacted my state Attorney General and both senators by email (but come Monday morning, we should all be calling). Here is the email that I wrote to my AG:

Dear Mr. [AG],

As you will be aware, today (February 2, 2025) the Trump administration has granted wide-ranging access to sensitive US Treasury data, including the personal and private information of [state] citizens, to Elon Musk's so-called "Department of Government Efficiency." Musk is an unelected private citizen who has no legal right to access this data, and is engaging in extensive intimidation and coercion to fulfill his personal and harmful ideological agenda. The present and material harm that this causes to US citizens, [state] residents, and basic laws of government, privacy, and financial security is direct, unconscionable, and actionable. I strongly urge you, in your capacity as [state] Attorney General, to file direct suit against the Trump administration, Elon Musk, the "DOGE" office, and any identifiable individuals who have taken part in this action, in order to protect consumer data, citizen privacy, and basic faith and trust in government.

All the best,

[Qqueenofhades]

Short! To the point! Doesn't waste time, tells him what I want him to do, how Elmo's nonsense directly harms the residents of my state, and why he should take action to stop it! And frankly, given how on-the-ball blue-state AGs have been thus far, they're probably already working on it. You are very welcome to copy-and-paste this message and fill in your AG's last name and your state as appropriate. Super easy to do. Takes five minutes. Call tomorrow.

If you are in a red state, your voice is particularly important right now. The Trumpsters are counting on and are even emboldened by blue state pushback, but you really need to make it start coming from Republican strongholds. Congressional Republicans will only feel the slightest amount of unease about docilely enabling this BS when it starts threatening their own personal power. Hit them where it hurts.

Other lawsuits are coming. Marc Elias, Democratic lawyer extraordinaire, is well aware of this situation and has noted on Bluesky that more lawsuits are in the works. He often wins his cases. This does not mean that you shouldn't loudly make noise elsewhere, but please remember that this is one of those 24-hour periods where, as noted, they are counting on demoralizing you with a nonstop blizzard of bullshit. It does not say anything about how this will play out long-term or the opposition that can and will be mobilized to stop it.

Once again: courage. Take the small steps that you can do today. Then take a breath and get off social media for a little while. Try to take the long view. One step at a time, we will get through this.

Courage.

[asachuu]

Extremely cold take, but some die-hard media purists just drive me up the wall.

I’ve tried to talk to someone about a show that deals with some heavy topics in it which a couple people I know are fans of, and instead of actually saying what I wanted to say, midway through, I had to start being a defense lawyer for those very people, explaining why it’s okay and normal to like a show that has dark themes and heavy issues in it, because said person just wouldn’t reserve themselves from commenting about how horrible it is and how they don’t understand why anyone would ever watch something so brutal, let alone why it even exists in the first place.

I’d assume it’s not difficult to understand that people enjoy or find comfort in different things, but some people apparently think of it as science-fiction their minds can’t comprehend. For what reason do you think half of the literary classics people learn in basic education are so dark, so cruel, so heartbreaking to read? For what reason do you think so much media deals with horrible issues in the real world? And similarly, for what reason do you think there does exist media out there which doesn’t deal with it at all and just serves to be light and fun? It’s because everyone is different— for some, coping through fiction or even just enjoying it would come in the form of escapism into worlds that have absolutely nothing to do with real-world matters, and for others, seeing their own issues or the world they live in depicted in media they find happiness in may build a sense of comfort, solace and relatability to something they already love. How is that so unbelievably difficult to grasp?

I’m obviously not saying everyone should go and expose themselves to uncomfortable or potentially triggering content because it “exists for a reason”, I don’t think anyone sane would even think that’s what I mean here, all I’m saying is that it’s so unbelievably stupid for your entire worldview to be “everything sad or dark is horrible because it makes other people sad and that’s bad, all media has to be happy”, and if I hadn’t lived with someone like that, I wouldn’t even think people like this truly existed. It’s so hard to even formulate a proper argument to this, because you’d think it’s common sense that a lot of people vent out emotions and experiences through fiction or other forms of media, and that alone will always prevail no matter where humanity is at the time— as evidenced by all of literary history— and it’s necessary for so many people to do. I can very much respect if my roommate, whom I’d been arguing with on this, enjoys their fiction sanitized and that’s what brings them enjoyment, but I’d also like for it to go both ways, in the form that they’d also be able to acknowledge that all the art I make won’t be “sunshine and roses”, because I’m one of the people who need this sort of outlet, and they don’t have to personally be a fan of it, but I’d seriously appreciate being able to at least finish a sentence without them interjecting how absolutely terrible everything I ever do is because it’s just sad, and it would be so much better if I just drew or wrote something happier.

People who feel up to creating happy media will do so, and you can continue to consume it as you wish, nobody is trying to take it away. Not everything has to be "deep", with some kind of underlying meaning or darker theme included in it, some things can just be light to make one feel better in the moment, and I don’t think anyone is fighting against that, so why are some people fighting against the opposite, that of which is clearly made for a different audience, not someone who knows they won’t enjoy it? This also pisses me off on a bit of a broader note, as I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say media literacy is going to Hell these days, I tend to see people ignoring or watering down certain things in fiction they don’t want to acknowledge out of discomfort with something so “dark”, and while I can understand it to an extent— nuance obviously being a thing here, especially if it’s something personal— I think a good chunk of people approach this from the same side as my roommate, that being seeing it as unnecessarily dark and something that shouldn’t even be there, something which ruins the experience for the reader/watcher/etc. or something which brings more sadness into the world, and I cannot stress enough how absolutely braindead this take is.

I’m very sorry for the harsh words here, but as an artist myself, I would rather have someone not perceive any of my work at all than come to me, cherry-pick the content of mine which makes them feel nice and completely throw away or ignore everything that they personally don’t like, don’t want to see and will proceed to demonize both me and my works for. In my own case, I’ve had to actively hide my work from my roommate, because they wouldn’t stop wanting to see it, only to then turn around and tell me how much better it would be if it wasn’t so dark and sad— hey, maybe it’s not made for you, then! And while I could say that perhaps there could be an exception made for people who may enjoy certain media that happens to have something as a very personal trigger in it, as someone who could be said to belong in this category, I have to say I can't even agree with that much. You're free to not engage with something and avoid it for whatever reason you may have, even if you'd still like to engage with the rest of said media, that's completely understandable and I've been there, but to then go and demonize said thing and paint it as a universal evil to depict anywhere is not the way to go, and if you can't help but go and complain to people or outright insult those who may enjoy or just talk about said thing and treat them like they're scum for not sticking their pitchforks out at it as well, my only advice would be to either work on that or leave the whole media behind for your own sake, as well as the sake of others, if the former is not possible. As much as you yourself deserve peace from content you may find upsetting, both the community surrounding it and the author themselves also deserve to find peace in sharing their own art or personal experiences through it, that of which holds no more or less weight than anyone else's perception of it.

