#when you perfect a skill (that takes a long time to cultivate) solely because of your beloved

[1kook]

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.  warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo​ who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of  fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4 

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed. 

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple. 

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. 

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this. 

This type of mission has never been his. 

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers. 

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen. 

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it. 

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians. 

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were. 

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see. 

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is. 

And then he’s off. 

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about. 

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam. 

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet. 

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying. 

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles. 

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on. 

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents. 

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes. 

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor. 

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature. 

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own. 

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes. 

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane. 

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe. 

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle. 

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches. 

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off. 

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you. 

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence. 

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding. 

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general. 

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days. 

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar. 

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together. 

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride. 

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you. 

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one. 

You loved it. 

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home. 

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through. 

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels. 

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge. 

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home. 

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car. 

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think. 

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was. 

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur. 

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at. 

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature. 

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night. 

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts. 

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself. 

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list. 

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance. 

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer. 

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?” 

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain. 

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?” 

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.” 

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you. 

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand. 

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face. 

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that. 

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand. 

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say. 

He is not sure if he believes you. 

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay. 

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him. 

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later. 

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes. 

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back. 

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age. 

Or so he says. 

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit. 

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time. 

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion. 

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees. 

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass. 

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory. 

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you. 

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside. 

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once. 

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that. 

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.” 

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world. 

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh. 

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade. 

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it. 

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks. 

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.” 

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance. 

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer. 

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question. 

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband. 

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep. 

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state. 

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber. 

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance. 

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen. 

And then he’s thinking. 

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room. 

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7. 

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself. 

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did. 

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities. 

Until now. 

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know. 

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off. 

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe. 

He was in trouble. 

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week. 

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times. 

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you. 

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind. 

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other. 

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity. 

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official? 

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there. 

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign. 

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.  

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart. 

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features. 

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well. 

For now. 

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings. 

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too. 

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off. 

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears. 

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa. 

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment. 

He wants to be like you. 

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day. 

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you. 

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden. 

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

He wants to remain beside you. 

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon. 

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away. 

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved. 

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of. 

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once. 

So he spills it all out to you. 

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it. 

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean. 

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe. 

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort. 

Instead he sits in silence. 

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits. 

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that? 

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears. 

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out. 

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?  

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously. 

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?” 

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head. 

The day drags on. 

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log. 

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him. 

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out. 

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more. 

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage. 

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?” 

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today. 

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?” 

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?” 

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails. 

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask. 

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you. 

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?” 

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?” 

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal  markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.” 

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours. 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to. 

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away. 

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden. 

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d. 

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile. 

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?” 

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?” 

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar. 

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills. 

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state. 

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over. 

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough. 

In the end, both of you are drenched. 

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today. 

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen. 

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses. 

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you. 

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.” 

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up. 

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms. 

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by. 

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point. 

There was a lot of weight behind that. 

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine. 

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart. 

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully. 

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed. 

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe. 

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap. 

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.” 

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there. 

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional? 

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him. 

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently. 

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.” 

Your face burns. 

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside. 

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing. 

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it. 

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you. 

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.” 

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye. 

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body. 

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so. 

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again. 

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his. 

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck. 

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time. 

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way. 

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper. 

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs. 

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time. 

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours. 

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan. 

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him. 

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you. 

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features. 

Sheer and utter adoration. 

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you. 

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you. 

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch. 

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with. 

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds. 

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine. 

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is. 

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes. 

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again. 

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes. 

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear. 

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop. 

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow. 

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight. 

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close. 

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth. 

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively. 

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again. 

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline. 

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest. 

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours. 

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere. 

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly. 

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look. 

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal. 

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed. 

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze. 

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?” 

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver. 

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge. 

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges. 

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you. 

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push. 

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy. 

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot. 

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob. 

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time. 

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with. 

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups. 

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed. 

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down. 

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart. 

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet. 

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers. 

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out. 

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in. 

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets. 

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react. 

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch. 

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area. 

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you. 

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies. 

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet. 

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[vodkassassin]

of skin and masterpieces

—

Peak Lord Shang is an old client of hers, one that San Xiu has worked with many times over the years — decades, actually.

One would not typically credit her to be among the population of immortal masters or long-lived practitioners of cultivation, simply because she isn’t actually a cultivator. And yet, San Xiu is going into her eighty-ninth year of life, still looking as if she’s only in her late twenties. Peak Lord Shang likes to comment dramatically on this, always telling her how she ages just like the finest of wines.

He always has been her favorite customer. And not just because of the flattery (Though, it does get him anywhere. And he knows it, too).

San Xiu is an artist, see. She knows what to look for to find the beauty in anything. Even in people. San Xiu knows a true masterpiece when she sees one. She knows what would make a perfect canvas for the most breathtaking paintings to ever grace the land, and she is unique about it, too.

San Xiu likes to be original. Her canvases come from what nature blesses her with, be it a full-scale landscape carved into the leftover healthy bark of a tree far past it’s lifetime, artful pastels glazed into ceramic baked from the clay straight out of the local riverbed, or even the soft and unblemished skin of one of the most powerful men this side of China.

That’s right. San Xiu considers Peak Lord Shang Qinghua to be her greatest masterpiece, of all the work of her entire career. He is exquisite, beautiful, miles and miles of soft and perfect canvas for her ink and her needles to paint all of her very best work into.

Peak Lord Shang Qinghua had come into San Xiu’s life when she was still only a teenager, just starting out in her chosen craft. Her parents had raised her correctly for a young miss, strictly tested on etiquette and drilled in the practices of the Six Arts. San Xiu had taken a liking to painting, when it had been shown to her as a little girl, and she had made it her own dream.

Her parents were proud of their daughter, a skilled artist. They might have been a little less proud and more scandalized, had they ever found out that San Xiu’s favorite canvas was the bare skin of a man.

Tattoos are a very contemporary art, viewed as lesser than painting and other mediums by some simply because they are only as long lived as the person they’re inked into, gone whenever the canvas dies. It’s one of the reasons why tattoo art isn’t taken as seriously. Another reason is because it is often very personal to the person whose skin bears it. In polite society, it’s not as if a person can take off their robes just to show off their tattoos. That would be such a scandal. Which is why, most of the time, paintings of the skin are not seen by anyone other than the artist and the canvas.

Not many artists tend to delve into tattooing for this very reason. Aside from the fact that it is far, far more difficult to master, mistakes cannot be discarded for a fresh canvas to try again. It is the medium of a perfectionist.

San Xiu had first encountered tattooing in an admittedly less-than savory establishment. An artist, she can’t remember the name of him now, had a parlour out of the back of a brothel. She honestly wouldn’t have been there in the first place, had she not heard the rumors and developed the gut feeling that she just had to track this artist down and see what exactly their work entailed.

She packed a few examples of her own work, rolled canvases slid into oiled tubes of leather that she strung over her back, and journeyed off into the night when her parents were occupied with some banquet or other that a lord a few towns over had been hosting.

That’s where she had first met Peak Lord Shang Qinghua.

He hadn’t been a peak lord then, not yet. He was, however, head disciple of a Cang Qiong Mountain Peak, which was already incredibly impressive. San Xiu can recall experiencing unfathomable awe and, even to this day, she had never really gotten over the feeling.

Truth to be told, Lord Shang’s power and standing wasn’t the only reason fifteen year old San Xiu had been so taken and impressed with him. It wasn’t even the biggest reason. No, the reason that Lord Shang had captured San Xiu’s attention, and had never lost it even in the decades after —

He's a masterpiece. Not even San Xiu’s, but a naturally occurring work of art. He’d been radiant and alluring even before San Xiu had ever dreamed of being allowed to put her hands on him.

She’d met him, head disciple Shang Fei, who would later become the much-lauded Master of Cang Qiong’s very own An Ding Peak, in an admittedly very shady tattoo artist’s workshop in the back of a brothel.

The artist had become jaded due to years of unappreciation for their art. It’s the biggest fear of any artist come to life. He had been on his last legs of his profession, all passion drained from him until he was sallow and indifferent to the world. He hadn’t even been interested in meeting with her, something that would have likely crushed a young San Xiu’s spirits by a significant amount if her fate hadn’t been written to lead someone else to her that night.

Shang Fei had held a faint look of disappointment on his face when she first saw him, stepping half into the door of the workshop. She had watched him as he surveyed the room and immediately seemed to realize that this wasn’t what he was looking for. She’d felt the same, herself, but had been struck speechless by the wave of sunset gold that tumbled down his back, shining a russet gold in the warm light of the fire lamps of the parlour. The top twirled neatly into a bun at the crown of his head, held together by two needles that gleamed their sharp danger when he tilted his face downward. The arch of his brow captivated her, the line of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the fold of his nondescript and yet obviously high-quality robes—

He’d looked like a painting of the most revered masters, come to life.

San Xiu knew instantly that she had to speak with him. He was a masterpiece, of the kind that an artist would spend their entire life in search of, and in that moment her most ardent wish was to show him her own. To have him gaze upon her paintings and give his verdict, one work of art judging his own kind.

It had been embarrassing in hindsight, but she’d stumbled up to him and asked if he’d go to a tea shop with her.

However mortifying her actions were, she is eternally glad that she had committed them.

Shang Fei had been so very taken with her paintings, perhaps just as taken as San Xiu was with his everything. He’d bought one off of her then and there, and they had spent three hours drinking tea in companionable conversation when he’d finally asked her what, exactly, she’d been doing in the back of the brothel.

Despite never having received the chance to interrogate the tattoo artist on his craft, San Xiu had still been able to catch a glimpse of his works, sitting sketched out and planned on his work table, and pinned to the walls of the shop. The gorgeous twists of the designs, the very real and tangible proof of a living art right in front of her — it had sparked a hunger in the center of San Xiu’s very being. So she told Shang Fei, she had approached the tattoo parlour because she wanted to join the practice herself.

Gods forbid her parents ever finding out.

Luckily, they never did.

Shang Fei had been even more interested in this bit of information than he had even over the painting he’d purchased. He’d told her she had a gift. That she had talent. That, if she learned the right methods and had the right materials and opportunities, he knew that she could become the best.

Such flattery, even back then. Lord Shang is a master of it. San Xiu still blushes, faintly, when she thinks of that night in the tea shop.

That might be, of course, because of the next thing that Shang Fei had said to her. He had reached across the table, taken her hand in his, looked her in the eye, and offered his body to her with all the seriousness of a man proposing marriage.

Oh, San Xiu had nearly died that night.

Shang Fei himself had seemed to immediately realize, as well, that his words could possibly be misconstrued. He’d turned a little pink in the face, a lovely color splashing lightly over his cheeks, and had quickly amended his offer, saying that he would make a good canvas for San Xiu to practice on until she masters the skills she yearns for.

Shang Fei, he said, was a cultivator well beyond his core formation. Any mistakes she made, he could remove himself and heal over so that it was like they’d never even existed.

And then, he said, “Wouldn’t it make it easier, if you knew some cultivation yourself?”

San Xiu had left for home again in the very early morning, a permanent correspondence address for An Ding peak tucked privately away into her robes, and head held high in excitement as the very first disciple of Peak Lord Shang Qinghua.

Of course, seeing as how he wasn’t actually Peak Lord yet, or even Qinghua, no one could ever know.

That was fine with San Xiu. She had no interest in joining a sect and training for a soulsword.

She is an artist.

Years have passed, rolling into decades. Shang Fei met her secretly, in the time between his duties as head disciple — and other obligations over which he was much more secretive about — as if it were some sort of affair, and San Xiu would work on his skin.

He’d been correct. He was the perfect canvas. Soft, supple, clear and pale. A pure expanse of unblemished emptiness for her to practice on. And, one day, she was promised the sole right to permanently leave her mark on that canvas, as soon as her skills met both of their standards.

By the time Shang Qinghua ascended into his position as Peak Lord, San Xiu met that standard. In celebration for both their achievements, Shang Fei (now Qinghua) and San Xiu had sat down together and planned out the first of San Xiu’s best works.

It winds gorgeously around his forearm, a beautiful Phoenix of gold and red pigments, of which she’d likely never have been able to acquire if not for Shang Qinghua’s benefaction. It’s wings bound to its body by a thorny vine, a rose clutched in its talons, tail feathers curled elegantly to end on the back of his hand. She has never been more proud of anything else in her life.

Decades followed, new masterpieces joining the phoenix on Peak Lord Shang’s flesh. Each and every one turns out breathtakingly gorgeous, almost as if they are made twice more beautiful than they would have otherwise, just for his skin being their canvas. As if Shang Qinghua blesses them, being a natural vision of true art himself, and makes it more.

San Xiu is an artist. And Shang Qinghua is her most beloved life’s work.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Bro how are you so good at making shit. You can just want to make something and suddenly you can and you have it now. That's so badass. I want to learn how. What the fuck dude. I love your content

Thank you! Seeing repeat likes on my stuff is instant serotonin for me. :)

So, on Making Stuff. Being older helps, in that I have built up some experience and resources. But if you’re serious about wanting to learn how to do Stuff, it’s all about being good at How to Teach Yourself.

Advice under the cut.

I could talk about this a long time, but here’s the salient points.

How to Teach Yourself to Make Cool Stuff

1) Cultivate your tastes. Just collect a bunch of shit you enjoy. Pinterest and tumblr are great for this because you can organize stuff by tags and add your own commentary.

2) Describe why you like the things you like. Get as specific as you can. Don’t just say, “I like the color palette”. What about the colors do you like? What kind of tones are they? Do they contrast? Are they unusual for the subject matter, materials, or style?

Challenge yourself to write 10 specific things you like about every thing you favorite/re-pin. Also include some things you don’t care for or would like to see done different.

Be specific -- you’re trying to figure out how your brain works, and learning how to describe your tastes will help you research how to make similar stuff. This is hard, but you gotta do it!

3) Learn what materials, tools, and techniques are and what they’re called.

You’re learning names of stuff not to ace any pop quiz, but rather, to build your vocabulary so you can ask better questions and do better research.

How do you learn this stuff? Asking people is helpful, yes, but what if you don’t even know who to ask yet? Search for content using the words you know now -- you’ll expand your vocab as you go. Stuff like “leather bag diy” or “how to draw with a digital tablet”. Don’t be afraid to use super basic search terms. If you don’t know what a grommet is, a search for “hardware for holes in leather” will lead you to the term pretty quickly. Just keep slamming search queries against the wall until you start getting consistent results.

Then:

Watch videos of people making things you like.

Read forum and other social media posts.

Read tutorials on sites like Instructables, even if they are beyond your skill level.

You’ll notice I haven’t suggested buying books and tools yet. This is because you are still figuring out what will even be useful for you. Just be a sponge.

4) Seek out the pros and learn from them. As you’ve been doing your research and collecting inspiration, you’ve probably noticed certain names coming up over and over. See what sort of training they offer. Classes are ideal, but training can also take the form of videos and books.

For example, Tandy Leather offers in-person beginner’s classes at their stores for pretty cheap (about the cost of the tools you get to keep). Black Raven Academy does a pre-recorded leatherworking video series, with access to the instructor throughout the course. If you’re into EVA foam, Evil Ted doesn’t do classes, but has very comprehensive (and free) videos. Some Makers have books. Etc.

You want to look for professionals who use projects as a means to teach you techniques you can apply to your own work. It’s the whole “learning a recipe” vs “learning how to cook” philosophy.

Also, don’t limit yourself to people who make exactly what you want to make -- I love Kamui Cosplay’s content because she shows off some very useful techniques. Ironically, I probably wouldn’t cosplay as a single thing she does, because I have different interests. I still admire and learn from her work, though.

Don’t go hog wild buying books and supplies -- pick a professional or two and absorb their content until you feel almost confident to try making something.

5) Make a Thing! I said “almost confident” in step #4, because perfection is the enemy of Good. Just jump in. You’ll probably suck, that’s ok. Try to complete the Thing. Small or Big, you know yourself better than I do on what motivates you best.

6) Review your Thing. You know how in step #2 you learned how to be specific with what you liked and didn’t like? Be specific with BOTH about your own work. Know how in step #3 you broadened your vocabulary? Now use that to research how to make your Thing better. I’ll bet you tons of folks had similar learning experiences and got good advice.

7) Practice often, but practice thoughtfully! Practice isn’t just repetition. Building motor memory is important, but it’s meaningless if you don’t practice thoughtfully. The purpose of practice is to figure out root causes of your problems and the best ways to correct errors and reinforce what you do well. I play the oboe professionally. When I practice difficult passages, I don’t just start slow and speed up, one metronome click at a time. That’s how you get frustrated and train your fingers to screw up every damned time. So, I’ll play starting in the middle of a run. I’ll play in a different key. I’ll play with the entirely wrong rhythms. I’ll memorize it. I’ll play when I’m dog tired and standing on one foot. I’ll do a bunch of things to figure out exactly why something is hard -- it’s seldom as simple as “it’s too fast”. (Usually it’s because I’m uncomfortable with a fingering, my hand position is bad, I’m being lazy and don’t even know what all the notes even are, I’m not using enough wind, my oboe is out of adjustment, etc.)

15 min of thoughtful practice is so much more valuable than hours of rote exercises.

Practice can be fruitful, too! When I do projects like design matchbooks, stickers, and stamps? That’s a form of practice for me -- you can practice skills by making things. And sometimes the most important skill to practice is finishing things.

Be honest with yourself and always remember to not focus solely on the negative -- always look for stuff you like about your creations.

8) Experiment! Need to substitute materials? Have a cool idea? Experiment, review, and iterate.

9) Rinse and repeat. Making stuff is all about continual learning, and that always starts at the beginning. Go back to Step #1. And even learn about Crafts you don’t plan to participate in, because inspiration is everywhere. :)

[vajranam]

How To Use Your Dharma Practice

A s regards the method of acquiring practical spiritual knowledge, if you find a certain practice increases your evil passions and tends you toward selfishness, abandon it, though it may appear to others virtuous. And if any course of action tends to counteract your evil passions, and to benefit sentient beings, know that to be the true and holy path, and continue it, even though it should appear to others to be sinful.

Milarepa

A dharma practice is here to help us to realise our true nature of mind, but the most important part of dharma practice is capture and cancel our ego clinging.

We also confuse Dharma the teaching and Dharma practice, without the teachings we wont be able to practice the dharma

The 37 Bodhisattvas practice explain us how we need to turn our mind to the teaching.

Namo Lokesvaraya

You who see that experience has no coming or going,

Yet pour your energy solely into helping beings,

My excellent teachers and Lord All Seeing,

I humbly and constantly honor with my body, speech, and mind.

The fully awake, the buddhas, source of joy and well-being,

All come from integrating the noble Way.

Because integration depends on your knowing how to practice,

I will explain the practice of all bodhisattvas.

1

Right now, you have a good boat, fully equipped and available — hard to find.

To free others and you from the sea of samsara,

Day and night, fully alert and present,

Study, reflect, and meditate — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

2

Attraction to those close to you catches you in its currents;

Aversion to those who oppose you burns inside;

Indifference that ignores what needs to be done is a black hole.

Leave your homeland — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

3

Don’t engage disturbances and reactive emotions gradually fade away;

Don’t engage distractions and spiritual practice naturally grows;

Keep awareness clear and vivid and confidence in the way arises.

Rely on silence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

4

You will separate from long-time friends and relatives;

You will leave behind the wealth you worked to build up;

The guest, your consciousness, will move from the inn, your body.

Forget the conventional concerns — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

5

With some friends, the three poisons keep growing,

Study, reflection, and meditation weaken,

And loving kindness and compassion fall away.

Give up bad friends — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

6

With some teachers, your shortcomings fade away and

Abilities grow like the waxing moon.

Hold such teachers dear to you,

Dearer than your own body — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

7

Locked up in the prison of their own patterning

Whom can ordinary gods protect?

Who can you count on for refuge?

Go for refuge in the Three Jewels — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

8

The suffering in the lower realms is really hard to endure.

The Sage says it is the result of destructive actions.

For that reason, even if your life is at risk,

Don’t engage in destructive actions — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

9

The happiness of the three worlds disappears in a moment,

Like a dewdrop on a blade of grass.

The highest level of freedom is one that never changes.

Aim for this — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

10

If all your mothers, who love you,

Suffer for time without beginning, how can you be happy?

To free limitless sentient beings,

Give rise to awakening mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

11

All suffering comes from wanting your own happiness.