To share a personal anecdote on that, even now, this whole conversation/argument started with me speaking of a show that I refuse to watch, as there is a part of it which is a slight trigger for me, but you won’t find me on the frontlines fighting against it— no, you’ll just find me not engaging with it personally, because I know damn well some people out there are grateful for its existence, and I would never dare to try and take that away from them because I personally find it upsetting. While it may sometimes be used for utterly despicable things, overall, it’s a blessing to have this sort of media freedom nowadays, which is constantly being threatened in all sorts of ways— e.g. laws, book bans, censorship, and so on— and to think there’s people still rallying to remove content they’re uncomfortable with because it’s “dark” is downright ridiculous if put into any amount of historical context, but it’s usually impossible to even have this conversation about it, because as soon as you mention how terribly that has gone in history and what an impact it leaves on both the artists and consumers in general even to this day, that’s also too “dark” to listen to for the people sharing this sentiment.

Now, ignoring the more sensitive side of this matter and going back to people that just do it for the sake of nothing other than a one-dimensional view of the world that should revolve around their own sense of comfort— I’ll go ahead and admit that actually, the fact that I personally have devoted nearly six years to learning about Arthur Rimbaud both IRL and in BSD, or the fact that my actual favorite fandom as a whole is Litchi Hikari Club, are both exceptions to me, as I typically don’t do well with certain serious themes and concepts either and would rather stay away from them, but the fact of the matter is, these “horrible” things exist, they have existed since forever and they unfortunately will inevitably continue to exist, and art is one of the main ways people bring light to them or even just find a community, a sense of belonging or peace, solidarity and so on. I have absolutely no right, as a person, to be dictating what someone does with their own experience of life or whether it's "right" of them to do as little as create content about it openly, and neither does anybody else— for so many people, art is deeply personal to them, and I can’t quite comprehend how utterly shallow must someone be to think that just because it makes someone uncomfortable, it’s bad. I sadly don’t remember who said it, but the quote “art exists to disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed” is very, very relevant, and to be honest, just because you feel disturbed by something doesn’t mean you can’t just look away, scroll past and so on. There are so, so many people out there who desperately wish they could just do the same for their own experiences, but they cannot, and some people still sit here, whining about how it makes them sad to think about, thus it’s the source of all evil in this world and they're the ones being the victim here because they have to witness something so "depressing", even though nobody is forcing them to.

It’s so egoistic, to be frank.

[maletomboy]

the thing about being literally malnourished when ur still fat is doctors wont give a single fuck

[pukicho]

Puki I wanna know how you feel about Christianity

Gee, u really wanna know? Should I get deep?? Mind u I'm not a theologist or philosopher, so if I sound stupid to those more versed in this shit, feel free to tell me WHY. Anyway here's my view:

I've been a self-proclaimed atheist since my early teens. Of course, as a 13 year old, I held too much confidence in my beliefs; it's likely any learned theist at the time would've absolutely obliterated my arguments on the subject. I felt an underserved sense of intellectual superiority for quite some time, reinforced by the thought that belief only worked given proof, which ignored the inherently nebulous nature of such a thing. So, that was me back then! Now, I believe things a bit differently: in an argument derived from logic, I haven't been convinced ... and tbh, spiritualism is simply not useful to me - but philosophy is!

Not to play too heavily into Christian apologetics, but since a lot of philosophy IS the interplay between science and theology, Christianity has a big influence in the field. In searching through this nebulous field, we can help define the structure for our beliefs - religious or otherwise. It's the grounding-element for all human belief, which is pretty important. Even if it's not empirical, it's a lot more functional than theology all on its own - and that's something that someone who wants tangible arguments for God can get behind! There exists God in this field, whether science wishes for it to or not, and vice versa. So, though I don't believe outright in a God, I am not ignorant to the forces it holds in this field, and am flexible in its terms for the sake of exploration in this field.

I have respect for clever Christians. Emphasis on clever. The problem I have with theism is its self-assuredness: it CAN be one of the strongest reinforcements for one's belief, but it can also be used as a crutch, justifying a lazily-thought-out version of that same belief; or occasionally, a more dangerous variant. In Christian Nationalism, there lacks a healthy consideration as to 'why' someone believes what they believe. Scarier still, certain people conflate 'why' to sacrilege - instead of simply seeing it as a means to empower their faith through healthy scrutiny. God never granted us free will to flee from such questions. Clearly, these people are not self-assured in the proper-sense, instead choosing to live in willful-ignorance, fighting in crazed-belligerence towards those who disagree.

A learned Christian can comfortably ask themselves 'why' and end the exercise feeling more confident in their beliefs, whilst applying it compatibly to our modern society. I never have issues with these Christians and even think they're pretty awesome!

So that's the issue, a good Christian can mean two things: someone who's well-versed and educated in their beliefs - and someone who blindly obeys the words of a commercialized megachurch pastor, ad-libbing the Bible to fit their skewed agenda - the latter is DANGEROUS.

END

[mesetacadre]

107 years ago today an organized group of workers in the Russian Empire decided they had had enough of war, misery, the oppression of women, and of a corrupt democracy that had promised much and changed nothing, the Tsar still in his palaces, the workers still giving their life for a cause foreign to the working class of Europe and the world. Most bolsheviks were industrial workers, with an insufficient formal education, precarious salaries and conditions. The working class in the Russian Empire had tried liberal democracy, had seen its hipocrisy in the months following the election of the provisional government, and understood their historic goal of progressing further beyond the democracy of the landowner, businessman and aristocrat. It wasn't the first time the proletariat had attempted to take power, both worldwide and in the Russian Empire, but this time they were ready, educated, an organized enough.

The armies of 14 imperialist powers combined could not stop the will of a mass of workers that had realized their worth, their potential, and most importantly, their dignity. They no longer had to bow down to paternalism, electoralism, and the capitalists to whom they sold their labor, no armed intervention, no amount of propaganda, no adventurist distraction, could take away from that fact. This isn't a fantasy, it isn't idealistic, it's a historical fact, that revolutions are possible, have happened, succeeded, and that the opportunity presents itself sooner than most expect. The only task at hand is to organize towards it. Agitation, education, an actual dual power structure predicated on a unified will, not on voluntarism and horizontalism.