Complete awakening arises from the intention to help others.

So, exchange completely your happiness

For the suffering of others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

12

Even if someone, driven by desperate want,

Steals, or makes someone else steal, everything you own,

Dedicate to him your body, your wealth, and

All the good you’ve ever done or will do — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

13

Even if you have done nothing wrong at all

And someone still tries to take your head off,

Spurred by compassion,

Take all his or her evil into you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

14

Even if someone broadcasts to the whole universe

Slanderous and ugly rumors about you,

In return, with an open and caring heart,

Praise his or her abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

15

Even if someone humiliates you and denounces you

In front of a crowd of people,

Think of this person as your teacher

And humbly honor him — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

16

Even if a person you have cared for as your own child

Treats you as his or her worst enemy,

Lavish him or her with loving attention

Like a mother caring for her ill child — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

17

Even if your peers or subordinates,

Put you down to make themselves look better,

Treat them respectfully as you would your teacher:

Put them above you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

18

When you are down and out, held in contempt,

Desperately ill, and emotionally crazed,

Don’t lose heart. Take into you

The suffering and negativity of all beings — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

19

Even when you are famous, honored by all,

And as rich as the god of wealth himself,

Don’t be pompous. Know that the magnificence of existence

Has no substance — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

20

If you don’t subdue the opponent inside, your own anger,

Although you subdue opponents outside, they just keep coming.

Muster the forces of loving kindness and compassion

And subdue your own mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

21

Sensual pleasures are like salty water:

The deeper you drink, the thirstier you become.

Any object that you attach to,

Right away, let it go — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

22

Whatever arises in experience is your own mind.

Mind itself is free of any conceptual limitations.

Know that and don’t generate

Subject-object fixations — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

23

When you come across something you enjoy,

Though beautiful to experience, like a summer rainbow,

Don’t take it as real.

Let go of attachment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

24

All forms of suffering are like dreaming that your child has died.

Taking confusion as real wears you out.

When you run into misfortune,

Look at it as confusion — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

25

If those who want to be awake have to give even their bodies,

What need is there to talk about things that you simply own.

Be generous, not looking

For any return or result — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

26

If you can’t tend to your needs because you have no moral discipline,

Then intending to take care of the needs of others is simply a joke.

Observe ethical behavior without concern

For conventional existence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

27

For bodhisattvas who want to be rich in virtue

A person who hurts you is a precious treasure.

Cultivate patience for everyone,

Completely free of irritation or resentment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

28

Listeners and solitary buddhas, working only for their own welfare,

Are seen to practice as if their heads were on fire.

To help all beings, pour your energy into practice:

It’s the source of all abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

29

Understanding that emotional reactions are dismantled

By insight supported by stillness,

Cultivate meditative stability that passes right by

The four formless states — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

30

Without wisdom, the five perfections

Are not enough to attain full awakening.

Cultivate wisdom, endowed with skill

And free from the three domains — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

31

If you don’t go into your own confusion,

You may just be a materialist in practitioner’s clothing.

Constantly go into your own confusion

And put an end to it — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

32

You undermine yourself when you react emotionally and

Grumble about the imperfections of other bodhisattvas.

Of the imperfections of those who have entered the Great Way,

Don’t say anything — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

33

When you squabble with others about status and rewards,

You undermine learning, reflection, and meditation.

Let go of any investment in your family circle

Or the circle of those who support you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

34

Abusive language upsets others

And undermines the ethics of a bodhisattva.

So, don’t upset people or

Speak abusively — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

35

When reactive emotions acquire momentum, it’s hard to make remedies work.

A person in attention wields remedies like weapons,

Crushing reactive emotions such as craving

As soon as they arise — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

36

In short, in everything you do,

Know what is happening in your mind.

By being constantly present and aware

You bring about what helps others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

37

To dispel the suffering of beings without limit,

With wisdom freed from the three spheres

Direct all the goodness generated by these efforts

To awakening — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Following the teachings of the holy ones

On what is written in the sutras, tantras, and commentaries,

I set out these thirty-seven practices of a bodhisattva

For those who intend to train in this path.

Because I have limited intelligence and little education,

These verses are not the kind of poetry that delights the learned.

But because I relied on the teachings of the sutras and the revered

I am confident that The Practices of a Bodhisattva is sound.

However, because it’s hard for a person with limited intelligence like me

To fathom the depths of the great waves of the activity of bodhisattvas,

I ask the revered to tolerate

Any mistakes — contradictions, non sequiturs, and such.

From the goodness of this work, may all beings,

Through the supreme mind that is awake to what is ultimately and apparently true,

Not rest in any limiting position — existence or peace:

May they be like Lord All Seeing.

Tokmé, the monk, a teacher of scripture and logic, composed this text in a cave near the town of Ngülchu Rinchen for his own and others’ benefit

This the first step just before practice turning our mind away of samsara.

Second part we must develop three steps very important.

Renounciation: to be able to practice the right way , we need renounce to samsara

Bodhichitta: mind of unconditional love and compassion

The right view : aiming to liberate all being losing self grasping

Knowing how to practice the dharma how we take a practice, some of us think the vehicle we are isnt important. Well to take the right practice is like taking the right medicine , if you had flue taking a tea wont do much, but if you take flue medicine that will help us more.

Mahayana practice are able to become Vajrayana too it depends on our views and bodhicitta.

Vajrayana practices are radically different some got inside practices of the practice and more.

Lets say that years we been practicing Chenrezig and we still not having compassion and our tendency still the same well its time to change.

What do we mean by discovering or rediscovering our true nature means, get rib of all egotistical constructions, become more selfless.

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3

extra: During the Sunshot Campaign, Lan Xichen has a conversation with his uncle that doesn’t go how he planned.

warning for canon typical levels of homophobia and, like a lot of bad emotions because in book canon LXC is 19-20 when the war starts and that’s a lot of stuff for a young man that age to go through :D

It is near impossible for Lan Xichen to focus on the conversation with his uncle as they discuss the campaign in his office. Although he knows how important it is, how many lives are stake, he simply cannot keep his mind on the war. His thoughts keep going back to the handful of hours he just spent holding Nie Huaisang and kissing him, how his eyes shone with happiness, the softness of his hair, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his skin, the… 

"Xichen, are you even listening?" 

"Apologies, uncle," he quickly mumbles. "It has been a long day." 

"And that day would be over already if you hadn't lost so much time with that Nie boy. I asked how you obtained that information about Nightless City's defences." 

Lan Xichen hesitates. It is wrong to keep secrets. It is wrong to deny his uncle's request. But surely it would be more wrong to say anything that might put dear Meng Yao in greater danger than he already is? 

Being a sect leader is nothing but a series of compromises, and it is so difficult to know right from wrong. 

"When the time is right, I will reveal it. For now, I can only say that I trust the source of this information. But these are dark times, uncle, and it is better if I remain the only one to know certain things." 

To Lan Xichen's surprise, his uncle nods. 

"The Wens have come here once, they could come here again. Keep the secret for now if you feel it is needed." 

"Thank you, uncle." 

"Hm. I think we've talked about everything urgent. You may retire for the night, anything less pressing can wait." 

That, of course, is the chance that Lan Xichen has been waiting for since he joined his uncle in his office. He takes a deep breath, and steels himself. 

"Uncle, if you do not mind… There is one more thing I would like to talk about. It does not concern the campaign, but it is important nonetheless. Would you let me have a little more of your time?" 

Lan Qiren, who had started standing up, sits down again and gestures for his nephew to go on. Lan Xichen takes another deep breath, and hurriedly wonders how to breach the matter. 

In spite of how long he has loved Nie Huaisang, Lan Xichen finds himself wholly unprepared for this situation. After all, while they had a certain friendship going on, Nie Huaisang had never given any sign that he held some preference for his brother's friend. He has always been cheerful and open and teasing with Lan Xichen, but since he is like that with everyone, it didn't seem to mean much. 

And yet, there's no doubt possible now. Nie Huaisang cares, perhaps just as strongly as Lan Xichen does. 

"Well? What was it?" his uncle asks, getting impatient. 

"Uncle, there is… It is not easy to say. But for some time now, I have felt very strongly for another boy, and it has recently been revealed to me that this boy too…" 

He is interrupted by his uncle slamming his hand on his desk, his face dark with anger. 

"You will forget about this boy," Lan Qiren orders. "I do not want to hear another word of such nonsense." 

"The rules of our sect dictate we must look for our true match, a dual cultivation partner that fits us," Lan Xichen meekly objects, half surprised by his own daring. "How is it nonsense for me to do so?" 

His uncle glares at him for what he must perceive at insolence. At a normal time, this would be enough for Lan Xichen to fall in line, years of discipline having nearly broken what rebellion ever existed in him. 

But this is not a normal time. Today his lips still tingle from being kissed by the person he loves, and to get more of that, Lan Xichen is ready to fight even the uncle who half terrifies him. 

"Uncle, this is not something I say lightly," he insists. "I truly love him, I wish to spend my life with him, and I believe he will be exactly the partner I need, not only in private but also in public." 

He means that. Nie Huaisang, after all, is so clever when he wants. Much smarter than people give him credit for, certainly. Lan Xichen has seen him discreetly defuse tense situations at times when Nie Mingjue was provoked into anger. He has also seen how, when they were guest disciples, Nie Huaisang often found ways to distract Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanying whenever Jin Zixuan would do or say something that upset them. It is certainly a great skill for a sect leader's husband to have. 

And as for the private aspect… Aside from having just been revealed as a wonderful kisser, Nie Huaisang is simply someone who has always made Lan Xichen happy. He has never treated him with the distant politeness that everyone gave him as heir to such a major sect. Nie Huaisang, from their very first meeting, has called him Xichen-gege and teased him with the same carefree attitude he had with Nie Mingjue. Sometimes, Lan Xichen thinks that he fell in love on that first day, even if the realisation of it only came later. 

"Love has no place in a sect leader's life," his uncle snaps. "Look what good it did your father!" 

The attack is not unexpected, but Lan Xichen still feels the sting of it. 

"It is different. Unlike father, my feelings are returned." 

"Returned or not, it makes no difference. When you marry, it will be to help us secure an alliance…" 

"His family is a prominent one," Lan Xichen weakly interjects. 

"It will be to secure an alliance and an heir," Lan Qiren claims. "Can that boy of yours carry a child for you? Or was I lied to about what you are, and you can actually bear another man's child?" 

"I cannot," his nephew admits, clenching his fists. "Neither can he. But uncle…" 

"Everything you have, everything you are, you owe it to the position you were born in. In return, your duty is to serve your sect and your clan. When the time is right, I will find you a dutiful wife. Until then, I do not want to ever hear you talk about this again. You are dismissed."

Lan Xichen clenches his fists. He feels something wet fall on his cheeks and wonders, idly, when he cried for the last time. His mother's death probably. It was not allowed after that. A future sect leader had to be trained out of expressing emotions in such an obvious way, and Lan Xichen always was a good student. 

The tears are not solely for being denied the right to his true love, though after so many months of horror, it is the last drop. He has lost so much, several of his people died when the Cloud Recesses were burned, his sect history is nearly entirely lost save what he could take with him when he ran, his brother was almost lost to a monster, his father passed away while he was running for his life, and there's a war now, so many people depend on him, many of which have perished already because this is a war and he's not ready for this and… 

Lan Xichen could bear with all this. It is his duty. He just wants one comfort, one good thing. He wants to be allowed one selfish desire. 

He wants Nie Huaisang. 

When his uncle starts getting up, Lan Xichen grabs his sleeve like the capricious child he knows he must look like. 

"Uncle, I beg you, I will do anything you ask if you allow me to court him. Let me have this. I am serious about this, I am sincere, I promise you will not regret it if you let me have him. It is not some fanciful passion, I love him, I have loved him so long. Uncle, please, when have I ever asked for a favour?"

Lan Qiren glares at him. Lan Xichen's tears double as he realises this is a fight he cannot win, but he maintains his hold on his uncle's sleeve. The moment he lets go, Nie Huaisang is lost to him. He cannot let go. He cannot lose this as well. 

"If you get what you want, Wangji cannot," Lan Qiren says, in the patient yet condescending tone he uses on his students. "You know your brother as well as I do. Can you imagine him marrying a woman, even to give the clan an heir?" 

That's his problem, not mine, Lan Xichen wants to scream, only for crippling guilt to immediately devour him. He remembers their mother, slowly dying of a disease never explained to them, asking him to take care of his little brother. Someone has to make sure A-Zhan smiles, she'd told him many times. When I'm gone, make sure he still gets to smile. 

Lan Xichen sobs, his fingers clenching on his uncle's sleeve. 

It is true that Lan Wangji has always shown a clear preference for other boys and no interest whatsoever in girls. It is equally clear that Wangji is in love, and for three months scoured the country with Jiang Cheng, desperately trying to find out what happened to the boy he adores. And though they have their arguments, Wei Wuxian is the only person who can make Land Wangji smile, now that their mother is dead. 

It is true also that, in general, Lan Xichen has never felt any strong preference between men and women. Marrying someone who will bear an heir for the clan is not something that fills him with disgust the way it might Lan Wangji. He can do this, if it comes to that. 

He doesn't want it to come to that. He doesn't want a man or a woman. He wants Nie Huaisang who smiles like a fox and moves like a bird. Nie Huaisang who cried because he thought him dead, and kissed him. Nie Huaisang who made such sweet noises as they chased pleasure together, then laughed so softly, as if nothing in the world could be better than to be in Lan Xichen's arms. Nie Huaisang whom he loves, who is so perfect for him in every aspect. Nie Huaisang who should be his, but never will be. 

"But I love him," Lan Xichen whimpers, defeated. "Uncle, I really love him, what am going to do?"

Lan Qiren kneels next to him. Through the tears, Lan Xichen thinks he can see pity on his stern uncle's face, and that might be worse than his earlier anger. He nearly flinches when Lan Qiren awkwardly pats his shoulder, neither of them used to this. 

"Avoid his company," Lan Qiren orders. "Avoid his conversation. If you can, avoid looking at him even. Meditate when you are tempted to seek him out. If your will is strong enough, you will easily get over this fancy of yours."

“Uncle, I cannot…”

“You must. You will. Or are you so weak that you can’t overcome the failings of your body and heart? You are a sect leader now, Xichen. Do not follow in your father's footsteps by letting your passions conquer you." 

With one last desperate sob, Lan Xichen finally lets go of his uncle's sleeve and tries to collect himself. All of Gusu Lan has suffered from his father's decisions, he reminds himself, taking one shaky breath after the other. His uncle has paid the price of Qingheng-Jun's choice, forced to bear the weight of their sect when inclination and birth should have allowed him to dedicate himself to his studies. 

Lan Xichen will be a better sect leader, a better brother. 

"Thank you for your time and advice, uncle" he says in a voice he cannot stop from shaking. "I will do my best to live up to your expectations." 

"I know you will," Lan Qiren replies, squeezing his shoulder before quickly letting go. "You may go." 

Lan Xichen doesn't need to be told twice. He springs to his feet and rushes back to the Hanshi, as fast as he can without running. His head hurts from crying, and there is an uncomfortable dampness between his legs. Earlier he was half happy with that sticky sensation, a reminder that he did not dream what happened. Now it makes him want to tear his own skin away. As soon as he is inside his home, he sheds his clothes, dropping them on the floor without care. Using a towel and water, Lan Xichen scrubs his legs and groin until they are red and sore, trying to erase any trace of those stolen moments he needs to forget. 

When he is satisfied with his work, he goes to sleep and quickly passes out, exhausted by a day that promised so much and delivered so little. 

In the morning, Lan Xichen sees Nie Huaisang at breakfast. The other boy spots him as well and smiles so brightly that it is nearly blinding. It takes all of Lan Xichen’s willpower not to join him. Instead he goes to sit with his uncle, and leaves again as soon as he is done eating. 

Busy as he is, Lan Xichen finds that the day passes quickly. The elders who remain in the Cloud Recesses commend his dedication when he skips lunch, but force him to have a servant bring him something when he makes it clear he wants to avoid dinner as well. Lan Xichen reluctantly agrees, and eats alone in the Hanshi with some reports in front of him. If he handles things well, he can leave for the front in a day or two.

There is so much to organise, and Lan Xichen does not want to stay in the Cloud Recesses a moment more than necessary. He will have to avoid his own home until the war is won and Nie Huaisang can return to Qinghe.

[pivitor]

My Top 10 Albums of 2019

2019 will go down, for me, as the year my beloved iPod died, and I finally bit the bullet and signed up for Spotify Premium. Thus, I listened to more new music in 2019 than I ever have before, and realized how much of it I found disposable. Bands I grew up loving put out mediocre efforts, new darlings grew in directions I wasn’t interested in following, but thank god, thank god there are still plenty of terrific musicians putting out work that resonates deep within my soul. Music is subjective, so I wouldn’t dare call this a “best of” list, but below are the ten new releases of 2019 that I listened to the most, vibed with the most, that just plain ol’ meant the most to me this year.

(PS: Don’t think too much about the exact order and ranking here. It changed multiple times even as I was writing this. What really matters is that all ten of these records rule)

10. Radar State -- Strays

Radar State are the Avengers of the early 2000s mid-west emo scene -- a band combining The Get Up Kids’ Matt Pryor and Jim Suptic, The Anniversary’s Josh Berwanger, and The Architects’ Adam Phillips into a single supergroup. Pryor has described the project as “just having fun with [his] friends,” and that dynamic shines through loud and clear in Strays. It’s like each member is pushing the next to just create the catchiest song they possibly can, and the competition leads to great results; Pryor favors fast and sloppy punk and Berwanger moody earworms that fuse themselves into your brain through sheer repetition, but it’s Suptic who fulfills that edict best with his shiny, addictive pop love songs. Radar State never quite hits the emotional highs of its members’ main projects, but that was never the point in the first place; Strays is just fun from front to back, and it’s an album I’ve returned to consistently throughout the entirety of 2019.

Highlights: Making Me Feel, Self-Hurt Guru, Artificial Love

9. The Early November -- Lilac

Lilac is an album about learning from your mistakes and making a conscious choice to be better, and it’s a theme, an ethos that truly defines this release on every level. The Early November originally planned to release Lilac back in 2018, but ended up scrapping the original recording and going back to the drawing board, knowing that they could do better, and funneling that ambition, all their lessons learned, into their most ambitious release outside of The Mother, The Maker, and the Path (“but less self-indulgent,” I say with love). Horns, piano, and a wide variety of tempos spice up the proceedings, and the lyrics are more raw and honest than ever, but Lilac’s greatest weapon is the vocals, which Ace Enders wields with virtuoso skill. He plays with different cadences and deliveries, giving every song a unique feel, moving from soft and pleasant (“Perfect Sphere [Bubble]”) to menacing (“My Weakness”), from the joy of “Ave Maria” to the cathartic, powerhouse vocal explosion of “Hit By A Car (Euphoria)” to the pure, crackling, barely contained emotional breakdown threatening to burst right out of the chorus of “Our Choice.” There’s no other vocalist out there quite like Ace Enders -- and no other record quite like Lilac.

Highlights: Hit By A Car (In Euphoria), Ave Maria, Comatose

8. Magazine Beach -- Sick Day (EP)

Most year-end lists probably overlooked this record, a debut four-song EP from a small DIY band released in mid-December, and man oh man are those critics missing out. Sick Day isn’t just the biggest and best musical surprise I received all year, but quite possibly the most fun I had listening to music in 2019. Seriously, I played this on loop probably two dozen times the day I discovered it, and spent that evening forcing friends to listen to it too. Magazine Beach’s tongue-in-cheek lyrics, gonzo riffs, and stunning background harmonies are combined with vocals whose flatter, sardonic tone initially masks, but soon reveals their perfect cadence and quick crackles of emotion; they’re as close to a perfect pop-punk package as I heard all year, with their quirky, relatable songs about flaky friends, overstuffed social calendars, and other mid-twenties challenges filling that gaping Modern-Baseball-You’re-Gonna-Miss-It-All-shaped hole in my heart. If this had released earlier in the year, and I’d had more time to see how long it truly stuck with me, it might have placed far, far higher on this list, but either way I look forward to carrying this album forward with me into 2020, and I look forward to following Magazine Beach’s future career closely. I think they could go places.