I understand the topic at hand for the last 2 days and many more to come will be the results of the US election. But the US is not the only liberal democracy that increasingly creates disappointment among the social majority. After all the posting about the various liberals that make up the US electoral environment, it is imperious that nobody falls into despair. Not in a self-care way, not in the way most left-liberals have been talking about, referring to an abstract sense of "preparing", but because of the simple necessity for this election to further erode any popular faith in reformism, whether it's Trump's reforms, Harris' reforms, Bernie's reforms, or Stein's reforms. Wallowing in despair is as useful as placing yet more stake into whoever is wheeled out next to promise even less, in what will most certainly be also called the most important elections of our lifetimes.

Return to the working class of the Russian Empire, of a fractured and hungry China, to the colony of Indochina, to the plantation island that was Cuba. And I urge you to exercise some perspective. These masses of people had suffered more than you for longer than you. Nobody's asking you to feel guilty about your economic position in the world, we're asking you to realize that, for as long as there have been modes of production predicated on the exploitation, division and discrimination of a producing class, there have always been options, better options than sinking into despondent depression. They have managed to cast off their yoke and build towards a society not based on exploitation. They're not utopias, and mistakes have been and will be committed, but they all realized and understood that it's better to commit our own mistakes, than to toil under the rational oppression by another class for any longer.

[margecouture]

guide to becoming unrecognizable in 3 months ✉️

𐙚 do you desire to have clear and healthy skin? what about having the perfect morning and evening routine? we all want THE glow up. doing 75 hard challenges, cutting out toxic people, deleting our social medias, finding new workout routines.. the type of glow up where even you don't recognize you. so, here's a helpful guide with tips and tricks to becoming unrecognizable in the next 3 months :

༘⋆ healthy skin starts from within -

i. eat what's good for your gut, not what tastes good to your mouth. prioritize gut health by cutting out constant grease and sugar, drink lemon water and herbal teas. include skin loving nutrients in your meals: blueberries, almonds, spinach, cucumbers. 🍋

ii. try out a healthy skin juice recipe. the ultimate juicing recipe for glowy skin includes oranges, pineapple, ginger, and carrots. green juices are amazing as well! aim to have a juice every day or every other morning. 🍊

iii. let go of stress. stress and holding in any suffocating emotions can cause the stress to show in your skin. dark eyes, breakouts, wrinkles. i recommend keeping a cozy small journal to keep around you at all times to write out any heavy emotions. not attaching and letting it go = no stress = good skin. 🍒

༘⋆ invest in yourself and personal growth -

i. pick up a new book to read. SELF HELP BOOKS ARE A MUST! reading books give you a new perspective and are always better than doom scrolling. some of the best self help books i've read that changed my life are good vibes good life by vex king, the power of positive self-talk by kim fredrickson, and your faith is your fortune by neville goddard. 📖

ii. have a soft hobby. becoming unrecognizable means changing up what you do and what you engage in. what you absorb becomes you. having a soft hobby such as painting or knitting can make you more creative. reading next to candle light or writing while having a cup of tea daily can help soften your heart and calm your emotions. pick up a new hobby to become a new you. 💌

iii. love yourself more. i am a firm believer that self-love is the key to unlocking your best self. by loving yourself, you refuse to let yourself settle for anything less from others and yourself! loving yourself more means getting rid of old patterns, doing what's best for you, setting goals and achieving them. making yourself proud. say affirmations, have slow showers, buy yourself flowers. remember that you are human and this is also your first time at life. do what makes your spirit happy!

༘⋆ "becoming the best me" routines -

i. having a morning routine is important. the perfect morning routine sets the foundation for each day. a calm morning routine can include: no screen time, pray & meditate, make the bed, skincare & brush teeth, drink water & eat breakfast, journal, and take vitamins. how you start your day sets the tone for how your day will go. 💐

ii. create a skincare routine. to become unrecognizable, include skincare practices like icing your face, practice gua sha, have hyaluronic acid and niacinamide in your products, and dry brush your skin before showering. facial products from youth to people and tatcha are the best. glowy yet healthy skin is a must and will help you feel good too. make sure to stay moisturized! 🫧

iii. before bed i will. simple night habits allow for a peaceful rest. having a before bed routine creates a smooth mind and a cozy atmosphere. create a "before bed i will" list and include habits like putting your phone away, laying out clothes for the next day, pampering yourself, and reading 1 chapter of a good book. 🌖

iv. work towards your dream body. one of the best ways to become unrecognizable is exercising! getting and being active feels amazing. do morning yoga poses, have an afternoon wall pilates session, make time for at least 45min- 1 hour at the gym, or even do at home workouts with dumbbells. 🎀

𐙚 becoming unrecognizable won't happen overnight but as long as you're consistent and persist, you'll see results sooner than later. best of luck to becoming the best you!

[incognit0slut]

Devil’s advocate

Softcore Spencer doesn't feel any remorse when it comes to this strange arrangement involving sex. Neither do you.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 3.6k Content: fem!reader, dom!spencer, bratty reader if you will, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, spit kink, overstimulation, squirting, and kinda fwb or (more precisely) not-exactly-friends with benefits a/n: it took me more than 3 months to post again and it will probably take me another for the next post (kidding) (maybe not). try to imagine this spencer for a better experience

-

Spencer isn’t a good man.

A quiet verdict, a fault line.

A truth etched into the grain of his being that is unmoved no matter how many times people say otherwise.

He’s made a habit of the dissection — words, meanings, intent. A lexical autopsy, combing through every definition in the dictionary if it meant finding just one that could give weight to the well intentioned affirmations spoken by those who’ve shared his life through fourteen years of cases. From friends to mentors. From people he considers family. Even his mother has taken part in the exercise in her own way, quietly revising the definition of goodness to fit the shape of her son.

His love for her isn’t enough to convince him.

And he loves her, deeply, enough to bear the fragmented reality she clings to without complaint. Still, her confidence sounds like a desperate attempt to defend a virtue that, as far as he can tell, simply doesn't exist. Her faith in him is stubbornly rooted in wishes rather than proof. Pretty, fragile things wilting from reality. She doesn’t see the cracks hidden behind the glassy surface of his supposedly endearing charm.

Like most people never do. The brilliance of his brain blinds them. They think his mastery of facts or ability to weave information into careful answers is a reflection of some deeper moral foundation. Assuming that the man who can recite obscure case law from memory and deconstruct a lie with nothing but tone and syntax must also be someone incapable of harm. That someone who thinks in algorithms surely knows the difference between right and wrong and essentially follows it. Articulate, therefore righteous.

What lazy math that they run.

The truth, however, is far less romantic.