Highlight: Living Room

7. Masked Intruder -- III

It’s easy to look at Masked Intruder and think that they’re more of an act than a band, just because they’re so good at playing hardened-yet-harmless criminals on stage, at enchanting an audience with their antics and banter alone. Thankfully, they’re equally skilled as musicians as they are performers; III isn’t just quick content for their live shows, but an entertaining, addictive, artfully made pop-punk record in its own right. Okay, maybe pop-punk is a bit too restrictive a descripter -- between the doo-wop, call-and-response harmonies and the raging riffs and solos, III sometimes sounds like a modern spin on sixties rock and roll, which is something I did not know I needed but absolutely needed. The lyrics never break kayfabe, but there’s some real clever stuff going on beneath the surface of these silly crime-themed love songs; contrasting the creepiness of Blue’s romantic pursuits with the shenanigans of a typical radio love song shows how few differences there actually are between the two, how creepy the entire genre is when you stop to give it any thought. It’s thoughtful and subversive without ever being preachy, just one more spinning plate kept perfectly balanced in the act that is III.

Highlights: Not Fair, Maybe Even, I’m Free (At Last)

6. Martha -- Love Keeps Kicking

Martha’s secret weapon is the empathy and compassion their songs cultivate for their subjects. Love Keeps Kicking is an album largely about the way love can kick you when you’re down, yet throughout the album Martha never villainizes even the bad actors in relationships. “Into This” finds the narrator jerked around by a potential partner who just won’t clarify what they are to each other, but the song isn’t out to attack the partner, simply to get a solid answer. Likewise, “Love Keeps Kicking” lays out a myriad of detailed complaints about romance and relationships, not to insult, but simply to find a way to endure them. “Orange Juice” rues the way the narrator diluted their partner just by being with them, showing impressive (and heartbreaking) levels of self-awareness. That kind of emotional maturity and complexity makes the true love songs (“Sight For Sore Eyes,” “Wrestlemania VIII”) all the more joyous, and makes their social commentary (“Mini Was A Preteen Arsonist”) that much more effective. Martha are a wonderfully catchy, fun band filled with great harmonies and British twang, but it’s their earnest, compassionate storytelling that truly made me fall in love with them, and with Love Keeps Kicking.

Highlights: Wrestlemania VIII, Love Keeps Kicking, Orange Juice

5. Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties -- Routine Maintenance

Hot take (?) incoming: Dan Campbell is the best songwriter of our generation. I already sang his praises pretty thoroughly last year when discussing my favorite album of 2018, but Routine Maintenance is just further proof of this truth, almost Campbell flexing. The previous Aaron West record was a character study of the worst year of a man’s life, but Routine Maintenance expands Aaron’s world in terms of scope, characters, and themes, all to the project’s (and character’s) benefit. The record is a tale of redemption, taking Aaron from rock bottom to a new place of security, all through the power of friendship and community, the power of music, and the power of family, of fulfilling your responsibilities to them, of finding your role and your home wherever you are, with the people who care about you, with people you can make proud. They’re themes Campbell has been exploring throughout his entire career, but brought down to a more personal level, and somehow that makes them hit harder than ever, perhaps because it makes the way they can fit into any listener’s life that much clearer. I’ve cried listening to this album. I’ve cried hearing these songs live. There’s true, true catharsis on Routine Maintenance, and it’s because Campbell’s taken Aaron West on a real journey, and it’s one I feel blessed to have been able to follow.

Highlights: Runnin’ Toward the Light, Rosa & Reseda, Winter Coats

4. Pkew Pkew Pkew -- Optimal Lifestyles

Pkew Pkew Pkew’s 2016 self-titled debut was an album told solely in the present tense, not worried about the future, but simply about the drinks, pizza, skateboarding, and parties to be had right here, right now. It was a blisteringly fun, gang-vocals filled powerhouse of a record that solidified Pkew Pkew Pkew as one of my new favorite bands. Optimal Lifestyles, though, is an album that has started to look back, if only to question the present. Are they still content to be these same fun-loving, hard-drinking party guys? Ultimately, as proven by lyrics such as “Shred until you’re dead, or until you break your wrist again” and “We lead thirsty little lives, and all we want’s another,” the answer they come to is a resounding “yes,” but the journey they take to find that answer not only makes it feel earned, but opens Pkew Pkew Pkew to some exciting new songwriting avenues, be it the touching introspection of “Drinkin’ Days” or the surprisingly beautiful nostalgia of “Everything’s the Same” (or even the more raucous nostalgia of “Mt. Alb,” for that matter). Don’t let words like “introspection” and “beautiful” scare you, though -- The Boys still rock as hard as ever, as the wailing, chugging guitars and even a totally rockin’ saxophone solo fully attest to (though I do miss all the gang vocals). And I’d be remiss to not mention “I Wanna See A Wolf,” an absolute songwriting clinic. In only a minute and nineteen seconds, Pkew Pkew Pkew takes a simple statement -- “I wanna see a wolf” -- and unravels it until it reveals a song about longing for freedom from the careers that cage our lives, even when they’re our dream. I don’t know if Pkew Pkew Pkew could have written this song three years ago. Talk about growth.

Highlights: I Wanna See A Wolf, Point Break, Adult Party

3. The Get Up Kids -- Problems

After their most popular record -- 1999’s Something To Write Home About -- the Get Up Kids’ next three albums all went on to be incredibly divisive among their fans. While all three records showed significant creative growth, none really sounded like what came before (personally, I very much enjoyed two of those records -- sorry, There Are Rules -- but I guess I’m not most fans). Problems, though, sounds like the natural evolution of Something To Write Home About without ever feeling derivative of it -- it sounds more like “the Get Up Kids” than anything the Get Up Kids have released in over a decade, which is an incredibly exciting thing let me tell you. Yet, Problems still benefits from everything the band has learned in that time: there’s new introspection (“The Problem Is Me”), a wider storytelling scope (“Lou Barlow”), and a shift from wallowing in their own pain to examining the pain of others (“Satellite,” which Matt Pryor has said is based on one of his sons). Problems also manages to pack in absolute bangers like “Fairweather Friends,” sensitive, tender ballads like “The Advocate,” and mid-tempo jams like “Salina,” a guaranteed future Emo classic that threatens to dethrone the Kids’ own “Central Standard Time” as The Quintessential Emo Song. Problems is the synthesis of just about everything that has ever made the Get Up Kids special, and it not only makes for one of the year’s best albums, but one of the Get Up Kids’ best as well.

Highlights: Fairweather Friends, Lou Barlow, Salina

2. PUP -- Morbid Stuff

The A-Side of Morbid Stuff is perfect -- a legitimately flawless five song stretch of punk rock that continues to blow my mind almost ten months after its release. The unmistakable opening notes of “Morbid Stuff”; that irresistible background riff from the bridge returning in “Kids’” second chorus, combined with some of the most nihilisticly romantic lyrics I’ve ever heard; the raucous sing-along that is “Free At Last”; the purest, most undiluted diss-track of the year in “See You At Your Funeral”; and, finally, the best song of the year bar none, “Scorpion Hill,” a sonic journey through multiple musical genres, telling a story of uniquely American misery that legitimately moves me to tears. The B-Side doesn’t quite live up to these first five tracks -- there’s a couple stand-outs (“Bare Hands” needs to make it into a live set pronto), a couple songs more interesting in concept than execution (sorry, “Full Blown Meltdown”), and a few more perfectly fine, standard PUP tunes (and I swear I don’t mean that as an insult!) -- but, well, how could it ever really have anyway? All together, it still makes for an outrageously enjoyable album that reaches the upper echelons of what 2019’s new music had to offer. That PUP was not only such a terrific band right out of the gate, but has remained so this far into their career, makes me so, so happy.

Highlights: Scorpion Hill, Kids, Free At Last

1. The Menzingers -- Hello Exile

It took me a few listens -- and, truthfully, seeing it played live -- to truly crack this album. At first it was a bit too slow, the vocals a bit too filtered, but once it clicked, I lived and breathed Hello Exile and nothing else for months. The slightly slower pace gives the Menzingers a chance to play around with some new musical tricks, be it the back-and-forth opening or the fun background guitar melodies of “Strangers Forever” or the almost hypnotic vocal melodies in the choruses of “Portland” or “Hello Exile,” and they pay off with great effect. Lyrically the Menzingers are at the top of their game; tracks like “High School Friend” and “Strain Your Memory” are more adept than ever at painting stories that make you nostalgic for a life you never even lived, but absolutely feel like you have, and lines like “it only hurts til’ it doesn’t” hit your heart with sniper-like precision. “Anna” may be the quintessential Menzingers song, a tale of longing, love, and location that drove the entire scene into a frenzy that still hasn’t subsided. “Farewell Youth” is the best closing track the Menzingers have ever released, a song about grief in multiple forms that manages to find poignant takes on each and every one of them. I’m not yet sure whether Hello Exile is the beginning or the end of a chapter for the Menzingers, but either way, it’s clearly an essential and unmissable part of their story, and one I feel privileged to be able to experience.

Highlights: Anna, Strangers Forever, Farewell Youth

[internaljiujitsu]

Quarantine Coupling: Captive Cohabitation During A Pandemic

I lived alone last year. After divorcing, I got myself the nicest apartment I could and tried to make the most of my freedom. As it turns out, bachelor pads can be petri dishes for the type of depression that makes you want to jump from your thirteenth floor balcony. When my lease ended, I knew I shouldn’t be on my own — I needed to be around other people. I started splitting time between my girlfriend’s apartment and my sister’s house in Long Island. While sis was incredibly welcoming, it wasn’t an ideal situation. Gradually, the time I’d spend at my lady’s place in Forest Hills increased. Soon, I had pretty much moved in without really having a conversation about it.

By the start of the new year, we were officially shacking up. Our schedules meant we’d spend an hour or two together in the morning and then wouldn’t see each other again until nine or ten at night. We got along amazingly well. I think we both figured it had a lot to do with the limited face to face time.

Then came the quarantine. She was lucky enough to keep doing her job from home. Her workload actually increased. I could no longer teach jiu jitsu classes, but I had more time to write than before. After our morning pow wow, we’d split off to separate laptops and tap away all day. Breaks were for meals and working out. We had tightened up our eating habits before the quarantine and the changes stuck, so there wasn’t really any pigging out. We did our own thing, got together frequently for chats, hugs or gratuitous groping, then hunkered back down for some productivity. When 9pm rolled around, the time we’d normally be meeting back at home, we’d sit on the couch for some dumb TV.

It took a month for our first “fight.” I wouldn’t even call it that, because although the opportunity was there for it to escalate, it never did. Instead, we used it to analyze our own feelings and reactions. This would prove invaluable in the coming weeks, as her job became more stressful and I was exposed to a side of her I had never seen: Producer lady.

Producer lady can’t stand when people fuck up. She expects everyone to do their job and lets the world know when she thinks someone or something is dumb. She huffs and puffs a lot, and she sighs all day long. It makes for a pretty tense environment. If you let it.

There was a time not long ago that the tension would have been too much for me. I would have felt like I was being dragged out of my peaceful state by an enemy insistent on ruining my day. I’d begin to feel my partner’s anxiety, then resent her pulling me into it while hating myself for not being able to alleviate her pain. It would have lead to explosive anger and a compulsion to flee. Not so today. Disconnecting my own self image from her behavior helped me recognize her needs. The message would have gone over my head if I was bobbing and weaving the whole time.

But I also got tested in another way that I’m grateful for. When I offered ways to help relieve some of her stress, she bit back at me defensively. I was taken aback the first time it happened, then made a mental note the second time. But I didn’t react outwardly. Instead I examined the events surrounding the reaction and thought about each of our roles in the event as I perceived it, versus how she probably did. She did the same and apologized for her reaction. Then I realized she reminded me of someone. She was reacting exactly how I used to.

The pause I have learned to take before reacting to non emergencies gave me time to understand that she was being defensive when I offered advice because it made her feel inadequate or less in control. I knew because it was how I felt when I’d react the same in the past. I could recognize myself clearly.

At once, I felt regret for the way the old me had communicated and compassion for those at the receiving end. I thought about all the times I lost my temper and couldn’t really hear what was going on. Now, without being blinded by my own emotions, I could see that her behavior wasn’t about me at all — just as me offering to help her wasn’t because I didn’t think she could do it on her own, but because I wanted to make it easier on her. We were experiencing the same event differently, labeling each other the enemy in a preemptive strike to defend our own self-worth.

I the past, I felt so much pressure to do things on my own — to prove that I was self-sufficient — that someone reaching out to help became confirmation of my inadequacy. Despite countless hours of therapy, self exploration and couples counseling, my instant reaction time made it impossible to hear what past partners were saying beyond words — my preferred method of communication.

When you teach large groups of people, their are always a wide variety of learning styles that work best for specific students. The inability of a person to comprehend one interpretation of a technique does not ensure that they’ll never grasp the move. We don’t give up on a student. We retool our method of teaching so that we can reach each one of the students within our earshot.

Not acknowledging differences in personal styles of communication will sink relationships that seem perfect on paper. Two amazing people can keep missing each other as they misinterpret words and actions based on their own trauma and insecurity. The miscommunication leads to vitriolic exchanges that slowly trickle resentment into the mix. It builds up, hardening the arteries of your relationship. Things stop flowing. As my sensei used to say, “Stale water starts to stink.” Pretty soon, you’ve both gotta hold your nose to be in the same room.

We don’t get taught how to be in healthy relationships. Even if we do have a “successful” couple we can model ourselves after, often it seems as if the secret is compromise, indifference or loss of identity. Those who thrive and continue to grow, both as individuals and together, must be able to separate themselves from the reactions of their partners. The point of any relationship is to learn about yourself. You can only do that if you are reacting to what’s happening, and not what has already happened. Yes, loving someone feels great and there are tons of perks to being in a good relationship, but if you don’t discover truths about yourself in the process, it’s kind of meaningless.

Being together all the time during this global pandemic has been a sort of trial by fire. We knew we were gonna find out a lot about each other really fast. Did we really like each other? How long before we’re getting on each other’s nerves? Are we gonna have all these annoying habits that drive the other person nuts? It’s turned out to be a valuable and practical exercise to test all the theories I’ve learned, tools I’ve attained and skills I’ve cultivated over the last two decades. A passion for understanding myself has led to greater curiosity about the people I interact with and why they behave the way they do. With a captive audience of one to work with in the age of social distancing, my relationship has become a graduate level case study for me. In a good way.

There’s nothing sterile about my technical approach to coupling. It may seem as if it’s less emotionally driven, but it’s actually solely based on reading emotion for what it really is. In this way, it’s the most deep way in which one can affirm the feelings of the other person — allowing their expression while simultaneously avoiding the detrimental changes in one’s own physiology associated with elevated stress levels. You can’t think clearly when you’re angry. Trained fighters know this well. In order to understand the true intentions of the person across from you, you have to be relaxed enough to listen.

All anyone wants is to be heard, and this is what this technical approach allows for. Most people are more interested in talking about themselves than about other people. When every conversation is teaching you about you, you’re always interested. You don’t have to fake it. You genuinely want to understand the other person’s feelings because it will get you that much closer to knowing who you are and why you feel the way you do. Now is the perfect time. Dive deep into your quarantine relationships. Romantic or not, family, friends or roommates, take this opportunity to learn about yourself and each other by being mindful of your own reactions and forgiving of theirs. You’ll probably never get this chance again.

[robot-unicorn-attack]

☽ FLOWER, 25

“ I said that I am a fairy and they prefer to dance and fly as a butterfly but they made me talk and walk, and I hate walking and talking. ” —Sasha Pivovarova ( like something out of the RISE script for “Flower” ) 

Real Name: AURA PHILYRA  Agency: 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸 (Sky World) FC: Ming Xi Unicorn Name: PAGEANT PRINCESS Place of Birth: Moon City    

Appearance: While Aura has not permanently altered her looks in any way, “Flower”’s image can fluctuate because of the “holo-veil” the RISE team insists she wear over her face in public, and of course, while racing. It’s essentially an undetectable face-mask that plays off of and digitally alters Aura’s features to give her an exaggerated doll face- ranging from the intentionally synthetic-looking (ex. large doll-ish eyes), complete glitter/tattooed face or even a face-scramble that confuses camera lenses to keep people from taking images of Aura without the agency’s authorisation while she’s out and about. Her naked face is hardly ever seen.

Wardrobe: Whatever fits within what the RISE image consultants call “Pixie-bot” which verges on creepy, fake-y “living doll” territory but with a fantasy element given her pretty steed is a Pegasus model. They were considering “Loli-bot” for Aura early on- because of her age they were sure she could pull it off. Aura would have stomached the aesthetic, too, just to get paid. Thankfully, however, the “Pixie-bot” idea was floated due to Pageant Princess’ particular winged model. 

[She’s definitely not against the pretty clothes and costumes- it’s the personality they want to go along with it that she dislikes.]

Places most likely to be found: Aura is either at the RISE training track with Pageant (practising or watching someone practise), asleep (snoring) in her teeny RISE apartment (the more important, the bigger the apartment- if that tells you anything), or since she’s promoting herself as Flower, RISE has her going out to club events on Unicorn City most nights.. and management says she isn’t allowed to drink anymore given her last indelicate drinking debacle. 

People mostly likely to be with: On the training track, she’s most likely to be with RISE’s training team (mostly techies who might as well be speaking a whole other language to her when they go on about Pageant’s internal mechanics), but she doesn’t really care for them. She also sees her teammates- Supernova and Sunbeam- there a lot, but.. they don’t really care for her. Otherwise, Aura’s out in the City’s nightlife with strangers and the occasional RISE babysitter dragging her around by the arm to make sure she sees and talks to everyone she should be (and avoids everyone she should be). She really can’t even make a friend that way, much less a love connection, so.. Aura’s pretty much a loner, but not by choice. 

Strongest character trait: of Flower: Sweet / of Aura: Obstinate 

Public Image: Aura plays The Long-Legged Bimbo to Supernova’s polished Heroine and Sunbeam’s beloved Sky-Daughter personas. [And- those really creepy “robot” ig models that are really just like cgi ? That’s the vibe- that level of weird perfection, and just as superficial and ditz-y. If you’re going to “Twilight” a racer- might as well go all the way with it.] Her “role” among her RISE companions makes her feel like a complete joke, but she’s determined to be taken seriously by making herself into a winner. 

Racing Strengths: Truthfully, there aren’t many by way of skill- just determination (and many years of tears of frustration). Dressage is a forte, with a big lean on Pageant who’s perfectly suited to the required elegance. 

Racing Weaknesses: All of it. Everything. Slow, but.. still coming for you. 

Personality: In reality, Aura is much more strong-willed and uses biting sarcasm with abandon. “Flower”, however, is the giggly, disarming costume that Aura dons publicly. Flower is confused easily, but fun-loving and excited to be where she is at any given time. She says “Oh !” in dreamy realisation a lot and smiles prettily even when she loses. But Aura, in private, feels a bit deflated, tired- maybe a little ashamed at what she has to do in order to stay relevant in the racing industry. Lately, she’s felt awfully lonely- because no one around her really knows her- but she tries to let it be enough that darling (though dumb) “Flower” is never alone and always surrounded by fans and icons. 

Biography: 

The eldest of five children, Aura grew up in the overcrowded rookeries of a little-known moon- whenever she talks about where she’s from, no one ever seems to know what or where "Moon City” is. So, to avoid long-winded (and perhaps embarrassing) explanations, she generally tells anyone who asks that she’s originally from Ice World. 

Aura was “scouted” by a RISE recruiter at the age of sixteen while on a trip to Unicorn City with friends to catch a race- the first she had ever seen ! Apparently, the recruiter liked her looks, but that was just about all the “talent” she had to give at the time as she had never even touched a mechanical horse, let alone ridden one- forget raced ! But, desperate to leave the slums of Moon City behind her for good, Aura quickly signed with RISE and was almost immediately thrown into the deep-end with her horse- Pageant Princess- only to embarrass herself in her first televised race by dropping in dead-last. Aura hadn’t expected to win or anything, yet it was still disappointing, and her management decided to set her aside for a few seasons- to train her, fix her image, cultivate a fan-base for her through a commercial campaign for uv beauty products, and within the last year, little promos that depict her as living in a little virtual fairy cottage on Sky World that she only leaves to dominate the track with the winged Pageant Princess and to attend various high-society Unicorn City bacchanals brimming with beautiful, glowing people. So far, it’s been a successful campaign and her fan-base is rapidly growing. RISE fully expects Aura to be ready to race in this new season- and more than just compete, but actually win. And, really, that’s all Aura wants- to win and cement herself as a serious racer among her fellows...and make the big money to share with her family back home on Moon City.

Though the inability to live as her normal self has taken a toll on Aura over the past years, she has at least been able to comfort herself with the knowledge that she is helping her family- that she is making them proud by working herself to exhaustion to become better- the best ! She means to win this season, no matter what it takes. 

Relationships:

Snow - Racer crush, actual crush. A much-needed ally on the horizon. Aura knows of Snow (who doesn’t ?), and has bumped into her at glamour events from time to time. They’ve only raced together once- years ago in Aura’s very first race (when she was a baby ((16)) !)- and naturally, Snow beat Aura...thoroughly. But that was to be expected. Aura’s followed Snow closely since Snow’s return to racing and looks forward to their next head-to-head.

Sky - 

Ice -

Supernova - RISE “Teammate”. Aura idolises Supernova and has for years, but she worries (and would be so mortified to know) that her hero really thinks of her as a fool who’s only good for getting sad drunk (once !) at company promotional events...where Aura may have vomited in front of her... Aura hopes that winning more races will convince Supernova that she is the real deal ! (Her ultimate dream would be to have Supernova mentor her !)  

Sunbeam - RISE “Teammate”. Okay, so Aura’s a little jealous of her because she’s the pride and joy of RISE and she seems to have the respect of Supernova ! And she’s pretty and talented ( unmatched technique~ ) and allowed to have her own personality- it’s too much for Aura to stomach sometimes. She really likes to avoid Sunbeam socially if possible.

Flame -

Nyx - **danger by taemin plays** Sol and “Flower” have met before, while Flower was relevant for a second as a teenager ( - they danced at a club the night before she finished dead-last in her first race ), but it’s been a while since their paths have crossed- though Aura is well-aware of Nyx’ success. Now that Flower’s back in the game, they’re sure to see each other more and more.  

Widowmaker - Aura is sensitive to ~vibes~, and she knows there’s something with Eleni. “Just look at the way she looks at me...” And, you know what, consider Aura intimidated. But even though there is some miscommunication between the two of them (most of which Aura is not aware of), Aura isn’t confused about the sort of racer Widow is- and she knows Eleni’s not to be approached lightly...but also, like- “What did I do~ to catch that death stare ?” It does bother her.

Playlist: 

sit still, look pretty by daya

favriel by grimes

alone by halsey

medieval warfare by grimes

i am the best by 2ne1

heavy metal and reflective by azealia banks

nightmare by halsey 

**sweet dreams (are made of this) by emily browning 

nightmusic by grimes, ft. majical cloudz

**from the ‘sucker punch’ soundtrack

Headcanons:

Owns Snow/S.C. merch- if Snow ever discovers the holo keychain, Aura will literally die of embarrassment. #aurivana 

Her salary is meager- but that’s because she earns almost solely for RISE at the moment with promos and brand deals. Everything she owns- the high-end couture and jewellry and even the holo-veil- aren’t really hers- they’re on loan from RISE. And whatever coin she does manage to earn goes straight to her family on Moon City, so.. she’s almost always skint. 

Aura’s RISE apartment is.. like a mouse’s hole, spatially. The bed is lofted above the kitchen area, and the bathroom is the only room with a door. A glass door- but it’s still a door. But the lighting is always an ambient, calming violet-to-indigo that reminds her of home. 

If she were a vine she would be the one with the child staring down the barrel of a squirt gun and he just says “shoot me”.

Aura’s RISE handlers- it’s usually a big guy named J.J. who is really just a strong-arm type (which confuses Aura- like, do they think she needs a bodyguard or are they afraid that she might run away if left unsupervised ? It’s unclear to her.)- do not let her drink at parties anymore. Not only has she nearly vomited on an industry icon (and personal idol), but she’s also broken character (a big no-no) to tell off the son of some CEO that apparently wanted to work with RISE on a future endeavour (oops). 

Yeah. She’s almost been fired a couple of times, but at this point, RISE has sunk so much money into Aura that, actually, the only fiscally smart thing to do is keep her around and train her up. 

*Daydreams about Marivana*  #secretsecrets

[cykelops]

i ran out of steam so here's all i have for my Sub-Zero/Scorpion fanfic for a game I've never played with lore i do not understand.,

There is a well-believed misconception that fire is destructive, all-consuming-- wrathful.

Fire can be all those things, but it can also guard a fortress, signal for an ally, warm a friend. It's about control. It's about necessity. Hasashi does not need to be angry, so he simply isn't. He's the flame inside the paper lantern, trusted within reach of the delicate parchment because there is no questioning his purpose. Light the way.

Hasashi breathes in. The wind, heavy with the scent of spring and distant rains, feeds the fire in his chest. It is a quiet day. He rarely has a moment to spare for introspection as of late. He wants to believe the Shirai Ryu stand strong and stable, but a part of him will never feel secure in their strength again. Not when they managed to lose so much once. Confidence is a matter of never-ending cultivation.

But it's a quiet day, and that feels good.

Hasashi breathes out. He drops from his peculiar one-armed stance before the blood can finish moving to his head. It's borderline vanity to favor the exercise, but he likes to know he can do it-- if he can hold his body's weight on one palm without trembling then surely he can carry the world on his shoulders. If his novices voiced such a childish sentiment in his presence Hasashi would take their ankles with a staff. His little contradictions thrive in the privacy of his thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, Hasashi runs hot. Through strenuous exercise he's nearly ruined the bindings around his hands. A trail of sweat chases after another, racing towards at the waistband of his gi, crossing every carefully defined rise and fall of his muscles and the coarse hair beneath his navel. Hasashi spreads his arms and faces the window for some relief from the wind running through his bedroom. It's strangely cool for late spring. Refreshingly so.

He cocks his head to the side, towards the door. His muscles flex and tighten. One foot in front, one behind, one arm reaching for the weapons rack at his right, and the other ready to block and parry an attack from the front. Footsteps approach down the hall and as a warrior he is ready for them, but as a Master he knows it's merely one of his men come to seek him out. He knew it was one of his Shirai Ryu before they rounded the corner, but Hasashi has honed his instincts too long to make exceptions.

He can see only the messenger's shadow as he goes down in one knee.

"Grandmaster Hasashi," He says. "The Master of the Lin Kuei is in the garden."

Hasashi perks up. Rather than the door, he moves to the window where he can see the canopies like a green dome around Shirai Ryu Garden. Sub-Zero? Here? How strange. The Lin Kuei are traditional to a fault. In the past, Sub-Zero has sent men days in advance of his own arrival so they may be appropriately prepared for it. Hasashi had returned the courtesy infrequently. It was only nine months ago that they saw each other last, and Hasashi skipped the formality and shot a flare in the direction of Lin Kuei Palace. Efficient. Sub-Zero complimented him on it. He must have missed a far less noticeable icicle shot into the sky.

"There must be some emergency." Hasashi says resolutely.

"I don't think--" The young messenger does not finish, tongue having slipped without permission. Hasashi covers the distance in quick striders and opens the door a sliver. His visitor is dark-haired and about as young as he pictured him. A single gold band adorns his forehead.

"Speak, man. Let enough words die in your throat and they will suffocate you."

The young man shifts his weight from one hand to the other. Fear isn't in him when he looks up at Hasashi, but it's clear that he did not expect to exchange more than his first few words with the Grandmaster. He's got a spine in him. Good. Hasashi worries about a few of their recruits from time to time.

"He came through the front gate, Grandmaster. He spoke with some of the older members and they told me to call for you--But there weren't any Lin Kuei with him, as usual. And his dress…" Once more, the young man paused.

Hasashi crouched down to his level and pushed the door open the rest of the way. "What of his dress?"

He struggled to find the words, tricky things as they were. He shrugged helplessly. "He was dressed for the garden, Grandmaster."

Now what--in the name of all of Earthrealm--did that mean?

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

Hasashi takes the time to dismiss the young messenger and retreat back into his room. He pulls his uniform off the rack he displays it on and slips into it piece by piece without foregoing his mask. It's a methodical ceremony. Time-consuming. The situation in the garden concerns him, but his Shirai Ryu cannot know that. They must not see their Grandmaster rushing in his training clothes to meet a lone clan leader that was once their sworn enemy after he arrives unannounced and in strange clothes.

He doesn't keep a mirror in the room, but his reflection bounces off the edge of a blade and catches his eye. Beneath midday light, he shines like spun gold.

The garden is a short walk from the temple. He passes the main hall and the training courtyard before he comes upon the garden path. His men pretend to be preoccupied with their daily tasks, but Hasashi knows what the weight of their eyes feels like. Oddities are a common occurrence at the Shirai Ryu Temple, but rarely one as unique as the barrage of questions Sub-Zero has laid out for them. Why is he here? What does he want? Why not meet the Grandmaster in the temple among his people? That last one has them all on edge. Some still have doubts about the peace with the Lin Kuei. They've been at war for so long it feels unnatural to be on the same side, to be friends.

Hasashi wouldn't admit it, but sometimes he doubts too. Hatred like his is not so easily dispelled, even by truth or retribution.

At the edge of the garden Hasashi stops to listen. Sub-Zero's footsteps are distinct, but he can't make them out. Wind flows unencumbered through the trees, so he is not lying in wait hoping to land a pounce on his unsuspecting rival. Testing their skills is a game without consequences after their alliance formed. Keeps them young and thankful that they are comrades and not enemies, or they might have both died at each other's hands by now.

Instead of footsteps, there's a sound like a sharp knife cutting through paper. As Hasashi advances through the garden path it becomes more distinct. The sound moves in circles, closer now, then farther away, until finally Hasashi rounds the right corner and comes to a wide but shallow pond, usually only full of frogs and lily pads but now containing one Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei-- skating.

His long blue robes leave his arms and a stripe of skin on his chest bare. He wears a belt typical of the Lin Kuei over dark blue bottoms, adorned with symbols of his rank and small favors from his friends. He wears a tassel from Jade when he's out of uniform. There's a yellow knot in its place.

"Sub-Zero, what brings you here? You have managed to spook half the temple with your cryptic visit."

Sub-Zero stops, smiles as white as winter. The ice thins and cracks but for a disc below his feet. His man wasn't wrong to find the outfit strange. He would expect to find Sub-Zero wearing it while lounging in the privacy of his palace, not to visit what was once the den of his enemies.

"I seek a warmer climate, Hanzo, but my Lin Kuei prefer the cold, so I've left them to guard it."

He raises one hand to catch a petal falling from the tree above his head. He rolls it once over his knuckles before lowering his arm to finish its journey to the water. This cryomancer traveling away from the cold for a purpose other than a mission? Unheard of. It's rare enough that he didn't come into Shirai Ryu Temple to pay his respects to the old masters.

"So I see. What are you doing now?"

"Why, playing, of course."

"Playing?" Hasashi asks incredulously.

Sub-Zero nods. He holds his hand out flatly towards Hasashi as if to catch another petal. "Yes. Won't you join me?"

Hasashi shakes his head, to refute and to laugh. He worried for naught. Sub-Zero may be holding back something, but if he were here for business they would already be speaking of it. Emergencies are aplenty in Earthrealm, but this is not one. He feels an inkling of shame for the poor reception his friend received, undercut because Shirai Ryu cannot be blamed for not trusting a man they were ordered to hate for years. Sub-Zero isn't without fault for behaving so out of character.

He can feel that this is his Sub-Zero. He's encountered enough impostors and clones that he should be worried the man has seemingly lost his mind, but he isn't bothered. He's just a little off at the moment, and he never judges Hasashi when he's in a similar position.

"Ridiculous." Hanzo chuckles.

Sub-Zero's fingers touch his chin. He sizes Hasashi from crown to sole, moving his hand from one side of his face to the next, deep in thought. He raises his fists above his head. Sub-Zero commands his element, freezing his fists and the air around them, blowing white smoke low against the water and slowly rising. Hanzo can feel his power building even at a distance. Sub-Zero isn't like other cryomancers. His bloodright calls to Hasashi's. He can feel it in the marrow in his bones, vibrating along the same frequency as the fire that sustains Hanzo in an equal but opposite current.

"Ah, Hanzo!" Sub-Zero exclaims. "I knew you would join me eventually."

Hasashi sees himself out on the water, standing beside the master of the Lin Kuei with his arms crossed and absent his mask. There's a hard line diving his brow, but his lips are unrealistically and comically upturned. Sub-Zero claps a hand on his--its-- shoulder and faces the real Scorpion still at pond's edge.

An ice statue. Of him. Perfect but for the detail of his mouth. He's wearing the same uniform as Hanzo, a new uniform Sub-Zero had never seen until this day, but that he has succeeded in replicating in a manner or seconds. Hanzo does not share in this skill of creation, though he's burnt portraits on rock for the amusement of children before, but they cannot compare to the presence the ice commands.

Hanzo takes his first step on the pond and is not disappointed. His friend never allows his feet to dip into the shallow water, the way is laid out for him in ice. He never takes an uncertain step. He expects Sub-Zero to catch him every time.

"This icicle looks nothing like me, Sub-Zero." Hanzo tells him. He runs his finger over the bridge of the copy's nose. It's frighteningly accurate.

"Perhaps you're right. The resemblance might be lost here, given the fact I have not seen your face in nearly a year."

"Nine months." Hasashi corrects him. It fails to impress Sub-Zero beyond an unamused lift of his brow.

Hanzo sighs. He needs both hands to remove this new mask. It stops his enemies from ripping it off his face so easily, but it might be a problem if he's ever missing an arm after battle. He hangs the mask from the hook at his belt and pulls back his cowl. He shakes his hair out of the collar of his uniform. Sub-Zero watches him too closely. He's too quiet upon seeing Hanzo's face. He expected further teasing. It's disconcerting.

Late on his cue, Sub-Zero picks up where he left off. He makes gestures around Hanzo's face like a tailor taking measurements.

"Ah, I see what I've missed. That wrinkle there." He touches Hanzo's temple. That same hand travels upwards and brushes flatly over his hair. "Yes-- and your height. I see now, it's all wrong."

Too late does Hasashi feel the ice melting beneath his feet. It's enough to make him lose his balance and stumble in the water, wetting his ankles. Suddenly, he stands much shorter than his double and its sculptor.

"Kuai Liang!" Hanzo scolds. He kicks with the intent to soak the man, but he doesn't reel back in time as expected. The dodge never comes, and they stand equally wet.

"There it is." He says abruptly. "Not Sub-Zero. Not Master. Just Kuai Liang."

His voice is softer. The crow's feet around his eyes have smoothed from laughter to frightening fondness. Hanzo thinks he sees his friend at last. The real him, not the amusing creature full of mischief he found in his garden, but Kuai Liang.

"What's wrong?" Hanzo asks warily.

"Nothing." Kuai Liang says unconvincingly. The daze lasts for a moment longer before Kuai Liang comes to his senses. His lips flatten and purse. He appears frustrated by his own inability to adeptly communicate. "I dishonor myself."

The only man to meet his eyes unflinching turns as though he cannot bear to hold his gaze. Hanzo startles as his reflection begins to melt, but is far more concerned by Kuai Liang walking away. He grabs his arm and yanks him rougher than he intended, pulling him off the ice path so they stand on equal ground.

"Stop this. Where has your clarity gone?"

"Nine months." Kuai Liang snaps. He bends his arms and wrestles off Hanzo's grip. "Nine months I haven't seen you and it took me six to think it was better when you hated me because at least--At least I saw you more."

Giving breath to the words takes all the wind out of Kuai Liang. He's a ship at sea lost in a back pond, mourning a past where they were enemies to each other. If Hanzo didn't understand him so well, he might have taken offense. Kuai Liang doesn't fight Hanzo when he next places his hands upon him, but he doesn't face him readily, turning his body just so.

Dishonor. This man dares speak to him of dishonor?

For the past two-hundred eighty-four days, Hanzo Hasashi has craved company he cannot have. He's fantasized, in selfish detail, of spiriting the master of the Lin Kuei away from his ice palace. He's conjured a world where he can bear to leave his Shirai Ryu to their own devices and spend the rest of his life chasing Kuai Liang through Earthrealm and any other world the man might take him to.

Worst of all are the nights where Hanzo tells himself Kana would have wanted him to have someone. Someone who could cool his anger. That she would have held Hanzo's health and wellbeing above his duty to the clan and the people it protects. But he cannot excuse his desires by attributing them to Harumi's wishes. What he wants is his alone-- or perhaps, it's a madness shared by two.

"Kuai Liang… We are as one in this." Hanzo admits. "But I could not leave any more than I could ask you to stay."

Kuai Liang's hands are cold on his jaw. He cups Hanzo's face with impossible tenderness, gentle unlike a warrior and precisely like a lover. His cool, controlled Kuai Liang-- always the first to touch, to hold, impulsive when his heart calls for it. Impulsive as running halfway across the world because he missed him.

"I know, Hanzo. So why do I want you to ask?"

Hanzo takes the string of firsts from Kuai Liang by holding the back of his neck and bringing their lips to a crash. He cuts himself so sweetly on his lover’s teeth with bruising force. It's repayment, an apology, because Kuai Liang came to Japan before Hanzo had the initiative to visit Arctika. Because it's always Kuai Liang extending the olive branch. But most of all because he hungers and nothing else will do.

[mjfemale420-blog]

How to Plant Cannabis Seeds

So, you have decided to grow your own weed. That’s a good idea. For the meantime, learning how to plant cannabis seeds should be your main priority.

Growing your own marijuana is an inexpensive and fun way to put good-quality buds in the jar. Cannabis is a tough plant that can endure various climate conditions. You can grow it indoors or in greenhouses.

Like other gardening activities, growing marijuana is a skill you can’t learn overnight. Getting started is quite easy, but mastering such skill takes a lifetime. You don’t need to be intimidated by cultivating your own. The process isn’t complicated. It can also be expensive or inexpensive as you want.

Understanding the basics of marijuana cultivation is a nice place to begin your weed growing journey. Making well-informed decisions in advance will surely maximize your yields.

To help you in growing cannabis, here are some things to consider as you try to learn how to plant cannabis seeds:

Choose Your Seeds

Cannabis seeds are available in different species: sativa, indica, and hybrid. In choosing which type of seeds to grow, you must consider your personal taste as well as the given growing circumstances. Sativa strains especially the pure ones need more space to grow. Thus, sativa plants are better to grow outdoors though there are now sativa-dominant strains that you can grow indoors.

Indica strains are often suitable for indoor cultivation. Many of them reach two feet of height that makes them ideal for indoor growing. Aside from indica and sativa strains, you will also find some cannabis seeds with autoflowering qualities.

If it’s your first time to plant cannabis seeds, then go for autoflowering feminized cannabis seeds. They are perfect for novice growers because they are easy to grow. They take less time to grow and produce buds. Typically, autoflowering buds take 6 to 8 weeks to flower.

You truly have plenty of choices in growing marijuana seeds. Therefore, be wise and choose carefully your seeds to avoid regrets in the end.

How to Plant Cannabis Seeds? Discover the Fundamentals!

The following are crucial things in cultivating your own cannabis:

•        Light – for normal vegetation, cannabis needs more than 12 hours of light for a 24-hour period. If you grow cannabis seeds indoors, you can easily control the light by using a timer. Outdoor germination should be late until your plants get themselves exposed to more than 12 hours of light and receive 8 hours of sunlight each day.

•        Growing Medium – organic cannabis growers use a specific type of soil for both indoor and outdoor growing. On the other hand, the soil is not your sole choice. Neutral growing mediums such as perlite, coco coir, vermiculite, and rockwool are completely nutrient-dependent. Aeroponics, whether deep water culture or hydroponic, don’t use growing mediums because the deferred root matrix absorbs nutrients straight from your nutrient mix.

•        Air – marijuana needs fresh and clean moving air for proper gas exchange. If you want to plant cannabis seeds outdoors, then it will not be a problem because your plants will be in constant exposure to gale and breeze. When grown indoors, your cannabis plants will require fresh air, a fan, and air exhaust for proper air movement. Still, growing environments promote weak growth, mold, and pests. Aspirated gas buildup can cause stunted plant growth.

•        Water – like other living things, marijuana needs water to thrive, grow, and perform its biological functions. If you’re from somewhere where rainfall is regular, your plants will get everything they need from nature. Big marijuana plants are more prone to thirst. If you want your future plants to be gigantic then you should water them between rainfalls. When grown indoors, water becomes a medium that will carry the nutrients you give. Unmodified water can flush soilless and hydroponic systems on a regular basis. The water’s pH level is extremely important. A wise marijuana grower uses an efficient pH measuring tool as part of his grow kit.