If there’s anything genuinely good left in him, he likes to believe it’s the act of waiting. Patience still sounds noble enough. It casts him as a silent benefactor, gifting others the space to sketch their own truths while he quietly collects their misconceptions and spends them like counterfeit bills.

He’s getting good at it, too.

Exchange his intelligence for wisdom.

Detachment for strength.

Emptiness for depth.

Little trades, so small and constant they almost feel natural now. As long as he keeps showing them the version they’ve come to accept, no one pauses to wonder if those long months locked inside his own head have carved him down to something less than whole. Selfish, perhaps, letting them cling to these illusions. But it’s a comfortable deception. They get the man they want, he keeps the truth to himself, paying nothing but time and silence for whatever reward comes from that carefully preserved silence.

After all, waiting is nothing more than delayed gratification, isn't it?

And this right here is what he’s waited for, to have you like this — warm and wet and dangling precariously off his bed.

A decadent reward for every second of restraint.

Purely carnal. Blasphemous in its perfection.

Your body curves at an angle that looks uncomfortable, a leg hooked over his shoulder, another barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress with the cool air licking your calf. Common sense tells him a complaint is warranted, yet not a murmur of discomfort escapes your pretty lips. You seem perfectly content to let him mold you into whatever shape he wants. Harmless, he insists, just a mutual indulgence between two consenting adults.

But morality has a way of souring sweet things — and maybe he should be ashamed.

Should be embarrassed at the way he finds satisfaction in this.

Should feel something other than pride watching your brows pinch together in pleasure.

Should care that he’s reduced to fucking you with all the desperation of a man who likes being selfish. It’s statistically uncommon for someone with his level of empathy, yet he stitches hunger into the tender curve of your body, scoring endless sensation with needles that prick and sting but never draw enough blood to slow him. Only if he distanced himself from you could he see the cruelty he’s gouging into the very seams of your skin.

He does no such thing.

He can’t. Not when he’s buried inside you like this, when your breath splits apart into fragile little pieces with weak fingers clawing at his back. Not when his selfishness feels bottomless, a craving so raw and wide and insatiable he's never dared give it a name — but somehow you seem to understand.

Understand what, though?

That he can’t help himself? That despite all the logic, all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have you, he does?

That he doesn’t regret it, not even a little?

No.

Good men don’t do this.

But you’re no saint either.

Innocence wears your face, but never fit so poorly. You’re trouble in its finest form — beautifully packaged, masterfully delivered with a smokey laugh that glides over the fine shiver pebbling across his skin as you offer a sly, “You’re getting sloppy.”

The smug little curl of your lips has his heart leaping in his throat, and he would have joined in your laughter if it weren’t for the way your breathless tone slithered into his ears. His brows draw together, sweat dripping down nose as he shakes his head to free the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” You tip your head back against the bed, exposing the lovely curve of your neck. "Your age is starting to show.”

He finally huffs a laugh, lowers the leg hooked over his shoulder and trails up the inside of your thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

Your teeth briefly catch your lower lip.

“Neither is slowing down right when it’s getting good.”

“You think I’m slowing down?”

You faintly nod. “It’s actually cute how you’re pacing yourself. Should I be worried about your knees?”

That earns a sharp, almost affronted look before his palms grip both your inner thighs, followed by a sudden thrust that sends you back against the mattress. He thinks he’s regained some semblance of power over himself, until you let out a breathless little moan and continue to taunt him, arching your back with full insolence but only half the mockery. Docile in appearance alone when you’re flaunting your nipples in blatant invitation.

“That the best you can do?”

A hand flies to your breast, curling around the supple meat as he catches the stiff bud between his knuckles. “You’re acting brave tonight.”

“Sexually frustrated,” you admit with an exasperated sigh, rolling your hips. Urging him to move again. “Spent the whole day picturing you fucking me stupid and got exactly nothing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Nothing feels almost insulting considering how easily he coaxed you through his apartment.

He tries to bend lower, and sure enough, there’s something that feels suspiciously like age nipping at his lower back. A dull throb he quickly swallows as his mouth find your nipple. And toys with it, rolling the taut peak between wet tongue and wetter teeth, each slow suck a deliberate rebuttal that the way he’s been driving his cock into you for the past twenty minutes is anything but nothing.

Your fingers slip into the softest surface of hair.

“Fuck me harder.”

He turns his attention to your other nipple. “That still wasn’t enough for you?”

“If you have to ask, then clearly not.”

His mouth closes around you again, laps slow, teasing circles, all the while you grind your hips, shamelessly trying to fuck yourself with every delicious tug of his lips.

Instinctively, he starts rutting his hips in response. Little thrusts of his cock easing inside you inch by inch. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I have every intention of finding out,” you counter, pulling him by his curls. “I know you can do better.”

His gaze touches yours.

You smile lazily.

“Go on. Show me.”

His eyelids dip in a slow, dangerous blink, and lets his nose brush the soft swell of your breast. Lingers. Smells the powdery scent of jasmine and honey consuming his senses.

What part of himself can he exchange this time? What currency of half-truths still has any value left?

The answer, adamantly, is etched in the narrow space of his mouth and your skin, a hush too charged to disguise. He doesn't think he owes you anything in counterfeit tonight. No borrowed patience. No repurposed kindness polished thin by repetition. The second you ask for more when he’s been giving you nothing less is the moment every polished veneer he’s spent years perfecting shatters like chipped glass.

So he gives you the one thing he’s never bartered — himself, stripped of caution.

Because no matter how many labels others slap on his name, you’ve never bought into a single one.

Not entirely. You catch the edges that don’t quite align, the rougher layers hidden beneath his careful composure. You see past the softness everyone assumes is the entirety of him, the reputation they’ve stitched together from fragments pieced carefully since he was an innocent young boy with oversized glasses and a penchant for knowledge.

Rationally, he is soft. He’s spent a lifetime wrapped in the belief that his gentleness is his sole trait. That it’s all he can embody.

But not with you.

With you, he's whatever he needs to be.

He's whatever he wants to be.

He pulls back just enough to watch your body seize around him, and drags his tongue over his chapped lips, tastes the salt of effort and the musky smell of sex before channeling what’s left of his energy into his core. Then fucks you harder. Shoving every inch back with a strangled noise of his own, savoring the tight pull of your dripping cunt. Relishing the slight roll of your eyes as he pushes deeper, harder, with a savagery that rips breathless whimpers from the back of your throat with each jarring thrust. 

Your moans ride every groaning hinge of the mattress, too, then linger, fogging the dark walls of his room as the wet slap of skin bounces off every surface. Stepping three beats out of time with reason, maybe more, for the way his eyes chase that music down the slope of your belly, following the trail of his thumbs over your mound, over your stretched folds, and pulls the soft skin apart.