•        Temperature – marijuana is a tough plant that can survive both warmth and cold. However, it can also get stressed that causes it to lose its control during extreme circumstances. Marijuana can boil or freeze to death. It can also stop growing. It can even go to stasis. The plant will enter the survival mode once the temperature is either too low or too high for too long. The temperature should be 27 degrees centigrade, which promotes vigorous weed growth. Ideally, this is easy to attain with air conditioning units, fans, and cooling and heating mats. Lights will produce heat which requires proper ventilation.

•        Nutrients – like other living things, marijuana also needs fuel to thrive. A good soil mix is a solution. It must be rich in living organisms, compost, and nutrients to provide enough food for the entire life cycle of your plants. Watering them with compost tea together with other natural mixes such as molasses will enhance soil quality and promote the plants’ health. With hydroponics and neutral mediums, you’re providing your plant’s lifeblood with the pre-formulated nutrients mixes. Most growers customize them for weed. Specialized concoctions are best to use for soil-less grow mediums.

•        Humidity – when growing cannabis outdoors, you can’t control humidity. The upside here will be the humidity variations and the strong biological functions required to help your plants adjust to a changing environment will make them stronger than before. When grown indoors, humidity control becomes very important. You must control humidity from the seeds to flowers. Cannabis leaves articulate atmospheric moisture every day. Well-balanced humidity will promote a pest-free and mold-free environment.

•        Grow Lights – grow lights for cannabis exist in different models and types. Each phase in the life cycle of cannabis plants requires a specific type of grow lights. The market is now full of choices for grow chambers and grow lights for cultivating marijuana indoors. The ultimate deciding factor will be your budget.

•        Grow Cupboards – these are available in fully customized forms for marijuana. In fact, you will find classy grow cupboards crafted by growers with years of experience. Feel free to buy one if you have extra cash in your pocket. Plug-and-play separate clone, lights, vegetables and flower chambers, carbon filters, and timers are available, too.

Lights for All Budgets

Depending on your budget, you can invest in a CFL or compact fluorescent light or a tiny LED panel for less than 300 dollars. Other compacted fluorescent lights such as T5 battens are available in different spectrums suitable for the vegging or flowering cannabis plants. They are perfect for small growing spaces, too.

HPS or high-pressure sodium and MH or metal halide lights are the traditional forms of grow lights. A 1000-watt HPS light with reflectors can light a 1.5 by 1.5-meter area. Also, a 600-watt metal halide lamp can light up a space of the same size.

When choosing a grow light for your cannabis plants, don’t forget to consider the heat factor. Your growing space will be too hot without proper ventilation, which can be dangerous for your marijuana plants.

Germinating Your Marijuana Seeds

Seed germination is the start of your marijuana grow adventure. According to Wikipedia.org, germination is a process in which a plant grows from a seed. By giving the right growing conditions, your seeds will start to germinate. They will never germinate unless you met their specific needs:

•        A perfect growing location

•        Correct temperature or decent heat level

•        Water

Growing weed is a form of an organic process with no strict rules. It’s not something like a rectilinear system to learn. Instead, it’s a beautiful art to master. There are many equally efficient techniques for germinating marijuana. In the long run, you will surely find what can give the best possible results for your case.

Put the cannabis seeds straight into your preferred growing medium. By doing this, you can easily avoid a transplant shock. Often, it’s better to germinate cannabis seeds in a tiny pot then plant them on a bigger pot or to your garden.

Place the seeds on a wet paper towel placed on the plate. Keep them in a warm and dark place. You may cover them with plastic or an inverted plate. This will help in retaining humidity and moisture. This way, your marijuana seeds will sprout a few days after.

Soak the seeds in water enriched with enzymes. Leave them there until the tap root starts to appear then take the seeds and put them in your grow medium. The seeds will rapidly hit and break their external surface after the next 7 days.

Sooner, you will see the first set of leaves where photosynthesis will begin. As soon as your seedlings have sprouted, they will be on the way to become mature and healthy plants that will produce delicious buds in less than 3 months. This is where they truly need your tender love and care.

Transplanting the Sprouted Seeds

After letting your seeds sprout, continue planting them with these steps:

 1.      Fill tiny 2-inch garden pots with healthy organic soil.

2.      Make a ¼-inch hold in the potting soil.

3.      Drop the seeds in this hole by using tweezers.

4.      Cover the cannabis seeds with soil.

In taking care of them, keep the cannabis seeds away from direct sunlight in a humid area. Also, water the soil once or twice each day, and use cool white lights as a source of lighting that your seeds will need. As much as possible, avoid touching the growing seeds

Check the video below for details.

[hereliesbitches--me]

~Atrolian~

What the hell is that?

Well, it's the root of why Rosie has animal features.

She's not just a product of being a furry at some point in my life [not entirely] but there is in fact an explanation within her lore.

Atrolians are an Alien race to humans. They were the test run subjects before humanity, and by test run I mean they are humanoid in all aspects, except they were given animal attributes to them. They are.larger, faster, with more keen sense and durability than any human thanks to the added animal features. They developed as a race with the aid of other older races which cultivated and inspired them to develop into their own civilization of a rather peaceful, technologically advanced society.

Upon learning of Earth’s new formation of growing life  [Taking into consideration that the presence of sentient life was a gradual process and did not happen simultaneous across the universe. Some races and sections are much older and more developed than others. ]  The race figured they would pay it forward and travel across the galaxy to meet the developing race and aid them- much like many other alien races did. For them, and to Earth.

Earth proves to be a melting pot planet. It was significant in creation, it being the place of battle where the heavens were divided because of opposing views on the significance of human life.

Before then, Many races felt the need to aid along the developing life with secrets and skills that would push them along as a civilization. It was only natural at the start that the naive humanity would so eagerly accept these beings and revere them as Gods ( The definition of gods and delties will be worked on innanlther post- there is a difference by what makes them so, but humanity didn't know the difference)

The Atrolians never cared for titles, and simply enjoyed coming to the aid of the small humans. They, along with the other otherwordly beings, would be the greatest influence inspiring and guiding the development of human culture across the regions of the planet. Over time, much like many other races, Atrolains too would take mates among humanity

And eventually, that offspring would be the first halflings in a long line to start bearing the animalistic Qualities.

It was a typically dominant trait that overpowered human genetics, to have a child with an Atrolain could almost always guarantee the animal features. Even Halflings continued to carry the strong trait for centuries to come, up until the divide.

~The Divide~

   Atrolian are a naturally peaceful race. They didn’t believe in having currency, and rather bargain and trade goods, believing in taking what was needed and never just hoarding because you could. They had allies among the stars but never affiliated with tyrannical or war-prone species that fight for selfish reasons to conquer one another. As you imagine, Humanity down the line would eventually evolve into just that. Much to the horror of the Atrolians, humans had begun to show signs of greed and aggression over time as their population grew. They slaughtered each other, they conquered and sold each other, and turned a blind eye to each other in times of need. They had divided themselves into groups that warred for the sole purpose of claiming to be the more supreme, and they slaughtered anyone who did not agree. They used the technology and the skills taught to them to harm each other, and the view of their race had begun a rift in Atrolian society of just what to do with them.

For centuries, as mankind grows, develops, and divides themselves over self-created differences and greed, There was increasing unrest and debate in Atrolian society. It was going against their ways to continue to aid a violent race, and yet they continued to do so because of their shared religious beliefs, being guarded by the same angels. They insisted neutrality and continued to make routine trips with new tools and goods, up until the betrayal.

When one fleet of Atrolian aids failed to come back from the routine trip to Earth, there came instant backlash and demand to investigate. Another military group had been sent on the rescue mission to retrieve them, perhaps suspecting something had happened to the ship and the fleet could not communicate; But what they found were the bodies of Atrolian comrades, stripped of their armor, and the ship raided for all its weapons and other goods. In response is absolute outrage.. To find the culprits, Atrolian blood is easily traceable by scent.. *(Within their society, Violence is only a factor in mating season when defending or trying to win over a mate. The scent of blood will linger on a champion no matter how many times it is washed away, no matter how long. The poignant scent proves as a warning to what the bloodspiller is capable of. Violence is also incited when rules have been broken and betrayed- once you’re considered an outsider, or someone being punished, there is no sympathy or kindness, and the Atrolians demand bloodshed and death, or banishment) The military team wastes no time using tech and their noses to find the group, a group from a warring kingdom, and with little hesitation they are slaughtered- though the team does not bother in recovering stolen technology. The team takes the bodies of their comrades back to the home planet to report the events.

The event proved to be the final straw amongst the Atrolian society, and despite their normal preaching of peace, when outraged they turn as savage and sporadic as the animal genetics that make them. They demanded that ties be cut from the humans of Earth, and that included wiping it from their bloodline and home planet. In a rather frantic mass order unanimously decided by the Kings and Queens of each kingdom, Humans who had been taken as mate on Atrolize at the time were rounded up and were going to be shipped back to earth where they came from. Halflings who lacked animal features were to be sent with their human parent, and the full blooded Atrolain has the option to either go with their mate, or stay behind. Any who fought this order were killed if they interfere with the divide in any way, shape, or form. The option was to go quietly, or else be part of the cleansing, and it would mark a defining part in Atrolian history.

Though Earth is never forgotten, over the centuries it comes as a sensitive subject to discuss. Many Atrolians did not share the agreement with the order but nonetheless had to comply to the wishes of their kingdom’s leaders. The tarnished view of humanity was passed down with the generations, and though many Atrolians today would have never known what Earth is like for themselves, it is a strict law against  returning to the wretched place- many older generations hold the belief that Earth can simply not be helped. Up until now..(To be elaborated later )

~What became of the Halflings on Earth?~

Thousands of families had been separated in the mass divide. Hundreds killed in their refusal to go,  and those left scattered at different points across Earth were left to pick up the shambles of the life they knew. Many of the full humans had grown accustomed to the peace of Atrolize, the system of simple bargaining and caring for your neighbors- they were not used to the ideals of using money, or that there were legitimate threats from stranger whose intentions could never be clear. They would have to adapt and thrive in this new world.. And it is with them that the last roots of the Atrolians can be found.. Only to become lost in history.

Over time, the typical dominant trait of Atrolian genetics became diluted in a similar fashion as it did with Angels and their wings. It becomes recessive, and the visible animal features such as ears, tails, feathers, or even wings have become a rarity that occured. Over time, it becomes a recessive trait that needs to be such a perfect setup in order to actually produce a child that has animal features, but the dormant gene shows itself in other ways. Easily dismissed as simple gifts, having the gene can manifest itself in subtle features such as in the Eyes( be it in the pupils, the coloration, the keen sight), Ears (might be more pointed at the tips with some ability to be moved and twitched in response to stimuli) ,  Teeth ( Longer Canines, stronger jaws, sharper teeth varying by person), Body structure (Sturdier, higher metabolism in some cases, stronger nail growth, higher endurance capability and damage resistance, stronger bones, etc) , and even in some behavioral mannerisms.

The appearance of animal features has steadily become rare for the same reason the features of angel wings are- these sorts of people are often victims of human trafficking for their exoticness, and often die away before ever having any child. The appearance of features is primarily an occurence in female, the genetic proven to be carried more in the X chromosome, but a male still has the potential to carry the gene in their chromosomes as well. It's rare, but not impossible, for a male to have visible features under the right circumstances given that both parents carries the gene (Which is often unknown to the parents, thus their surprise that the child is born with these foreign features ) . It is uncommon in the world to find anytone with visible features anymore, however it still exists in the world. The history of Atrolians have been lost in time through human history, and the genetic can only be regarded as a mutation from an unknown source.

Things to know about Atrolians that can be found in their earthly descendants :

- If the females have a heat, they do not have a period. Like most animals, at the end of a cycle, there is no bleeding, the body simply reabsorbs the endometrium that would have been shed during a period. Having heats means, unlike a regular person, fertility has specified windows in the cycle for ovulating (depending on the Atrolian gene basis, the animal gene which its based on will determine that window per person ). A person can have the atrolian gene dormant in them, showing only subtle physical qualities, and not experience heat. And that is because their system is more primarily human based.

- A male with traces of Atrolian genes may find themselves with a keener sense of smell and other senses, and are subconsciously incredibly receptive to scents. They might find themselves drawn to a person who’s emitting, and become aroused instinctively to appease- which can be incredibly inconvenient , especially if its a female that rejects them. Can easily be mistaken for the usual random boner incidents. Two people with Atrolian genes can strengthen the instinct they don’t even know they have, and if one goes into heat then a male might just go into his own form of it in order to stay with his mate. - A male, once finding a partner, can become rather territorial over their lover. Especially one which they’ve marked in some way (Atrolian tradition is a bite scar to the shoulder, but in huan terms it can be expressed through hickies left behind in visible places ).  They may become moodier, more clingy , and standoffish against others. Have a tendency to bare teeth and get between other, though again it can simply be passed off as typical guy behavior, Its an almost unbearable impulse when the gene is carried. They also might rub on things in an unconscious act of leaving their scent behind. You might also find they’re much easier to set off and prone to fighting easily when it comes to a significant other.

- A person can display certain quirks, even certain vocalizations, of an animal their genes may have descended from. Atrolians had a wide variety of animalistic qualities they were mixed with, though primarily mammals and even birds. That means farther down the line, sometimes old qualities do come back and certain abilities are granted. - Elongated life. A full blooded Atrolian age at a slower rate once they hit adulthood, and can life on average about 200 years maximum, with a minimum of at the very least of 130. This is because of their sturdy builds and rather healthy lifestyles, combined with genetics, lets them thrive for so long within consideration of their life duties. In their halfling descendants, That sturdy build passed down can allow them be withstand and live healthier for a longer time. They are less likely to succumb to illnesses or hereditary diseases, and can enjoy appearing to age at a slower rate. If the environment and lifestyle allows it. Someone can easily push past 100 and still function well.

[benotafraid]

Genesis

Following is the long awaited, first half of the chapter Genesis from my novel, Be Not Afraid; Memoirs of the Bound. This teaser should speak for itself. Follow the main characters memories of the Heavens and key historical events, but start off with their take of the Early Earth.

I hope you all enjoy! If you’re interested in finding out more, feel free to follow here, or consider becoming a patron on Patreon, where for just $1 (£0.77 or €0.85) a month you can gain access to the FULL first chapter Genesis (four times the length of this excerpt!) and many, many more bonus features. And, as always, thank you all so much!

I remember a time when the Earth was without humans; O what a time that was. 

I remember their beginning, and I remember long before. I remember watching from home through the Asterium, a fancy observatory more or less, at a cloud of celestial debris that one day would be the entire star system I now, albeit reluctantly, name home. There was a time when I could walk across the surface of a planet you would call hellish; when the ground underfoot was burning and a molten ocean of all manner of metal, and when the frigid breeze reeked of brimstone and ammoniac salt. I remember walking along ridges with erupting fire and molten rock, letting the subterranean heat soothe my aching soles as the weak sunlight struggled to heat my back.

The sky was a thick admiral blue like seashells when the noon was high, and deep violet when the sun was setting. Dazzling meteorites broke the atmosphere frequently, it made visiting here pretty funny, I’d see angels without premonition standing right where a meteor was burning up in the atmosphere above, and watch fragmented meteorites pelted down on them. There was a majesty unmatched, however; one has not seen something as magnificent as a meteor breaking the atmosphere and imploding into a million tiny shards, an auburn shadow cast onto the indigo sky. It was a rain of which I was partial to, truly.

This was a planet of which I was very fond. It reminded me of my home when it was not long from its nascency. I’m not too prideful to admit I was disappointed when this burning world was selected for the terraforming process.

 It’s not a short process, you see. It involves a lot of waiting, and very little interference from any observers. To beings who transcended time, not merely looking away for a few instances and seeing the stellar landscape change, but remaining and waiting for the right opportunity, the right moment - now that was a game I was never good at. Time slipped from me, not merely years but millenia gone in just an instance.

An undifferentiated planet like Earth, its breath bitter and its heart full of rage, can be soothed and made gentle - the screaming kindled to a song. As much as I despised the journey, the product is beautiful.

 Where we walk, the world reaches up to meet us. At the feet of seraphim incite flames, at the feet of elim trees spring forth - and it is just that, which was used to cultivate life. The first step meant cleansing the world of all contaminants. When the planet is pure, one of the choirs is selected and a part of them is set to the planet to grow. That way, all life is new, with something alike us at its core. Not long after Earth was chosen, all denizens were commanded to leave it and return home. Few returned more reluctant than I, but I knew better than to risk challenging this of all laws.

We are not to interfere, except to make challenges for life, so only the most suited may succeed. Not just anyone, though, each of us with each set of skills may appeal to orchestrate an obstacle, or are commanded to do so by the council. Laws are set, and set into motion. For billions of years, we controlled it - so many tiny things, pulling the strings of fate. Wasn’t the first, and time draws on ever longer.

I wanted to visit, and watch as the planet become its own, but once terraforming begun, it wasn’t until life was close to us that a being of any Heaven could set foot upon the world.

 I imagine now you would like to know of my home? Since I have spoken so surreally of yours. It is a place of beauty, one that many of your kind aspire to one day witness, and dream of indefinitely; but don’t worry, I dream of it too. Heaven is a vast place, but not a single one, either: there are nine great Halls, nine planets, to which Heaven is composed of. Of all those with memories of Heaven, or scholars who discuss it, very few know of the Halls, and those that do have a great confusion. Shamayim is the first Heaven, at the furthest gate from Earth, though Gnostics think it is closest, this is very false. I know this because I lived there.

You know those days when the clouds are thick, the sun isn’t too bright but the sky is just like a sheet of paper, vast and unbroken white? The sun is a shining white disk that only just breaks through the clouds; and at night, it’s black with patches of great white clouds that make the stars shine so much brighter? That was my sky, my home, back at Shamayim. That will always be my sky.

Shamayim was not a massively early planet, it was made from the remains of many stars, and as such, was rich with metals and its core was heavy. The surface was littered with crystals, ores and chunks of stone formed naturally. A crystallographer’s dreams would be filled in Shamayim, one could go for a casual stroll and pick up a fist-sized gem of immeasurable value if on Earth. Plantlife on Shamayim was rather hardy, adapted to muted but blinding sunlight, large regions without much water and aggressive predation - many were thick with a brittle and spiked covering, bitter tasting and with interlocking wide-spread roots. Shamayim was much unlike the human envisionment of any Heavenly abode before the Falling… oh, the Falling, I’ll… I will tell you about the Falling later.

 Arguably, as of yet the only important thing you need to know about it is that after, a substance that beforehand was incredibly rare, became suddenly ubiquitous. The only monuments of note made of it were towers, erected in the largest city of each Hall, aside from Shamayim, there were two. They reached as tall as each archangel in full form, up to seventy seven thousand feet from the base. They were unparalleled, a symbol of God, his sons, and their omnipresent power; along with the desire of all angels to join God, in hyperuranion topon, in Moksha, in Nirvana, without separation a part of the Lord God.

Only a decade or so after The Falling, each capital to each Hall was centered with a giant building of some kind, Shamayim’s being the Empyrean - the Seat of God, and at any time eight angels would be left in stewardship of the seat, maintaining the building, and all manners of it.

The abode of the Empyrean was made into more of a city, streets arching outwards paved with the same pearlescent stone, buildings of all manner erected around the monument, smaller towers and the homes of angels too. All angels within the boundaries of the Empyrean Square were to wear garnered robes, white, in remembrance for all who died during the Uprising, with a trim matching each angel's’ wing feathers; it was a distasteful show of conformity, designating us by choir, even from a distance. I guess at the time you don’t always notice these things, it was later that I began to learn.

The Empyrean Square was a sombre place, of devotion purely to our Father, a morose remembrance to the price of rebellion. The buildings were built with gold filigree inset with onyx, hematite and rich tourmalines, with occasional monuments of large rubies and garnets. The streets were paved with blades burning as torches. Despite crystals and pyre upon pyre, the most surreal feature of Shamayim, was the golden water. You seldom saw them, but travelling from the capital, the rich everglade rivers would come into sight, and soon enough, the horizon would be streaked and blonde seas would span across the view.  Not unlike Earth, with blue seas and blue skies, when the blanket clouds parted they revealed the sky hue to be a silky, sweet orange reflecting below.

To me, as I sit on this blue rock, grass staining the fabric of my trousers green, I look up to the sky and see not my sun Shamsi peeking through the firmament, but a foreign yellow star on a canvas of cobalt blue, and it stabs a blade within my ribs to tear at my heart, saying; ‘this is not your home, this will never be your home.’