His throat rises and falls in time with the motion of his cock — in, out, in, out. For someone so famously averse to germs, the streaks of your slick smearing across his skin outweigh every compulsion, so much so he pries you open even wider and lets a hot ribbon of saliva pool in his mouth. Watches it dribble over your clit. He’s nowhere near coherent enough to care about cleanliness when he can tell how much the slow trickle of his spit sliding down your swollen flesh — a foamy mess now resting heavily on his cock — only seem to intensify your thirst.

You squirm when he moves closer, fingers clawing around his wrist like you’re on the verge of asking for more but can’t bring yourself to say.

Stubborn, he's not surprised.

But he knows you well enough to understand the subtle shifts in your expression. He takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a plea for him to give you what you need, so he smears the extra coat of lube over your clit and rubs frantically. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it too, not when he’s seen how much you like it under rough hands. He’s proven right when he notices your muscles tensing up.

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

He rubs your clit with more pressure. “Good enough for you?”

You swallow thickly, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Still—fuck—”

“What was that?”

“Still—think you can—do better,” you retort, hiccupping through your words. 

It’s beyond him that you’re still functioning. Your hair clings messily to your forehead, damp strands caught in a tangled halo around your face. Your cheeks are blotchy from where his stubble scraped across your skin, lips kiss-bruised and swollen and somehow still trying to get the last word.

You should be done by now. Boneless, reduced to little more than trembling limbs, yet you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. There’s a spark of energy left to bait him. Foolish, he decides, but if there’s even a sliver of you left untouched, he’ll gladly take every fragment that dares to surface.

He wrenches off your body just long enough to fist his cock, dragging his bulbous tip through the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath, then slaps himself through the mess. If it weren’t for your hips bucking shamelessly, he’d think he was wrong for indulging such filthy impulses he’s never dared to overstep. You can’t seem to discern whether the sharp throb is pain or pleasure, but your cunt flutters around emptiness and aches like it's grieving the loss of him.

One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s right back where you need him, hammering into that devastating spot that sends your pupils scattering upward, leaving nothing but the whites of your eyes. He pulls out and does it again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until he’s certain all your senses have braided into one indistinguishable pulse.

“Oh God,” you moan, trying to press your thighs together out of reflex, but his grip tightens as he pries them open once more.

You feel lightheaded. Your belly rolls, your cheeks burn, drool slips from the corner of your mouth. You’re so far gone you don’t even notice. Too wrapped up in the desperate drag of breath through your parted lips, too busy chasing the dizzy spark bursting behind your eyes. You’re nothing short of raw nerves, lost in the punishing rhythm that keeps tearing you open and stitching you together in the same brutal stroke.

It doesn’t take long for a high, agonizing squeal to wrench free from your throat as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Steals your breath away, leaving behind only a splintered string of gasps and trembling cries that fall recklessly from your lips as his pelvis hammers into the curve of your hip bone.

And he catches every fractured syllable and synchronizes his thrusts to the quiver of your voice, or maybe he’s simply addicted to the jagged rise and fall of your moans — like a direct stroke to his ego, trophies he hoards greedily.

He ponders how many more of those rewards he can coax from you tonight, how many more heights your body can scale before it finally gives way. He assumes it’s too much to ask, yet the greedy pulse in his veins insists there’s always more shiver to claim, another breathless note to add to his growing collection.

It turns out to be unnervingly easy.

Your second climax arrives in the span of a single heartbeat.

The third steals in like an electric stab, splintering along your spine as he pins you down and pounds hard into you.

By the fourth, your cunt swells and clenches around him in frantic pulses, yet he’s still fucking you relentlessly as if one more keepsake will finally satiate his greed.

Your hand shake when you lift one to trace his bicep, though it ends up as more of a twitchy pawing than anything resembling grace before you blindly scramble up his shoulder, finding his damp mess of curls again. Its wild, humid knot of heat tangles between your fingers as the most wrecked little whine trembles in your throat.

“P-Pee.”

He blinks, straining to pluck your voice over the rush in his ears. The words barely register at first, but when they do, his own pulse comes apart in a hot scatter mess.

“Need to pee,” you fluster again.

And if that doesn’t unravel him to his bones, he doesn’t know what will.

He tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs. “‘S not pee.”

“What?”

The confusion in your voice is almost cute for someone who usually acts like they know everything. Adorable how you’ve been nothing but provocative all night, only to falter gradually.

“You don’t need to pee,” he rasps. The grip behind your knees tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drives deeper with all the focus he can muster. He’s holding back by sheer will alone now, even when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut creeps up, but that ache is a small price to pay when he’s painfully aware of what your body is capable of giving.

His cock strikes a deep, delicious spot inside you.

Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck,” you croak. “I’m gonna piss your bed.”

“It’s not pee.”

His words barely register when your whole body winds so tightly that your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. Eyes unfocused, spine bowing, throat bared. The muscles in your neck tighten like cords that it’s clear you’re still trying to fight whatever pressure you’re under.

“You need to relax,” he urges, finding your clit once again. Wide eyes flutter over intense brown orbs.

“Wait wait wait—gonna pee—”

“You’re gonna come again,” he corrects. He sees you puff out a long breath, which is nothing less strained than his own. “Female ejaculation, different glands. Less than—”

His words catch in a groan as your cunt flutters around his thickness.

“…less than ten percent of the fluid is even related to—to urine.”

Annoyed, you tug on his curls and whine, “This isn’t the time.”

“No better time than now.” His hips continue to buck into you with a sharp, hungry rhythm. “You’ll understand if you stop fighting it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Thwack-thwack-thwack. “You will.”

The sound of his balls slapping against the wet cradle of your ass is making you delirious. Even more so when a warm, buzzing sensation sparks in your core and rushes outward, blooming into this intense prick that spreads across your lower belly with startling speed.

“Oh—shitshitshit—”

“That’s it, just breathe through your nose.”

His words falls on deaf ears. “I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to hold it in.”

"I—wa—wait—Spencer!”

“Let it out,” he frets, and closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads nearly touching, brows pulling together in quiet frustration. “Need you to trust me for once.”

“I don’t—fuck! I am NOT pissing on you—”

“Do it.”

“I can’t—”

“C’mon,” he prods. “Give it to me.”

You sniff a strangled sob.

“Do it.”

You claw at his hair once more, and any semblance of control that you clung to shatters immensely.

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding. A passage of whines pitches upward as his thumb swipes side to side over your tight nub while he slams into you. Once, twice, over and over — until a concentrated surge of pressure around his cock urges him to pull out.

Warm bursts of liquid splashes onto him. Streaks down his damp thighs, the flushed skin of his skin. Seeps deep into the cotton fabric of his sheets with muffled sounds as your heart thunders wildly in your chest. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth the second your eyes flicker with disbelief, or the lazy circle his thumb traces around your sensitive, overstimulated clit. He’s too focused on the way your release continues to mark the bed he intends to sleep in.

"There it is,” he hums proudly, "knew you could do it."

He did. He knew this would happen the moment your breath stuttered into helpless little gasps, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. His lust blooms unchecked, a fever behind molten eyes, something his vision can’t seem to outrun. Even as his gaze blurs over your dripping hole puckering around nothing, over the tiny bead of precum trickling down your cleft, he’s stunned into silence.

You’re a ravishing mess, and he’s never seen anything so pretty.

You’re on another level of divine that it makes something in his head tick just from the sight. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously inserts himself back through the warm puddle of your flesh, and swears he can still feel you fluttering. Feels the tremor in your sweet, sopping cunt. Hears the faint splatter of droplets beating the sheets with every deliberate stroke of his hips.

He’s long since fallen behind in being a good man, but you certainly deserve something in return for listening to him. So he reaches out, cradles your face between palms that have never claimed to be gentle, and drinks deeply. Tries to steal back the breath you robbed from him.

Kiss, taste, repeat.

Touch, grab, repeat.

But it’s not enough.

He doesn’t think it ever will be.

The dopamine surge won’t last, a notion as clear as the haze of your sweat gluing to his skin. He’s even sure he could rattle off half a dozen papers about reward circuits and compulsive behavior, recite the exact millisecond window in which the pleasure centers will spike and fall. None of it matters when your mouth parts for him and your breath warms his cheeks.

He tries to catalog the way your pulse thumps beneath his thumb, the microscopic tremor in your lashes, the sweetness of carbon dioxide exhaled against his tongue. It becomes another unsolved equation, a tangle of variables his doctorate never prepared him to parse. There’s only the thunderous beat of his own heart and the simple, staggering fact that you’re here, giving when he has taken so much.

But there is no safe dosage of you that will let him step back unscathed. One hit becomes two, two becomes habit, soon habit feels indistinguishable from necessity. An addiction he can’t refuse when it would only mean denying himself the only thing that makes him feel alive.

And if that makes him weak, he might as well be weak for you — again and again until there’s nothing left of him that doesn’t carry the imprint of your name. To ruin or to worship, it makes no difference to him.

He’ll fall to his knees just the same.

Your pulse begins to settle into a calmer rhythm in the hush that follows, and he scatters small kisses along the corner of your jaw, up the sweep of your cheekbone, pausing at the hinge of your lips. The gentle weight of his mouth has you shifting along wet sheets, every muscle tensing at the unexpected softness threaded through his touch.

Tenderness, in your world, feels foreign. Unfamiliar. Ill-fitting. And truthfully, he isn’t much better when it comes to you. Sharper tongues seem to be the better fit for two people who know how to fight more than they know how to surrender.

His lips skate beneath your chin instead, slides along the sweat slick column of your throat and hums, “Think you can do that again?”

Avoidance. It’s the language you both speak fluently.

The stiffness in your body bleeds out with your next exhale.

“…depends on your skill, old man.”

That's it. He can take another one of your barbed little comments. Another sly jab delivered with that pretty pout of your mouth. In fact, he finds himself almost craving it. Your taunts fuel the heat beneath his skin as much as they test his patience, and patience is something he's mastered after all. So he continues to grind his hips. Rubs the tip of your clit with the fine coarse of hair dusting his belly before you’re writhing again.

Peculiar, how easily his selfishness devours reason. Logic. Decorum. How quickly a man who’s built his life on discipline can find himself unraveling for something as simple and devastating as the way you gasp his name.

A good man would’ve stopped at the soft mist pooling in your eyes.

Spencer keeps going.

"If a God is a dog and a man is a fraud then I'm a lost cause." Devil’s Advocate—The Neighbourhood

[esperderek]

I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

[becomingthatgirl111]

guide to become your best version ✨

the first step, be clear about what your best version would look like. questions to ask yourself.

what would my best version look like?

what habits would i have?

what would my life be like?

what would be my morning and evening routine?

what thoughts would i have?

what would i focus on?

what thoughts and habits should i leave behind?

how would i like to feel?

and lastly…

what can i start doing to connect with this version of me?

you can also add your own questions if they resonate with you, the important thing about this exercise is that you connect a little bit more with that better version of yourself.

from my experience, it is important to focus and work on these three areas of our life at the same time so that none of these areas are out of balance and we can flow to that version more easily.

it is important because i have realized from my own experience and from other people who send me questions that they only focus on one area, in most cases, the habits, and forget others, then when something happens or we go through a bad moment we feel lost and it seems that everything is "wrong" but if we work on these areas at the same time and we nurture them day by day we will have more control of our emotions and thoughts, then we will not stagnate in "bad times". remember, we can always go through bad times but these always bring us a learning experience.

✨ physical

daily movement, create an exercise routine

eating healthy food, for the sake and perfect functioning of our body.

create a daily routine that will help us reach our goals.

healthy habits

hobbies that help us connect with our best self.

focus on the well-being of our body

✨ mental and emotional

read about personal growth, psychology, and topics that will help us to improve our personal best.

journaling

keep a daily record of our emotions, as well as our habits.

focus on what we do want rather than what we don't want

detect what our negative thought patterns are and change them for - more positive ones according to how we want to think and feel from now on.

affirm positively

work on those areas of our life that we need to improve or are damaged

✨ spiritual

healing and balancing both your feminine and masculine energies

develop your intuition

have faith in yourself and in the process of creation (god, universe, energy…)

read about spirituality

meditate day and night

doing energetic cleansing

connect with your spiritual side

love yourself for who you are now

forgive the people who hurt us and forget the past

practice gratitude

practice compassion and tolerance towards yourself and others

connect with nature

this is what i believe brings us closer to becoming our best version, as i am always learning new things about the subject and evolving both personally and spiritually so i will continue to share this in future posts.

as always all questions related to the topic are welcome and if you have any doubts you can also ask.

[37sqrt2]

hmmm i wouldn’t say that exactly. As a buddhist adjacent hindu myself, Buddhism in it’s purest form doesn’t have the concept of deities. in fact, you could argue that keito praying to buddha wasn’t very buddhist of him at all.