My home was gold gilded on pearls and burning bright. My heaven was a beautiful, beautiful place.

I miss it every day.

 It must be weird, hearing only of the highest and furthest Heaven, the most far removed from all the things you hold close. Hit the ground running, I guess. In Shamayim, as I said, you wouldn’t find blue skies, you wouldn’t find pumpkin spice lattes, Walmarts or Christmas decorations. Cities would rise to the sky randomly, branching through the air as if there were no ground.

Shamayim had beaches, like Arrad, but no blue sea. The plants weren’t often green, they sprung from the ground bristly as purples and indigos, per Shamsi’s yellow-looking light shining unbridled by archaea. Probably the only place in all of the vast Heavens a human would feel home, would be the Library, home of the raphaim.

Shamayim was the abode of the seraphim mainly, the burning ones, the challengers, the angels of fire. Raquia, the home of water angels, you’d feel at home, the place covered in the Library with its rare surface communities.

I wish I could tell you that we had a perfect, commune-based system in which all were cared for in equal-measure. I can’t. The nine Heavens were ruled unevenly of the nine Aeon, with princes ruling as their fathers substitute when off-planet - but because of this, each Heaven was a kingdom, to a king in stewardship for God. The Aeons were powerful, old and respected. Their progeny rulers in stead, born into wealth and respect; some angels, though, were born without a home, without a great deal of anything at all. In Shamayim this was relatively rare, they were generally taken in and looked after, our adoption and foster systems were stellar; but in Raquia, the abode of the water angels, this wasn’t so much the case.

 Raquia, the second Heaven, I never knew so intimately.

There were times I had visited it, times I saw it before the War, but it was encroaching upon it. Memories of the place dwindle few and far between the ones of Machonon, let alone Shamayim. I, think I’ll have to tell you about those later, unfortunately. Raquia after the War was incomparably different. The ‘monument’ erected in Raquia practically covered it, covered the ground in stone like Earth did with concrete. Raquia erected The Library. Now, don’t get me wrong, The Library was a beautiful place, but when faced with a reality where it was all you could see, you have to love it. Very rarely did anyone venture out of it, very rarely was anyone allowed.

You may think it weird, having a whole world wrapped in books, values in knowledge wrapped up in scrolls; but for many of us it was home.

[thatbangtanbloom]

memories and chocolate soufflés || ksj

Kim Seokjin| | memories and chocolate soufflés

fluff, angst | seokjin x you

chef!seokjin

&&- Drabble

– “I’m sorry but, have we met before?”

This could not be happening.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you are finishing tying the end of your baking apron as you stare in front of you; the eyes of your ex-best friend land on you and he gives you a lopsided smile that could only make your current situation make you feel so much worse.

Was he the teacher of this class?

“Good morning everyone, my name is Kim Seokjin and I will be teaching you all how to make a chocolate soufflé.” His voice is just as sweet as you remember it from your days of hiding in the nooks of your high school library. Your heart leaps in your chest to think that it is him. “I do not know why everyone is here today, but I do know that you all must have an affinity for cooking if you signed up for a daily cooking class.” He chuckles lightly and as does the other attendees of the class.

The other attendees are mainly women, with the few exceptions of men who stand at the corners of the kitchen. You could only imagine that the reason why they chose to come – not for the love of cooking, but for the sole reason of seeing Kim Seokjin.

Hell, if you were not already engaged to your fiancé, you would be taking the class for the same reason.

“Now, let’s begin.” Seokjin states with a broad smile before he begins to gather the ingredients. “We’ll get to the most important part first in making sure you all have the proper ingredients to make the soufflé of your dreams” He pauses for dramatic effect “– I’m going to tell a joke—” His words immediately make you burst into laughter, already knowing how bad the joke will be before you hear it. Everyone turns to you; twenty-four pairs of eyes (including Seokjin’s) fall on you and you immediately feel like retreating into the cupboards of the small stove arrangement in front of you. “Did you hear about how the wedding went?” He begins.

“No, how was it?” An innocent soul asks, and you find yourself cringing because you have heard nearly all Seokjin’s jokes and you know this one by heart. “It was so good that even the cake was in tiers!” Seokjin states, slapping his knee and a few people find themselves stifling a laugh before giving in. You find yourself smiling to yourself at the idea of Seokjin not changing since the last time the two of you have seen each other. “Great, now that we have gotten out our inhibitions, let’s gather the real ingredients. Now first, we need two tablespoons of unsalted butter, two tablespoons of all-purpose flower, one cup of whole milk….”

Several needed ingredients, whisking, one spilt tablespoon of flour, and one and a half hour later, you are met with the biggest disappointment of your life; your soufflé is utterly flat in comparison to the others and you frown as you stare down at it.

“Nice, Jungmin!” He compliments one of the men as he claps him on the back. “It tastes amazing. I can definitely taste the vanilla.” He takes his spot back at the front of the class. “Alright everyone, great job for today. I have high expectations. I’ll be sure to see all next Saturday!”

A chorus of ‘thank you’ erupts from the other attendees of the cooking class before they begin to file out, some opting to take their soufflé while others decide otherwise to leave it to cool. Everyone successfully cultivated their soufflé.

Everyone but you.

Did you forget one of the ingredients? Did you whisk for too long? The questions burden you as you stare down at it before Seokjin walks over with knitted brows. It was hard not to notice you when you were the only one remaining, frowning intently (or rather, he found your pout on your lips adorable) at the crestfallen soufflé in front of you. His apron is as clean as he started, and you can only conclude that with his exceptional cooking skills that spilling ingredients was not an action by Kim Seokjin.

“Your soufflé is flat,” Seokjin states as he leans over it.

“My soufflé is flat.” You repeat after him and Seokjin’s brows knit together more.

 The look in his eyes makes you wonder if he can even remember you – surely, he would not have the gaze of someone looking so detached.

Seokjin stands beside you and your mouth hangs slightly ajar at the height difference. It wasn’t much, but you surely did not remember the height difference being this large while you were in high school. “It did not rise enough, did you put in two tablespoons of flour?”

Your brows knit at the question before you nod. “I thought I did…”

“Hmm, did you whisk it long enough?” Seokjin asks, eyes not averting from the chocolate soufflé. A small smile arises on your lips at the sight – he always looked at food the way that you used to look at him; eyes coruscating with nothing but love and affinity. When you were younger, you wished that he looked at you like that, too. “Wait…. Have we met before?” He wipes his hands on his apron and stands up straight.

You swallow before your eyes blink. “What?”

“I asked if we’ve met before. You look familiar.” He muses as he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Seokjin could have sworn that his eyes had fallen on you before. “Have you come to another one of my classes before?”

Your heart sinks at his words. Did he not remember you? Your heartstrings feel as though they have been cut with the scissors of fate. This must be what leaves feel when they fall from the branches of trees – forgotten, taken away, empty, doomed to stay in one place until decomposition. You swallow the bile that nearly forces its way up your throat.

The idea of Seokjin not remembering you sends you into a kaleidoscope of memories; the two of you grew up together in Seokjin’s province of Anyang. He never failed to make you smile as a child. It was remarkable, how close the two of you were since birth; as babies, you two had taken embarrassing bath photos together, had held hands the first when you walked home together without your parents, kissed for the first time when you both were in your early teens, you were each other’s first loves, the two of you cried over rejection letters for universities and screamed with joy when acceptance letters arrived.

How could he forget that?

“Oh…” You trail off, not wanting to make things awkward. After all, he was your cooking instructor and you knew how important this dinner was to your boyfriend. The least you could do was not ruin the classes that he suggested to you. “No, we haven’t…”

Your heart burns to say the words, but you force them out anyway. The last thing you wanted was to make Seokjin feel bad for forgetting about you.

Seokjin’s eyes narrow in response to your words. You can tell that in the look in his eyes that he sees something - that there is something reminiscent about you that he can not quite make out. However, he finds himself tripping over his words to speak, “Okay… do you have anything to do---” He begins before you quickly cut him off.

“I have a fiancée.” You quickly tell him.

Seokjin laughs before he responds back to you, “I wasn’t going to ask you out. I was going to ask if you wanted help with your soufflé. I’d be happy to help you if you can spare an hour.”

“Oh,” Your cheeks tint a redder shade at his response. “I’m sorry… I am free though,”

Seokjin chuckles before he winks at you, “Then let’s make this soufflé.” 

And that is how you spend the better part of your Saturday morning making the perfect chocolate soufflé; two hours and him asking for your number later (”For reasons other than you having a fiance, but because I really want to know you. You seem really familiar.” he reassures as the two of you walk side by side as he expertly holds doors so that your souffle will not fall flat again). It is hard for you to forget how much you smiled at the dad jokes that he tells you – most of them are not the least bit funny of the comedic sense, but the fact that your ex-best friend can laugh with you so calmly makes you smile after all these years. 

Written in honor of Kim Seokjin’s birthday! Please celebrate Worldwide Handsome Day well. :) 

[manjushriwisdom]

How To Use Your Dharma Practice

A s regards the method of acquiring practical spiritual knowledge, if you find a certain practice increases your evil passions and tends you toward selfishness, abandon it, though it may appear to others virtuous. And if any course of action tends to counteract your evil passions, and to benefit sentient beings, know that to be the true and holy path, and continue it, even though it should appear to others to be sinful. Milarepa

A dharma practice is here to help us to realise our true nature of mind, but the most important part of dharma practice is capture and cancel our ego clinging.

We also confuse Dharma the teaching and Dharma practice, without the teachings we wont be able to practice the dharma

The 37 Bodhisattvas practice explain us how we need to turn our mind to the teaching.

Namo Lokesvaraya

You who see that experience has no coming or going, Yet pour your energy solely into helping beings, My excellent teachers and Lord All Seeing, I humbly and constantly honor with my body, speech, and mind.

The fully awake, the buddhas, source of joy and well-being, All come from integrating the noble Way. Because integration depends on your knowing how to practice, I will explain the practice of all bodhisattvas.

1 Right now, you have a good boat, fully equipped and available — hard to find. To free others and you from the sea of samsara, Day and night, fully alert and present, Study, reflect, and meditate — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

2 Attraction to those close to you catches you in its currents; Aversion to those who oppose you burns inside; Indifference that ignores what needs to be done is a black hole. Leave your homeland — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

3 Don’t engage disturbances and reactive emotions gradually fade away; Don’t engage distractions and spiritual practice naturally grows; Keep awareness clear and vivid and confidence in the way arises. Rely on silence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

4 You will separate from long-time friends and relatives; You will leave behind the wealth you worked to build up; The guest, your consciousness, will move from the inn, your body. Forget the conventional concerns — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

5 With some friends, the three poisons keep growing, Study, reflection, and meditation weaken, And loving kindness and compassion fall away. Give up bad friends — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

6 With some teachers, your shortcomings fade away and Abilities grow like the waxing moon. Hold such teachers dear to you, Dearer than your own body — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

7 Locked up in the prison of their own patterning Whom can ordinary gods protect? Who can you count on for refuge? Go for refuge in the Three Jewels — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

8 The suffering in the lower realms is really hard to endure. The Sage says it is the result of destructive actions. For that reason, even if your life is at risk, Don’t engage in destructive actions — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

9 The happiness of the three worlds disappears in a moment, Like a dewdrop on a blade of grass. The highest level of freedom is one that never changes. Aim for this — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

10 If all your mothers, who love you, Suffer for time without beginning, how can you be happy? To free limitless sentient beings, Give rise to awakening mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

11 All suffering comes from wanting your own happiness. Complete awakening arises from the intention to help others. So, exchange completely your happiness For the suffering of others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

12 Even if someone, driven by desperate want, Steals, or makes someone else steal, everything you own, Dedicate to him your body, your wealth, and All the good you’ve ever done or will do — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

13 Even if you have done nothing wrong at all And someone still tries to take your head off, Spurred by compassion, Take all his or her evil into you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

14 Even if someone broadcasts to the whole universe Slanderous and ugly rumors about you, In return, with an open and caring heart, Praise his or her abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

15 Even if someone humiliates you and denounces you In front of a crowd of people, Think of this person as your teacher And humbly honor him — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

16 Even if a person you have cared for as your own child Treats you as his or her worst enemy, Lavish him or her with loving attention Like a mother caring for her ill child — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

17 Even if your peers or subordinates, Put you down to make themselves look better, Treat them respectfully as you would your teacher: Put them above you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

18 When you are down and out, held in contempt, Desperately ill, and emotionally crazed, Don’t lose heart. Take into you The suffering and negativity of all beings — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

19 Even when you are famous, honored by all, And as rich as the god of wealth himself, Don’t be pompous. Know that the magnificence of existence Has no substance — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

20 If you don’t subdue the opponent inside, your own anger, Although you subdue opponents outside, they just keep coming. Muster the forces of loving kindness and compassion And subdue your own mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

21 Sensual pleasures are like salty water: The deeper you drink, the thirstier you become. Any object that you attach to, Right away, let it go — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

22 Whatever arises in experience is your own mind. Mind itself is free of any conceptual limitations. Know that and don’t generate Subject-object fixations — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

23 When you come across something you enjoy, Though beautiful to experience, like a summer rainbow, Don’t take it as real. Let go of attachment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

24 All forms of suffering are like dreaming that your child has died. Taking confusion as real wears you out. When you run into misfortune, Look at it as confusion — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

25 If those who want to be awake have to give even their bodies, What need is there to talk about things that you simply own. Be generous, not looking For any return or result — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

26 If you can’t tend to your needs because you have no moral discipline, Then intending to take care of the needs of others is simply a joke. Observe ethical behavior without concern For conventional existence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

27 For bodhisattvas who want to be rich in virtue A person who hurts you is a precious treasure. Cultivate patience for everyone, Completely free of irritation or resentment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

28 Listeners and solitary buddhas, working only for their own welfare, Are seen to practice as if their heads were on fire. To help all beings, pour your energy into practice: It’s the source of all abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

29 Understanding that emotional reactions are dismantled By insight supported by stillness, Cultivate meditative stability that passes right by The four formless states — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

30 Without wisdom, the five perfections Are not enough to attain full awakening. Cultivate wisdom, endowed with skill And free from the three domains — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

31 If you don’t go into your own confusion, You may just be a materialist in practitioner’s clothing. Constantly go into your own confusion And put an end to it — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

32 You undermine yourself when you react emotionally and Grumble about the imperfections of other bodhisattvas. Of the imperfections of those who have entered the Great Way, Don’t say anything — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

33 When you squabble with others about status and rewards, You undermine learning, reflection, and meditation. Let go of any investment in your family circle Or the circle of those who support you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

34 Abusive language upsets others And undermines the ethics of a bodhisattva. So, don’t upset people or Speak abusively — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

35 When reactive emotions acquire momentum, it’s hard to make remedies work. A person in attention wields remedies like weapons, Crushing reactive emotions such as craving As soon as they arise — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

36 In short, in everything you do, Know what is happening in your mind. By being constantly present and aware You bring about what helps others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

37 To dispel the suffering of beings without limit, With wisdom freed from the three spheres Direct all the goodness generated by these efforts To awakening — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Following the teachings of the holy ones On what is written in the sutras, tantras, and commentaries, I set out these thirty-seven practices of a bodhisattva For those who intend to train in this path.

Because I have limited intelligence and little education, These verses are not the kind of poetry that delights the learned. But because I relied on the teachings of the sutras and the revered I am confident that The Practices of a Bodhisattva is sound.

However, because it’s hard for a person with limited intelligence like me To fathom the depths of the great waves of the activity of bodhisattvas, I ask the revered to tolerate Any mistakes — contradictions, non sequiturs, and such.

From the goodness of this work, may all beings, Through the supreme mind that is awake to what is ultimately and apparently true, Not rest in any limiting position — existence or peace: May they be like Lord All Seeing.

Tokmé, the monk, a teacher of scripture and logic, composed this text in a cave near the town of Ngülchu Rinchen for his own and others’ benefit

This the first step just before practice turning our mind away of samsara.

Second part we must develop three steps very important.

Renounciation: to be able to practice the right way , we need renounce to samsara

Bodhichitta: mind of unconditional love and compassion

The right view : aiming to liberate all being losing self grasping

Knowing how to practice the dharma how we take a practice, some of us think the vehicle we are isnt important. Well to take the right practice is like taking the right medicine , if you had flue taking a tea wont do much, but if you take flue medicine that will help us more.

Mahayana practice are able to become Vajrayana too it depends on our views and bodhicitta.

Vajrayana practices are radically different some got inside practices of the practice and more.

Lets say that years we been practicing Chenrezig and we still not having compassion and our tendency still the same well its time to change.

What do we mean by discovering or rediscovering our true nature means, get rib of all egotistical constructions, become more selfless.

[asarsgyan]

Chapter 7 - Flower of Revenge

Catalina spent six and a half minutes planning her revenge. When she got off the bus that took her along with the other 59 girls to the Morón farm, she observed that among the many bodyguards were Caballo and the two men who abused her. One of them, named Orlando Correa, approached her with total impudence and asked her if she remembered him. Concealing her hatred and thinking about revenge, Catalina said no. Orlando, desperate to repeat his job with Catalina, reinforced his memory by mentioning the event at the Mariño farm stables, without thinking that that night he engendered a visceral hatred in the harmless girl that sooner or later would end up destroying him. Catalina smiled hypocritically and told him that she did remember him now and asked about "Caballo" and his other friend.