I am aware that in japan, buddhism has been mixed with shinto and sometimes even christian practice, but from what I can infer from my keito knowledge, his family places a large emphasis on traditional buddhism (he doesn’t even celebrate christmas) and the events of crossroad mirror a very commonly held buddhist belief-

there is no higher power, there is no god, and you must refine your soul and fulfill your dharmic responsibility with your own power.

I think his behavior in meteor impact isn’t a result of atheism, but rather, a reflection on what Rei taught him, that he, as a human being, must achieve things with his own power. The cult is an exaggerated reflection of his previous treatment towards Rei, which is likely why he cracks down on it so harshly.

He is absolutely NOT Atheist. In fact, he continues to reference buddhist philosophy, and prays in his dorm room frequently! It’s just that he’s learned not to place faith in a higher power and instead turn to fellow humans, and his own efforts.

oh and he also still prays before he eats, and recites his sutras frequently, and is presented side by side with tatsumi as a ‘religious’ character. His religion is really important to him!

tldr: Buddhism doesn’t have any gods, so he doesn’t believe in god :)

Keito's references to Buddha, god & religion in Crossroad vs. Meteor Impact

Meteor Impact Pt 1 (Summer, 2 years ago, pre-war)

--

Crossroads (Spring, 1 year ago, pre-war)

Note: all of these mentions happened BEFORE Keito's humiliating defeat from Rei

So, from these two flashbacks, you can see that Keito doesn't want to rely on Buddha for his problems, but still fall into the habits of his Buddhist teachings like reciting scriptures. His first instincts when distressed was to pray for guidance.

--

Meteor Impact Pt 2 (Autumn, 1 year ago, after Crossroad, during war)

Some much more biting remarks on religion, and not just towards the cult for Kanata. When he say "I know how frightening religion can be" he refers to his own. His view on faith and believers was also rather callous. (Albeit he was trying to be mean to Kanzaki on purpose.) He then issue a challenge to "any god", and uplifts the power of humans.

Most significant is that when things were going out of his control, he did not think about asking Buddha for guidance even once, despite suspicions of supernatural interference.

He did, however, mention reincarnation later. Which he still believes in.

--

Conclusion

Keito seems much more religious before his defeat from Rei.

During the event of Crossroads, Keito attempted to rely on Rei, whom he considered a higher power/genius to solve his problems. (This is unfortunate, considering the whole history of Rei being worshipped as a deity for solving people's problems.) The whole thing backfired with Rei going "you can't rely on me, a genius, to solve your problems", ending in humiliating defeat.

After that, he seems to have stopped asking even BUDDHA for guidance when things gets out of hand and got really deep into the "power of humans" narrative. Take that as you will.

tldr; Rei turned Keito atheist.

[humirapilled]

#maybe i'm dick cheney

i think one of the saddest things i know of right now is this girl in my class who's switched to online schooling. i didn't really know her, but she was a friend of a friend so did i know of her.

one day she just stopped showing up to school. my friends asked, "where did she go?" and her friend replied that she'd gone online. i asked why, thinking she'd probably just gone online for mental or physical health (because i've done that before, too, lol). i wasn't really expecting her to say that she went online "because her mother wanted her to wear the hijab, but she didn't want the hijab."

it sort of punched me in the face hearing that. like, oh! i know this is very western-centric, but for the longest time i thought "well, clearing forcing girls to hijab is something that only happens in the middle east." for the longest time i thought, in the west, nobody was forcing girls to hijab. we're a free country! we have women's rights! we're progressive!

but religion is more often than not a tool of oppression and that oppression manifests in very minute ways. back when i was a choice fem, i truly thought women being forced to hijab were only doing it because they lived under oppressive regimes (and that this is the only scenario where women are forced to wear the hijab). now, my friend sits without one of her closest friends. that girl is alone, away from her friends, just because someone told her to hijab. she was punished for exercising her free will, and now her adolescence will pay for it.

when we talk about the hijab, and when we talk about islam, i think we speak in a lot of generalized terms. we create an approximation of the real world. in the west, women wear the hijab freely! it's only in obviously oppressive regimes are they forced!

but that girl, because of her family, because of her family's faith, separate from any dictatorship, now sits at home away from her friends. and her spot at lunch remains empty, and will remain so.

i think we like to tell ourselves that oppression is far away from us. oppression is a fairytale. and these fairytales are only used by virulent terfs who seek to tear women's right to wear what they want (because that's the west, right?). but i think of my classmate, now, and how i'm not going to see her face again.

sorry if this hard to read this is my first day on tumblr. .. .

[sxorpiomooon]

What are some lessons that you need to learn?

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Pile 1-

Work hard, work very hard do not worry about the results I understand that this sounds cliche and extremely painful but the time that you spend on complaining can also instead become the time that you spend working hard on. Sometimes you have to work hard to get opportunities as well and that's what you have to do. When we talk about working hard you need to understand that being patient and diligent with your hardwork also comes under hardwork so when I say you need to work hard I am not saying that you don't do so all I'm saying is that you have to also be patient and keep working hard unless the opportunity presents itself to you which I promise you it will. I think this pile will work hard in their young ages and then have a stable, safe and prosperous life in the future. Another lesson that you need to learn is to balance the plate sure you might have alot on your plate but that does not necessarily mean that your plate has to break it can solely be held with a better technique to stop it from breaking. Learn how to manage not to get overwhelmed when you have alot to do.

Pile 2-

Learn how to confront when necessary. Do not shy away telling yourself lies such as oh I don't have to do this oh it's not needed oh just let it go. Don't try to be the bigger person bc you are not. Learn to stand up for yourself and call out other people and their actions when needed. Learn to take a stand, defend yourself and what you believe to be right. Also learn to be brave in the face of opposition as well don't be a coward. What's that quote oh yes "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor" the happiness and peace that you think you will receive by staying silent and not taking anyone's side will actually find you when you start taking side of the right opinions.

Pile 3-

Let go of control. I know you have the best intentions I know you cannot seem to help it but if you truly want to do what's the best, please let go of the thread a little bit. Relax your hands, breathe a little. You are a perfectionist, elder daughter giving others work but then immediately doing it by themselves afterwards because you cannot relax. Well, learn how to because it just harms you and works against you even when you have the best intentions. This pile has to learn how to breathe and let other people breathe stop being disappointed by people without even giving them the opportunity to do so I understand they might not be as competent as you but this does not mean that they are not working hard. You also have to learn to not give up too easily you might give 100% of yourself to something and then because of getting burned out/exhausted you end up walking away right when your reward is about to yield. What you can do in this sense is Instead of putting 100% in the beginning you can just put 70% so that you don't immediately lose your energy by the end. Release control and stop panicking try to balance yourself and control your demeanor. Drink water and practice breathing exercises as well as meditation

Pile 4-

More choices lead to more confusion. The more you know about something, the more confused you gets. This does not mean that you should not do your research before making a decision or committing yourself to something however it's important that you make sure that you do not just get stuck on the decision making progress instead of actually making a decision. Sometimes things are only hard because we are not sure ourselves instead of finding the piece of the puzzle outside whenever you are stuck anywhere try to find it inward. The answers are within you only. This reminds me of the leap of faith concept in spiderman. Loss of something should scare you from loving as it does to everyone else however it should not stop you from doing so. Loving and losing is as natural to life as breathing. To make a room for a new tv you first have to remove the old one just like this in order to get new better you have to first remove the old things. Remember that change is the only constant thing to life and no loss however big should disrupt your ability to have childlike wonder.

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 2: 69 POSITION

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, referred to with you/your. Fingering, oral sex (giving and receiving), overstimulation (receiving). Not proofread.

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: You call Lilia senile. He proceeds to demonstrate that he's, in fact, not.

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: I think peepaw still got that dawg in him.

🎃 . . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“I wonder what you were like when you were a general.”

That piqued Lilia’s interest.

“When I was a general? Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Nothing much. I was wondering if what I’ve heard about your time as a general was true.”

The amused smile didn’t disappear as he approached you. “And what have you heard?”

“That you were intimidating, crass, fearsome, and strict. Many of the soldiers you battled against were terrified of fighting you,” you recalled what you’ve heard from different sources. “But I can’t imagine you being all those things.”

“It’s all in the past now. I’ve long since decided to let go of such an uncordial image,” he inched closer to you and placed a hand next to yours, leaning in. “However, do not allow yourself to be fooled. I still retain a good amount of strength, and I haven’t forgotten how to fight.”

“Mhm, yeah, right. You’re 700 years old, Lilia. I bet your knees hurt whenever you do a bit more exercise than usual,” In reality, you just wanted to push his buttons and see how far you could poke fun at him. All in good faith, of course. “Or that you run out of breath just walking upstairs.”

“Hehe, be careful of what you’re trying to play,” his amused smile turned into a self-assured one. “I’m still capable of wearing you out if I want to.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re usually so nice to me.”

“So, you want me to be rougher, too?”

“If it’s not too much for your senile body,” you sneered.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he shrugged. Lilia lied on his bed and beckoned you to get closer with his finger. “Come on now, lovely. Get on top of me.”

Soon you understood what position he wanted you to be in.

“In-In that position?” This was a first. Even though it wasn’t the first time you two would go down on each other, this specific position was a new one. For some reason, it felt even more intimate. “Okay…”

He wanted to do it in a 69 position.

You unbuckled his belt and pulled the zipper down to start. You were confident about being able to make him finish before you, given that you were familiar with his anatomy already. Although he could say the same the other way around…

You held his dick with both of your hands and didn’t waste time engulfing the head with your mouth. You stroked him and suckled him, doing it how you knew he liked it the most—it got erect within a minute. No surprise there, so you kept going at your leisure.

Lilia, however, had other plans. You did take notice of him pushing your underwear to the side and a hand parting one of your thighs. What took you by surprise was how fast he went from the get-go. His other hand was placed on your back so you would arch it more, making it easier for him to access your clit with his mouth. He sucked it with loud slurps to then circle and flick it with his tongue.

“Lilia!” you jolted; your movements wavered for a second.

“Mm?” he hummed while still eating you out. His tongue left your clit for a moment to thrust it into your pussy; the hand that was gripping your thigh left it in favor of fingering you.

The words died in your throat, but you didn’t give up yet. You carried on with what you were doing, moving your head up and down on his length. It was difficult to concentrate. The constant onslaught that he delivered into your sensitive pussy was steady, decided. It was as if your own ministrations on him didn’t affect him from how fixated he was with making you cum first.

The way he was eating you out was downright messy and vigorous, to the point you couldn’t connect your brain to your hands to stroke him. It was made mush, your nerves going haywire, and you were left to whine.

“Keep going… I’m close…” you said between heaved breaths.

“That fast? And here I thought you had more vitality in you.” He teased.

With a new resolve, you forced yourself to coordinate your hands back on his length, your mouth returned to position, and you took him until the head touched the back of your throat. You sensed the pleasure about to snap, and you tried to pull away from his cock—only for Lilia to place his calf over your head to keep you in place. Your moans were muffled, as your mouth was stuffed with his dick. Despite the sudden movement, you came hard around his fingers.

You hear Lilia’s pleasured voice and feel the warm sensation of his cum spilling down your throat soon after.

Your and Lilia’s chest went up and down rapidly, recuperating from the sex. However, he was faster to gain his composure back, and you feel the bed shift with his movements.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured against your neck, a hand caressing your clit. You jolted from the strange mix of pleasure and pain, your nub tender after the orgasm.

“Lilia—” you groaned and tried to trap his hands with your thighs.

“Giving up already?” he grabbed your shoulder to turn you around.

In spite of the ache blossoming from between your legs, you shook your head. “I’m just... you know. Sensitive,”

“That’s the reason why I’m doing it,” he drank up your soft whimpers with his lips, his fingers not stopping for even a second. Those lithe fingers rubbed your clit in circles. The pain subsided and gave way to pleasure; you found yourself moaning against the sheets and canting your hips closer to him.

“Wha..!” you gasped when Lilia suddenly gave a gentle slap against your pussy.

“You didn’t think I’d let you off that soon, right? After what you said to me,” Lilia said with a kittenish tone, finding fun in the situation. “You did ask me to be rougher. Who am I to deny you such pleasures?”

The sound his palm made when it smacked against you pulled another gasp, your train of thought lost. He repeated the action a couple of times with varying intensity, without forgetting about your comfort.

“You keep squirming and squealing when I do this, yet—” the wet sounds coming from your cunt further proved the words he then spoke. “You’re soaked. My fingers are slippery from your juices.”

Judging by Lilia’s cutesy face, one would think his hands are small and soft. That’d be a wrong infer. They were calloused and rough, and even if they weren’t the biggest, he was rather skilled when using them. Hot, dripping with your release, he used them to slide a finger inside, the heel of his hand stroked your nub.

Without stopping to think about it much, your hand instinctively found purchase by grabbing Lilia by his arm and dug your nails into him when your second climax snapped.

“You look so cute like this,” Lilia giggled, easing your release by slowing down little by little. “I could gobble you up right now. Think you can handle another round?”