Orlando told him they were playing cards and took the moment to tell him that he thought about it often. Wishing her revenge with mental skill, Catalina played along with him and assured him that of the three he was also the one she remembered the most, but began to sow the weeds by telling him that "Caballo" was forbidden to speak to him. Orlando was surprised because Javier kept telling them that she was lost.    But Catalina kept calculating her revenge and told him that this was false because, on countless occasions, she asked the «Caballo» for his phone number and assured him that he refused to give it to her, the last time with an argument that seemed low to her. and liar. Orlando was furiously interested and asked which one. Catalina told him that "Caballo" lived telling everyone that he was queer and bisexual and that he liked women and men alike. Orlando was enraged and felt, in equal proportion, shame, anger and infinite desires to kill him.    In full performance, Catalina told her not to be confused because fate had already put them back on the road and that she did not intend to leave him after having sought and longed for him for so long and that she did not believe in the calumnies of "Caballo" that to her they were nothing more than envious accusations made by a jealous man. Orlando told Catalina that he was going to kill him, but Catalina lashed out at him for thinking that way, looking for a way to get him to that point but with clean hands. He told him that "Caballo" did deserve death as a liar but urged him to try other formulas of revenge because he deserved a punishment for having separated them at the point of lies.    Orlando could not believe it because, although Catalina was not the woman most desired by the drug traffickers, for an ordinary escort like him, she came to be what a pearl necklace around a dog's neck. Catalina was a very beautiful girl. Her features were fine and her long, straight black hair framed an almost perfect and flawless face from which her small straight nose, her full lips and her black eyes stood out. When he smiled with perfectly aligned, full, white teeth, men succumbed and women died of envy. His hands were slender and his fingers long and thin. Her body, cultivated early in the morning in the streets of Pereira at the point of endless jogs, could be one of the best and healthiest of any woman, although she always went unnoticed due to her absence of breasts. When she wanted, she was a well-spoken child and any poor and decent man would have been flattered by life, having her by his side. That is why Orlando was excited to the maximum and asked Catalina to allow him to kill him. Catalina gladly accepted, but showing some degree of confusion and her deceived fiancé swore that at dawn, when everyone was sleeping, he was going to murder him. She apologized to God for accepting the death of poor Javier, but told him that doing so was necessary for the happiness of both. but showing some degree of confusion and her deceived fiancé swore that at dawn, when everyone was sleeping, he was going to murder him. She apologized to God for accepting the death of poor Javier, but told him that doing so was necessary for the happiness of both. but showing some degree of confusion and her deceived fiancé swore that at dawn, when everyone was sleeping, he was going to murder him. She apologized to God for accepting the death of poor Javier, but told him that doing so was necessary for the happiness of both.    Like a fool, in love, delighted and enraged by the slander that his partner had raised on him, Orlando waited for the dawn, stood next to the "Horse" and invited him to smoke marijuana. "Caballo" knew that the smell of marijuana was hated by the bosses and proposed to do it in a remote part of the farm. Orlando, who led him to this proposal, accepted with pleasure and both went to the stables. When Caballo was lighting his marijuana cigarette facing the wall, to prevent the wind from blowing out the candle, Orlando gave him a couple of stabs in the back that pierced his lung and managed to touch the heart. Caballo fell on his face without knowing what was happening and tried to say something to his murderer, but he put the sole of his shoe in his mouth and raked it several times and with force as if putting out a cigarette, just as Caballo did with thousands of butts in his life. In a few seconds the story of Caballo came to an end.    —You will be more queer, Orlando said angrily and ran to the garage area where his other companions were still playing cards and dominated at that hour.    Therefore, when Cardona was told that an escort was dead inside one of the stables of the Morón estate, he only managed to order, convinced of the impossibility of finding the murderer among so many hitmen, that his body should disappear, They burned him, mutilated him and threw his remains into the different rivers and sewage channels that ran through the area.    Six and a half minutes after prompting him to kill the "Caballo" and asking Orlando for his phone number, Catalina returned to the place where the 30 friends of Morón distributed themselves as trinkets to the 60 girls obtained by Yésica. She was the last to arrive, but she was the one who worked best, because, not only did she get the promise of five million pesos from Cardona, but also eliminated the man she hated the most in life.    When Cardona's men went to carry out the order to destroy Caballo's body in pieces, Catalina felt no remorse and began to frighten herself by observing through the window the run of those who tried to disappear the body of the father of his first and ill-fated son. She knew that she was beginning to become a tough, callous and unscrupulous woman and she asked God for forgiveness for that while demanding strength from him to help her take revenge on the other two men. She didn't know what an inconsistency was, nor did she care to know.    When they left the farm two days later, Cardona sent one of his drivers and one of his bodyguards to take Catalina went to a shopping center to buy whatever she wanted and then they would take her home. They agreed that she would go the next day to the clinic of a doctor Alberto Bermejo to find out everything concerning his surgery and that when she knew the price well, she would go to the drug dealer's apartment for the money. Cardona watched her walk away and felt nostalgic, but very soon he denied that truth with machismo and pride and returned to his bed, wrapped in a towel and crying out for a beer for the guava tree.    At the mall, Catalina took Cardona's order to heart and bought everything. Sanitary towels and protectors for six months, a dozen blouses of different brands and colors, half a dozen pants, four pairs of shoes, two belts, two watches, three perfumes, a pair of jackets for cold ground, although I had never been in that climate, a stuffed animal in the shape of a dinosaur and a couple of Darío Gómez compact discs to satisfy poor Albeiro that nothing in life should be happy. A cap and another "Metallica" record for her brother, a set of dishes and a couple of dresses for her mother, and a gift for Yésica in gratitude for having fought so hard and against the current to make the dream she now caressed in her hands come true.    In total, the Cardona escorts had to endure eight hours, waiting for Catalina to buy everything she wanted. Every hour the less naive little woman asked the escorts if there was any money left and they nodded angrily, remembering that when Cardona said "whatever she wants" they had to buy the girl whatever she wanted.    Upon arriving home, Catalina found Albeiro crying, Dona Hilda emaciated, and her brother enraged. Some residents of the block, more gossipy, appeared to be in solidarity with Catalina's disappearance and invented the way to enter the house to find out what was happening, so they spared no effort in arriving with steaming pots full of red or lemon balm water. inside, to calm the nerves of desperate neighbors. The truth is that everyone's concern was immense because they had not heard from Catalina for three days and the possibility of all kinds of tragedies hovered in their heads.    When Catalina appeared, smiling, in the front garden of the house, full of packages and with a naive smile, Dona Hilda and Bayron were already leaving for the morgue to look for her remains in one of the trays of the freezers in that terrible place. As Catalina's explanations were so vague and she only limited herself to saying that she was better than ever, Albeiro slapped her and finished her off, Dona Hilda turned her on a leash and threw her out of the house and her brother Bayron whipped her until the dawn.

[readexcerpts]

          THE RUDEST BOOK EVE

1.       The world doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.

2.       The person is emotional in nature.

3.       A person’s emotional responses to different experiences create interpretations of those experiences, which the person assumes to be true. Therefore, emotional responses become one of the earliest teachers of the person.

4.       ‘Emotional responses’ is a garbage teacher, because as a kid, the emotional intelligence is underdeveloped.

5.       Instead of teaching the person how to think, parents and surroundings teach what to think—thereby becoming terrible teachers themselves.

6.       Teaching what to think stops the product from learning how to think and since the person doesn’t learn how to think, it grows up to be confused and clueless regarding how to deal with this world.

7.       NOBODY IS BORN AN IDIOT.

8.       So, with time, when they are not corrected by verification, these factual learnings become factual truths to people. Factual truths means they are incontestable to those who believe them, and they most probably will die by them. And once you believe something that strongly, you become its avid defender. Once we become defenders, we become groups. Once we become groups, we disagree with other groups, and fight, and vote, and celebrate, and denigrate on behalf of whichever ideas align most closely to our ‘factual’ truths.

9.       If you are growing up with such teachings, those would be called factual learnings, because they may appear factual to you, but aren’t necessarily so. They are based on fear and ignorance.

10.  A person brought up on what to think tends to follow ideas, ideologies and ways of living that echo a relationship with familiarity. We do so, because we feel safe with familiarity.

11.  A person brought up on how to think tends to question, filter and may abandon ideas, ideologies and ways of living that echo a relationship with familiarity. Familiarity, although safe, does not guarantee soundness.

12.  A person brought up on what to think tends to feel threatened by alien ideas, things, or people, which may end up pushing them more towards what they know and are familiar with.

13.  A person brought up on how to think, when confronted by alien ideas or people, takes an interest in understanding and figuring them out. At the same time, they also inspect the first impressions their mind created.

14.  A person brought up on what to think inclines towards asking for solutions for their problems, instead of thinking and finding out things by themselves. This explains the insatiable need for self-help books, the lack of self-reliance, and the explosion of ‘clever’ people online, teaching people how to be successful, to be a man, a millionaire, a strong woman, smart, clever, slick, handsome and beautiful all at once.

15.  The person who knows how to think will try to find solutions for their problems by thinking on their own, using methods of reasoning, with consideration to mental harmony and bringing smoothness in the functioning of their life. To expand the scope of their knowledge, however, they will read books, watch videos and consume all available information. They seek knowledge because knowledge contains perspectives. And the cultivation of how to think requires a collection of as many varied perspectives as one can gather.

16.  Basically, ‘how to think’ cannot be self-taught during the developmental years of a person.

17.  Why are parents largely producing products that are unprepared to face the challenges of this world?

18.  People have babies because they like babies, or because they have recently been feeling a sense of incompleteness, or because they hope it will make their lives purposeful again. People have babies because they have reached the age society has deemed right to have a baby. People have babies because it appears to be a viable strategy to save their marriage, or because one of the partners wants to have a baby, and the other complies. People have babies so the baby can grow up to fulfil the unfulfilled dreams of either of the parents.

19.  If they grow up to be a follower of ideologies that talk about dividing people, then the parents too are responsible for creating one more follower.

20.  The question is: how much forethought goes in the minds of parents before having a baby about the baby ?

21.  If the prime motivation is: A baby is a cute little thing that will change our lives , well, that is not good enough. There is a high possibility that you’re gonna be creating another moron on this planet.

22.  People learn shitty ideas from surroundings, parents and their own underdeveloped emotional intelligence.

23.  We are creating a human—are we mentally fit and prepared to create a person for whom we will be solely responsible? If not, shall we now start to upgrade our thoughts, perceptions, perspectives, create multiple storages of knowledge—which in time will cater to the young person’s curiosities and impact the overall development of its personality? ‘Responsible motivation’ means parents realising that they will have one of the strongest influences while the foundation of the personality of the child is being laid.

24.  We are creating a human—are we mentally fit and prepared to create a person for whom we will be solely responsible? If not, shall we now start to upgrade our thoughts, perceptions, perspectives, create multiple storages of knowledge—which in time will cater to the young person’s curiosities and impact the overall development of its personality?

25.  ‘Responsible motivation’ means parents realising that they will have one of the strongest influences while the foundation of the personality of the child is being laid.

26.  In many cases, people don’t think they need to learn anything because they assume they already know everything—a very dangerous assumption that comes from a frightening absence of self-awareness.

27.  Careful not to over-instruct, which is a form of controlling, thereby obstructing the natural growth of curiosity, learning and exploration of self.

28.  Aware of when to let the child get hurt and when to intervene.

29.  For this, people would have to be fucking philosophers, which they are not, regardless of whether they have degrees in philosophy or not. Therefore, such perfect parents exist as exceptions and in movies.

30.  Status is a socially engineered identity that tends to replace the individual identity.

31.  In the phrase ‘a person of status’, you need the development of both. Status is a socially engineered identity that tends to replace the individual identity. So, status must not dictate who the person is.

32.  Take all the high-achieving people who hate their jobs or professions. Despite money, achievements and success, they are miserable doing what they do. It happens because a sense of meaning and satisfaction does not come from status; such things are deeper and more personal than that.

33.  Your parents wanted to prepare you to be one of the best products for this world. In action, what they end up doing is: prepare you technically, academically and skill-wise to be the best product for the race, like a car.

34.  it is the responsibility of parents to help you grow both into a capable working person and a capable thinking one.

35.  Learning of any kind that involves zero investment of your thinking produces only imitation. To create ideas and better yourself, you have to take the information and apply your own mind.

36.  Just because somebody is older doesn’t mean they have figured out life.

37.  Just because somebody is older doesn’t mean they have figured out life. In most cases, older people are children who have aged. Stop attaching maturity, wisdom, enlightenment to ageing. He is old, hence he must be wise is one of the stupidest notions we take for granted. Another reason is pride.

38.  No wonder they are shocked beyond belief when they find out their kid was doing some adult stuff.

39.  No wonder they are shocked beyond belief when they find out their kid was doing some adult stuff. You were smoking and drinking? You are having sexual relations already? But you are so young!

40.  In conclusion, parenting is largely coming from imitating whatever people learn from the culture in their surroundings.

41.  The idea of being special excites almost all of us—to varying degrees, depending upon the individual.

42.  And you have daydreamed about people you want to impress, please and attract instantly wanting to be your friend and lover after meeting you because you’re so impressive.

43.  you need to understand that specialness is earned .

44.  Specialness is the badge of realisation you earn

45.  Also, achievements are rewarded with more opportunities, and give you status in the eyes of society.

46.  No matter what you tell them, they will at some point chase after the need to feel special.

47.  Also, ‘achievements’ does not necessarily mean trophies won in tournaments or contests. Achievements can be personal as well; for example, learning a new language, which has the same consequences of something won on 18 stage.

48.  Any achievement—personal or public—is a thing of uniqueness.

49.  Any achievement—personal or public—is a thing of uniqueness. Therefore, making a sandwich or an omelette is not considered as an achievement —although some may beg to differ for the sake of trolling.

50.  Having practical expectations from the world will make you more self-reliant and less reliant on the good words of others. This will save you from constantly trying to please people and feeling miserable when you fail.

51.  If you need somebody else to tell you that you are special, then you have not done anything to earn it in your own mind.

52.  OTHERS CAN NEVER MAKE YOU FEEL SPECIAL FOR LONG

53.  If you are living this life, flip the script, which means: Whatever I do, I do it for myself, because I want to prove to myself I can do it , recognising that whatever you do in turn impacts the world.

54.  Because whatever I do impacts the world , I shall and must become better, so I can impact the world for the better.

55.  Those who hold prizes, positions and power are sources to learn from—and nothing else.

56.  Specialness, in essence, does not require anybody but the individual . One can simply close their eyes and ask themselves, Why am I special? What have I done in my life?, and get a clear answer. In case you feel dissatisfied, then you have the option to earn it. Nobody gives it to you, you have to take it. But that’s the hard part, earning it. It is to escape from this answer that we look for specialness in love, appreciative comments, and attention through social media or friends. It is because we know we aren’t special in our own eyes, that we at least want to be told by others that we are in theirs.

57.  Specialness then becomes a collection of skills, and feeling special is the sensation felt on upgrading in life after having mastered a skill.

58.  So, without further ado, let’s begin.

59.  Now, because we know rejections are a part of life and happen every single day to somebody, we need to have a way of looking at rejections that helps us overcome them easily, and not be scared into a little hole by them.

60.  Our first foundational principle is: Rejections are normal.

61.  Rejections are a commonly found species of ancient beasts that get everyone in all fields of life. As mentioned before, it may have nothing to do with you when it happens, but because you are a self-important, self-loving son of a gun, you think from your ego instead of your rational mind and make it all about yourself. You act as if you’re the only one it has happened to. Therefore, once again, rejections are normal—start seeing it this way. They happen to everybody.

62.  In short, you get screwed because you haven’t been told that rejections are fucking normal, mate.

63.  And, in that pursuit, they will most probably chase success blindly, ignoring what they actually want to do, because their prime motivation isn’t to be self-satisfied, but to satisfy others

64.  And here’s the fatal flaw behind this motivation: the desire to prove something to others requires that these ‘others’ actually care, which they don’t.

65.  With time, they realise they don’t need anybody’s approval, as doing what they want to do gives them purpose, and fulfilling that purpose gives them satisfaction and a meaningful life.

66.  To understand how to deal with something, you need to first figure out what it is you’re dealing with.

67.  Let’s think of a few adjectives you may have heard or used for people: people are stupid, morons, idiots, selfish, untrustworthy, unreliable, calculative, assholes, trash, the list goes on in all spectrums.

68.  You have seen, at a professional fighting event, two warriors beat the living crap out of each other, and after the fight, hug each other, congratulate each other and show respect for each other.

69.  Knowledge can be borrowed, but you can’t borrow understanding. Once

70.  Knowledge can be borrowed, but you can’t borrow understanding.

71.  People become ‘great’, if it is a beautiful story warming the heart of the listeners and storyteller.

72.  People are ‘stupid’, when someone you firmly oppose gets elected. People are ‘assholes’, when someone you trusted screws you over.

73.  This would come from self-assumed superiority, arrogance, self-obsession and a disregard for others’ opinions when they don’t agree with your plans.

74.  It involves self-degradation, murder of self-belief, self-esteem and self-worth.

75.  Let it go, man, people are weird; you don’t have to understand them, nor blame anyone. The truth is, you don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on in their lives, what kind of a person they are, what their motivations are behind forming relationships. You don’t know anything about them.

76.  Always remember: your job is not to understand people, but to understand and take care of yourself

77.  We need a general attitude towards rejections in life, rejections are normal, they happen .

78.  rejections are a normal thing, and I don’t have to take them personally, because people are weird. Who knows what’s going on in their heads—it’s not my job to find out.

79.  These expectations further push the first impressions into conclusions about them in your mind— they are perfect beings, or something very close to that.

80.  What about people you want to be friends with or desire romantically? Your expectations from them come from a perception which has no real data backing it. You are getting hurt, disappointed and affected by rejections from people you have no data about. What you have is impressions of them, first impressions to be precise, which is debatable data, or unreliable data, to say the least. Here’s how it happens in your mind, stepwise:

81.  You have already accepted without proof or confirmation that they are what your first impressions tell you.

82.  BECOME MORE LOGICAL, LESS EMOTIONAL

83.  I am not going to expect anything from them. I know practically nothing about their life. I am going to observe and wait for real data to show up.

84.  I am not going to judge them based on rumours about them, nor buy into the hype around them.

85.  Data is king. Knowledge about something, anything, comes from data—remind yourself of this.

86.  There is a possibility that you might not even get real data about them unless you are working closely with them. Real data is any pattern of behaviour and thought that backs a person’s actions , not words.

87.  People say a lot of shit to sound amazing.

88.  Real data is found in the choices they make, not what they say they would like to make. Fuck what they would like to do, focus on what people actually do.

89.  First impressions are horseshit.

90.  First impressions don’t come from data, but from how you perceive the world—which relies solely on your level of intelligence and knowledge. So let’s talk about your intelligence.

91.  Like we said before, I am not going to judge them based on rumours, nor am I going to buy into the hype around them. I simply don’t know.

92.  We live in a world of marketing, advertising and sales.

93.  Anybody can sell you anything—having no real data creates that opportunity.

94.  The first impression is bullshit because it comes from a lack of data.

95.  A bad person, in your mind, is one who is manipulative, calculative, lying, scheming, Machiavellian, sociopathic, or a criminal mastermind, basically somebody who has the word ‘bad’ written all over them. That’s what watching fucking movies and TV shows have taught you. So, you avoid considering that with a person who is making you feel good. What you need to realise is that ‘bad’ people, basically those who are going to screw you over, unlike in movies and TV shows, don’t announce to the world that they are bad. People who are going to be good to you as well as people with self-serving motives or ‘bad’ motives, both know a single unbendable fact: there is only one route to gaining your trust and coming into your life—by being nice to you and making you feel good. In the

96.  bad person, in your mind, is one who is manipulative, calculative, lying, scheming, Machiavellian, sociopathic, or a criminal

97.  A bad person, in your mind, is one who is manipulative, calculative, lying, scheming, Machiavellian, sociopathic, or a criminal mastermind, basically somebody who has the word ‘bad’ written all over them.

98.  Therefore, until you have real data , the perception ‘ they are weird’,

99.  Therefore, until you have real data , the perception ‘ they are weird’, which 32 essentially means, I don’t know them at all, helps you avoid falling into traps that take years of your life away and teach you nothing new.

100.            The next time you meet someone who forms a great first impression in your eyes, never forget, people are fucking weird. So screw the first impression no matter what they do professionally. Accept that we live in a world of marketing, so screw what they are selling—charm, looks, profundity, it doesn’t matter. And always keep an eye out for real data.

101.            This chain of self-harm needs to be broken with the knowledge that failures, losses and rejections are normal, and a solution that directs all those highly powerful negative emotions into something useful.

102.            there is a difference between wanting to do something and having to do something.

103.            Here’s a very simple thing, if you don’t care, if you don’t take what you do seriously, then forget about winning, ever. So, decide right now in your mind, do you wanna fucking do this or not? That’s the first step.

104.            People are successful for a number of reasons: A hunger for money, status, power;

105.            Nobody gives a fuck about the loser, so losing becomes a thing to be sad about. The winner is loved and appreciated by all, therefore winning becomes a certification of potential.

106.            In the stories of those you admire, winning has everything to do with a never-give-up spirit, excelling in a skill, and doing so by hard work.

107.            I won this, I won something, now I am important, a winner, and special. Winning is not a single event, it’s a continuing process.

108.            You want to be special. This specialness is not about being superficial, it is about being capable.

109.            Earn specialness by becoming capable.

110.            Your hunger to become capable is far greater than how the challenges make you feel.

111.            Real winning requires your focus on neither winning nor losing, but upon learning

112.            Utility asks you: what’s the use of what you are learning?

113.            Opportunity asks you: how can you use what you are learning?

114.            Opportunity asks you: how can you use what you are learning? How many doors will it open for you?

115.            Ability asks you: how well can you do what you are learning? Do you have a natural talent for this? Are you able to learn this faster than others? Are you slower than others? If yes, then despite being slower, are you able to beat the competition or stand on par by working harder than them?

116.            Make the fact that failures, rejections and losses are normal a foundational principle upon which your brain works.

117.            Real winning is a journey. Despite knowing this, people tend to give up the entire prospect of winning at the first sight of failure.

118.            once you fail in one of those things, you give up the entire venture altogether.

119.            You need to understand that these failures can only change the path of the journey, not the direction.

120.            For example, if you wanted to get a degree, but you’re upset because it’s not going to be from the prestigious university you hoped to get into, then you’re still stuck with the traditional mindset of winning.

121.            Focus on learning , which would suggest that you get a degree from wherever that subject is taught.

122.            If you decide that you want it, then nobody can stop you.

123.            And that’s how winning is done, it’s not about which college you went to, which trophies you won at age fifteen; it’s about where you stand, what your capabilities are, and what you can show when the opportunities come.

124.            So believe that it’s going to be a journey, and there are going to be plenty of failures, and that’s all right. But at the end, you win by becoming too good to be ignored.

125.            FAILURES TEACH YOU HOW TO WIN THE WAR

126.            First, you take ownership of the failure.

127.            Did your approach include following a plan, routine, daily rituals backed by strict discipline? Or was it just counting the months left and convincing yourself of bullshit like you’ve still got it under control?

128.            What state of mind did you have the entire time? Was your focus clouded by emotional

129.            What state of mind did you have the entire time? Was your focus clouded by emotional entanglements?

130.            instead of healing the wound, they deepen the hurt by making sure you don’t forget how you were wronged by a girl;

131.            After all, blaming something is much easier than applying common sense.

132.            In your teenage years, the brain is underdeveloped; basically, you are stupid as fuck.

133.            Because you are stupid as fuck, you are gathering information about love, romance, and relationships from movies, television shows and the internet, all of which are selling what you want to see

134.            legally, an adult means somebody who is eighteen years old—which is absolute fucking nonsense. You remain considerably dumb until twenty-five to twenty-six. That’s when adulthood actually begins—adulthood meaning the development of sensibility.

135.            why I get rejected drop a hydrogen bomb on your self-esteem.

136.            Your ego doesn’t allow you to openly seek help regarding rejection out of a fear of exposing your vulnerabilities. Therefore, what you rely on is unsolicited advice.

137.            The problem with unsolicited advice is that it lacks the seriousness required to solve your problem.

138.            Your friends might also slander the person who rejected you: They didn’t deserve you. I never liked them. I always had a bad feeling about them. To make you happy, they will denigrate the person who rejected you and raise you to sainthood.

139.            Your reality is not a movie.

140.            You cannot have that lifestyle because such lifestyles do not exist. What exists is the fact that you love watching fantasy.

141.            Those gorgeous photographs have been Photoshopped, chosen over hundreds of frames of the same bullshit idea that they want to sell you.

142.            Your boyfriend exists in reality, not for a manufactured reality in which your relationship is scripted, choreographed and edited for people to watch.

143.            Unless you can detach yourself from emotions or control your emotions, you will remain an emotional fool; it takes years to become emotionally intelligent.

144.            The catch is: they are unbelievably attractive in every single frame of the video. You

145.            The catch is: they are unbelievably attractive in every single frame of the video. You are fascinated by how they dress, their makeup, their bodies. It is this nonsense that gives birth to the idea of the fantasy girlfriend or fantasy partner that you want to have in your life. You have been told, shown and convinced that it exists

146.            YOU ARE CHASING AFTER A FANTASY PERSON

147.            You are a delusional fool who keeps deciding to date fantasy characters.

148.            There are only two outcomes from these fantasy relationships: after a course of time, either they are going to be assholes to you, or you are going to be that way to them, precisely because relationships are a thing of reality, not fantasy.

149.            And when the same guys get dumped by these fantasy girls, they struggle to understand why. Well, she found a better fantasy character. What happened was that, over time, your relationship entered reality, which means, to her, you became boring, repetitive and real, just like her actual life.

150.            When rejections like this continue to happen, frustration, anger and hurt accrue in your mind, accompanied by doubt about your own self.

151.            What am I running after?

152.            At that moment, instead of asking yourself, What am I running after? You ask, Why am I unsuccessful at getting girls?

153.            These are people who have suffered equal or more rejections than you, some of which impaled their egos so much that it forced them to make ‘getting girls’ a quest in their lives to prove to themselves they are ‘the man’.

154.            hope has arisen in you.

155.            Stop making it personal because you have nothing better to do. You don’t know the nature of their wants, why they want what they want, their influences, degree of intelligence, degree of experience, who they think they are, who they actually are, and if they know who they actually are. You don’t have any data. Therefore, rejection from people should mean jack-shit to you.

156.            How can you take a rejection personally when it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to happen? Do you think your whole existence can be understood, judged and adequately summarised in a matter of seconds? Fuck, no!

157.            Being rejected by someone is not a statement on you. You have no data, you cannot have that data. For you to know, you would have to be able to read their minds. There is a possibility that they have no idea what they are looking for in a relationship and from a partner; they are probably just following their instincts. Or let’s say they do know what they’re looking for: there is a possibility they have no idea whether it is good for them or not.

158.            this moron thinks he is no less than James Bond and girls should be dying at his feet.

159.            HOW TO LOOK FOR THE RIGHT PERSON Who are you? The answer to this decides what type of person you would want to bring into your life. The truth is, the more you know yourself, the more power you have to make a better choice.

160.            these are people who are so detached from their practical reality

161.            An example of the second type is, I am a genius at what I do, and the world will one day know about me: these are people who are so detached from their practical reality that even though they are absolute shit in what they do, instead of accepting their current reality, they think the opposite.

162.            You need to be realistic. What you are looking for should be based on who you are right now and where you want to be. When you start to care about ‘who you are’ in a realistic manner, instead of blindly falling for people, you start caring about who they are . Attractiveness should only be an entry-level qualification;

163.            You need to be realistic. What you are looking for should be based on who you are right now and where you want to be. When you start to care about ‘who you are’ in a realistic manner, instead of blindly falling for people, you start caring about who they are . Attractiveness should only be an entry-level qualification; it 50 shouldn’t be a deciding factor.

164.            So, the first question is, who are you? This means who you are intellectually, sexually, emotionally and professionally.

165.            that rejections are normal applies very aptly

166.            ‘Listen up kid, as you grow into adulthood, you’re gonna meet a lot of people you will really like. And because you like them, you will really want to be liked by them. Which is fine. It’s natural to want to be liked by people you think are great. But there is a thing called approval, which you haven’t thought about. It’s a very dangerous thing, and if you want to be intelligent, you must never forget it.

167.            Basically, you don’t know how to grade yourself yet, so people you see as capable become that authority; you rely on them—and not on yourself—to tell you that you are capable and worthy.

168.            To prove you are capable to yourself, you start doing whatever they will like. After all, their approval means you are capable. Your inner voice becomes secondary, their voice becomes everything.

169.            example is, I am a queen: this moron thinks she is

170.            What you don’t realise is: you can’t be something you’re not.

171.            The more you know your self, the stronger your belief in ‘self’ becomes.

172.            A lot of times in your life, you have no idea if you really want to do something, but you may do it out of impulsiveness or pressure from people around you.

173.            A lot of times in your life, you have no idea if you really want to do something, but you may do it out of impulsiveness or pressure from people around you. Bad habits tend to start this way. A lot of bad experiences happen this way.

174.            Knowledge of what you don’t want interferes and acts as a reminder of what really matters to your ‘self’. In moments of confusion, it helps lift you out of the spell of emotional captivation and makes you think logically

175.            Therefore, knowing well what your ‘self’ doesn’t want improves your decision-making abilities. This

176.            Therefore, knowing well what your ‘self’ doesn’t want improves your decision-making abilities.

177.            Things that make you happy in general, and things you specifically enjoy, are two different experiences.

178.            Knowing what you actually enjoy is one part of knowing what makes the self happy.

179.            The other part is knowing what would give you long-lasting happiness. And that has very little to do with enjoyment and more to do with stability and structure in life, thus creating peacefulness in the long run.

180.            We are happiness-junkies. People have left long, stable relationships or cheated on their partners because they met someone new who excites them—that’s how much of a happiness-junkie people can be.

181.            Ideally, an intelligent person would be one who is more thinking-based than feeling-based.

182.            Just because something makes me feel good doesn’t mean it’s good.

183.            A feeling-based person is impulsive, excitable, lacks a thoughtful process, doesn’t take the future into consideration, and is therefore easily defeated by their own feelings and easily manipulated by those who can create nice feelings in them.

184.            A thinking-based person is one who considers stability, the future, the information at hand, and the fact that feelings change all the fucking time. Feelings are unreliable as fuck.

185.            The point of our personal development would be going from a feeling-based person to a thinking-based one.

186.            In short, happiness is a by-product of life done right.

187.            The more you chase after feeling good, the more your ass is going to be kicked by life because, in doing so, you ignore all those important things you need to do.

188.            The more you focus on thinking, the better the decisions you make keeping in mind not feelings, but long-term, stable results.

189.            The want to be happy in the moment works temporarily.

190.            Know thyself

191.            So, a correct way to voice your displeasure is, I was unproductive, not, I didn’t do anything, because you did plenty of things, they were all just complete shit in 61 terms of productivity.

192.            Things that add betterment to your life aren’t about making you happy, they’re about hard work.

193.            People being happy with you gives you so much pleasure that it feels like a much bigger reward than what you would feel if you stood up for yourself and said ‘no’. In short, because happiness is your priority, self-respect is ignored.

194.            What worked then won’t work now because the rules, environment and your age have changed, but your want to be happy has not. This explains the confusion as to why the same degree of happiness is not reachable anymore; hence, you blame ‘growing up’ for it.

195.            If ‘growing up’ was the problem, then you are suggesting a life without responsibilities, duties and consequences is better, and that is called escapism.

196.            I don’t want to be happy, I want to be satisfied in life. I want self-satisfaction.

197.            CHOOSE SATISFACTION, NOT HAPPINESS

198.            The thing about whatever you think are your wants is, they probably haven’t been chosen by you. You have to understand, to a lot of people and companies, you are a customer, you are part of a statistic, you are a target audience. You are being sold new wants every day. Your mind is being fucked with properly so you choose and like certain things. To put it differently, those things are designed in a certain way so that your mind will like them.

199.            Manipulation tends to seriously fuck with your ability to make a rational choice. Manipulation feeds on weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

200.            If only I had realised it at the right time. There is no known deadline for the ‘right time’, only the truth that it will come.

201.            Always remember: the true test of any idea is not its popularity, but how deeply it makes you think.

202.            Sooner or later, you will have to take hold of the steering wheel of your life, you might as well start thinking about it now.

203.            The point of cultivation is not storing knowledge in your mind so you can use it later to impress people. That might make you knowledgeable, not intelligent. It’s pointless if it doesn’t reflect in your actions. Cultivation of the mind means keeping what makes you think and applying what makes sense.

204.            Your wants and actions come under the category ‘interest’ only when they are controlled by you , not you by them . Only then can they be comparable to things like working out, riding a bike, cooking, playing an instrument, most of which are highly controlled activities.

205.            So, from today, start noticing what activities and wants of yours are controlled by you, and give you satisfaction in doing them, not just a short burst of pleasure; the activities you feel positively possessive and sure about. And screw those activities you do to escape from the duties and responsibilities of your life—they are gonna fuck you over in the long

206.            Ask yourself what stimulates your mind and captures your interest.

207.            I have never thought of putting time in them.

208.            either do what everybody around you is doing, or focus on what interests you.

209.            People go away, they don’t give a shit about you, people give a shit about themselves; so you better start giving a shit about yourself the right way.

210.            always remind yourself they haven’t lived a day in your shoes, and you haven’t in theirs.

211.            Nobody cares unless they have a personal motive to care.

212.            fuck whatever gossip goes around in their mind regarding you.

213.            It should not be I wanna show them , but I wanna show myself ; not I want to be great so they will be impressed, but I want to be great so I can be satisfied with myself.

214.            others don’t give a shit about you.

215.            But it’s not only self-control, self-respect is equally important.

216.            While self-control takes care of inner demons,

217.            While self-control takes care of inner demons,

218.            While self-control takes care of inner demons,

219.            While self-control takes care of inner demons, self-respect

220.            While self-control takes care of inner demons, self-respect takes care of enemies outside.

221.            You can’t please everyone. You can control anyone.

222.            People come and go. How many of them are you going to keep pleasing?

223.            You have to become your own complete person, a complete nation in yourself that can take care of itself and is unaffected by other people’s bullshit.

224.            ‘Truth is rarely pure and never simple’.

225.            You’re the protagonist of your story, why would you not assume you are good!

226.            start seeing people as people and expect the unexpected from them.

227.            people —neither wholly good, nor wholly bad.

228.            Lastly, when you see people as people, you rely on data to find out who they are. You don’t care about the impressions they create or how people behave around them.

229.            Everyone that you fight is not your enemy and everyone who helps you is not your friend.

230.            To quote Mike Tyson again: Everyone that you fight is not your enemy and everyone who helps you is not your friend.

231.            THERE ARE NO HEROES, ONLY HEROIC ACTIONS

232.            nobody’s perfect;

233.            ADMIRE, NEVER FOLLOW

234.            When you say you admire something about somebody, you point exactly towards what appeals to your mind. Your focus stays on the source of your admiration, which could be their actions, beliefs, creativity, or their intelligence.

235.            They are your heroes for having had a strong impact. But what happens when you learn unsavoury facts about their lives? Perhaps they had multiple affairs with much younger women; perhaps they cheated on their wives; or they plagiarised an idea; or they were prejudiced towards a group of people; or they were violent.

236.            You are a fan of their extraordinary acts and the products of their talents, not their lives.

237.            The only thing you can do is learn from them. You don’t have to follow anybody.

238.            There is no person on this planet with whom you would agree on everything one hundred per cent.

239.            There are three facts of life: There is no person on this planet with whom you would agree on everything one hundred per cent. There is no person on this planet with whom you would disagree on every single thing. There is no person on this planet from whom you cannot learn something new.

240.            There are three facts of life: There is no person on this planet with whom you would agree on everything one hundred per cent. There is no person on this planet with whom you would disagree on every single thing. There is no person on this planet from whom you cannot learn something new. So, learn from everybody

241.            why am I not like them syndrome.

242.            This is advertising at its finest. PR firms create public personas and manage public perception to basically sell you the idea of perfect people. It’s a highly developed system, involving psychological models and studies, manipulation of information, the creation of personas, the running of campaigns, planting news stories, scripted interviews, preservation of a narrative, social media utilisation, analysing the responses of people to different behaviours, and changing perceptions when required.

243.            And depending on whichever desire is dominant in you with respect to your age and maturity, you make your choices.

244.            Whatever it is, there are people selling perfection in that desire, to that market. No wonder you hardly ever look within; you are too busy looking outside for answers as to how you can be like them. The majority of this occurs on the internet, which makes social media platforms a cesspool of these narratives. This means the more time you spend on them, the more dishonesty you are exposed to.

245.            Basically, the more time you spend on these platforms, the more likely you are to dislike yourself; you will tend to see yourself as unsuccessful; be more and more unappreciative of what you have and the people you have in your life; become more desirous of material things; wish to be someone you are not; try to behave in ways that don’t come naturally to you; and want to look like someone else. All because 103 some run-of-the-mill person has the tools to manipulate data, eliminate aspects of being human and appear perfect to you. This can be found in many people on YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and whatever social media apps there are and are yet to come.

246.            Then comes their upgrade, which is politicians, movie stars, musicians, writers, motivational speakers, journalists, activists, models, millionaires, billionaires who are backed by an array of people— counsellors, agents, publicists, managers, script writers, public relations firms, marketing teams, all working very hard to assure they remain fictional beings to you.

247.            You are watching the same movie every day, hoping that the ending will change this time.

248.            You believe they are who you think they

249.            they are who you think they are.

250.            You believe they are who you think they are.

251.            You believe they are who you think they are.

252.            Again, you believe you know them like nobody else does. You created this idea because you have had intimate moments with them in which you saw them in their emotional highs and lows.

253.            mother, and they are supposedly orphans or damsels

254.            If the relationship doesn’t work out, the addiction will wear off gradually after months, but dependency is a virus which makes you think there is no option but the other person.

255.            So, let’s begin. I am sure you have heard of phrases like: think differently, out-of-the-box thinking, open your mind, rewire your brain.

256.            The way you think right now depends entirely on how you were taught to think as a kid.

257.            You rely on packets of information instead of thinking about it yourself. You

258.            You rely on packets of information

259.            You rely on packets of information instead of thinking about it yourself.

260.            ARE YOU ABLE TO SOLVE YOUR PROBLEMS? Do you start searching for articles and videos the moment you have a problem? Before reading the articles with the hope of a detailed magical solution, do you first sit down and try to solve the problem, going point by point, by thinking on your own? You don’t. You’re habituated to receiving solutions, ideas and information from others.

261.            The focus is on selling that you know what you are talking about, because you don’t want to appear incompetent, which really is a sign of incompetence.

262.            So, the first step of developing ‘how to think’ requires you to not know how to see the thing at first. It requires you to be clueless; because only then you will start to look for clues.

263.            The idea that a person who has several degrees is intelligent is a highly misplaced idea; but we think like that. So,

264.            The idea that a person who has several degrees is intelligent is a highly misplaced idea; but we think like that.

265.            WE LIVE IN A WORLD THAT CELEBRATES KNOWLEDGE, NOT INTELLIGENCE

266.            No wonder reading is emphasised so much by people, but not thinking.

267.            Knowledge is a great thing when the objective is to make you think.

268.            But when you don’t know how to use knowledge or data, and it is being used to show-off—that reveals a lack of intelligence.

269.            Now, if you remember, when we were talking about how to think differently, the first step requires you to be clueless; it requires you to say, I don’t know . Only then can you begin to think about it in new ways.

270.            Every person is sure they have figured the whole thing out, whether it is politics, modern technology or an environmental or social issue.

271.            The thing is, when only knowledge is valued, one can get it from anywhere, because the source doesn’t matter. The source could be: An article. You scan through the information, and then borrow the author’s opinions. You might also believe you have as much of an understanding of the issue as an expert. A friend, who has told you what they learned, which you then later recite as your own research.

272.            We live in a world where we have already built narratives. These narratives create two sides or more.

273.            narratives have sold it to you pretty convincingly.

274.            It’s just brilliant salesmanship.

275.            Let’s quickly settle the debate about what makes us competent as well.

276.            Let’s quickly settle the debate about what makes us competent as well. We are humans. We are really competent in some things, and totally suck in a lot of other things. We are both competent and incompetent at the same time.

277.            For example, a person could be a competent programmer, but that doesn’t make them a competent person overall. No way does it indicate that the same person is competent in aspects of thinking, behaving, perceiving and creating.

278.            You follow narratives . Narratives are basically templates on how to see things.

279.            It uses an ideal scenario, which capitalises on your scepticism, like it’s a conspiracy theory by the government, atheists, scientists or whoever to discredit religion and to

280.            whoever to discredit religion and to propagate science over religion.

281.            Just remember the script: It uses and twists historical data selectively to suit the narrative.

282.            But if you are left or cheated on by a person, your perception might become: everybody is selfish . All men are assholes. All women are gold-diggers.

283.            ‘How to think’ requires two things: Abandonment of all the packets of information or perceptions you may have collected so far. Getting to know or finding out by relying on data and thinking . By

284.            ‘How to think’ requires two things: Abandonment of all the packets of information or perceptions you may have collected so far. Getting to know or finding out by relying on data and thinking .

285.            Once you free yourself from all narratives and the packets of information, and seek only data, you realise how much you had closed yourself to learning and developing your thinking.

286.            To develop how to think, you would have to focus on the contents of the problem with absolute disregard for your personal judgements, biases and prejudices.

287.            By studying narratives without getting recruited, you are able to locate the exact spot where the salesperson uses or twists the data, makes an emotional appeal to the viewer, and guides them on how to feel about the information.

288.            Problem-solving should be a habit, not the last resort

289.            Most problems created from this source come from its chief productions called comparing, envying, aspiring and desiring.

290.            Most problems created from this source come from its chief productions called comparing, envying, aspiring and desiring. So a lot of you are busy finding solutions to problems that don’t even exist.

291.            How can this be solved? By thinking and asking yourself, what is the source of my problem? And when you find out that it’s your stupid insatiable fascinations and desires, you get to ask yourself, why am I so obsessed with this perfect life, with these fascinations and desires?

292.            You need to accept that experiences that are going to be highly unpleasant, disturbing and painful are going to come into your life.

293.            You will become wiser by acknowledging your vulnerabilities, not by covering them up with distractions. Allow yourself to feel pain and acknowledge it with respect, not fear. That’s all the ointment pain needs—acceptance—and from then on, it starts to subside.

294.            NEVER COMPARE YOURSELF TO ANYBODY You are you. The more time you spend learning and trying out what makes others happy and what others do to seem impressive and cool, the more time you are wasting.

295.            Ultimately, all that is going to matter is knowledge of your self—

296.            If they are ahead of you, don’t make them your enemy, nor become their follower simply because you may not want to go where they are going.

297.            Always remember: Assumptions exist where data doesn’t. And the only data worth collecting is about the ‘self’, and in the direction of what the self wants.

298.            A smart person is one who is more able than others in doing something.

299.            A clever person is one who knows how to use that ability for self-benefit.

300.            An intelligent person is one who works on becoming self-aware.

301.            Upon hearing them talk, we say, he is really intelligent, because to you, they are making sense, or at least making you think from points of view to which you can relate.

302.            A wise person is one who becomes self-aware.

303.            nobody is stupid forever because of our capacity to learn.

304.            you do not become stupid for not knowing things because things can be learned.

305.            Empowering and degrading yourself are two sides of the same coin.

306.            Empowering and degrading yourself are two sides of the same coin. Both require energy and time. It depends entirely on what you believe. So, do you wanna limit yourself and believe you can never think like somebody or do you wanna elevate yourself and believe you can learn anything in this world?