zheonlybeean

[zheonlybeean]

The End Poem

I see the player you mean.

PLAYERNAME?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

By Julian Gough

[zheonlybeean]

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[zheonlybeean]

Thank you so so much!!! I love it!!!!

A Magical Time

This is my gift for @zheonlybeean for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange. I filled out all 3 of the ideas given which were Christmas Eve, Platonic Soulmates, and Red String of Fate Summery: Christmas Season has come again as we look upon 3 different sets of soulmates enjoying the festivities in their own ways. Roman and Virgil sharing a tender moment; Remus and Patton enjoying the night to their silly hearts’ content; and Logan fighting a tired old battle as he brings his boyfriend Nate over to Janus’ family Christmas party. 

Weiterlesen

[zheonlybeean]

Hennlo!!

I participated in the @sanderssidesgiftxchange this year again!

This year it's for the dear @the-princey-pie :D

I hope I have fulfilled your wish! :D

[zheonlybeean]

Why are we silent???

[zheonlybeean]

Hey so this his very important.

I live in Argentina. And it’s not very spreaded across media as much as Australia was and many other places (that don’t get as reblogged and shared and helped) but I really need y’all help. I need all of your support and donations.

There’s a lot of organizations trying to recolect medical supplies for the animals affected and trying to get some adopted or fostering and also rescuing.

We really need your help cause some assholes decided to start burning down the trees and forests in Córdoba mainly but a lot of other provinces too. Córdoba is one of the provinces affected by the fires, more than 3,500 hectares burned and thousands of dead species that cannot escape. Entre Ríos and Santa Fe and Catamarca are other of the provinces affected by these fires and situation caused. The media isn’t showing not even half of it as always.

There’s not a law that protects what’s happening from not occurring and there’s a go fund me to sign a petition to make the law to protect, it would mean the world to Argentina if you can help and sign.

Please share and reblog this and if you can please donate (look up the money currency difference and help) and spread it.

Here I’ll leave the info of all the organizations to donate to while as well too Green Peace is trying to get help. It will mean the world for me and the rest of people that live in Argentina and most importantly animals and nature.

DONATE

https://donaronline.org/universidad-catolica-de-cordoba/animales-afectados-por-los-incendios-en-cordoba-hace-concreta-tu-ayuda-para-su-atencion

-https://twitter.com/eslwt91/status/1299457826105044995?s=21

Petitions

-https://www.change.org/p/exigimos-el-tratamiento-urgente-del-proyecto-de-ley-de-humedales-leonardo-grosso-brendalisaustin-jaicega-ayelensposito-gladys-gonzalez-rgiustiniani-antoniorodas8

- https://www.change.org/p/ley-de-humedales-ya-paremos-los-incendios-de-las-islas-del-paran%C3%A1-leonardo-grosso-brendalisaustin-jaicega-ayelensposito-gladys-gonzalez-rgiustiniani-antoniorodas8?utm_content=cl_sharecopy_23546003_es-AR%3A3&recruiter=1044307561&recruited_by_id=2b565280-54b6-11ea-bacb-bde568fc587b&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_abi&utm_term=signature_receipt

- http://pages.greenpeace.org.ar/leydehumedales?tracking_key=fp5PqxzyRo6pKUtBCWMtPwlSvx9OPBEFkKyLqePI0hoFLr0h3b&utm_source=instagram&utm_medium=Bio&utm_content=ig_humedales_linkbio&utm_campaign=Humedales

Also

[zheonlybeean]

Reblog if you support asexuals and aren’t a COWARD

RB if your blog is a safe, accepting space for asexuals!

[zheonlybeean]

JARED CAMPBELL IS THE COP WHO PEPPER SPRAYED THE LITTLE GIRL AND THEN REFUSED TO GIVE HIS BADGE NUMBER. SPREAD THIS MOTHERFUCKER'S NAME.

[zheonlybeean]

Anti anxiety.

[zheonlybeean]

It's reveal time!!

My gift is/was for the dear

@last-holistic-renegade !

I hope you like it as much, as i loved working on it! :D

merry christmas @last-holistic-renegade !

summary: It’s a fanart of Logicality, Human Au and Soulmate Au!

rating: G

notes: I hope you like it! :D

[zheonlybeean]

I love it!!

merry christmas @yuuuuuzo !

title: The Prince And His Fish pairings: romantic logan/roman, romantic deceit/remy, romantic patton/virgl rating: T warnings: minor character death, a little violence, a little bleeding as a result wordcount: 6943

summary: Prince Roman is half mermaid and falls hopelessly head over heels for a full mermaid (Logan). Very few in the kingdom know, but this secret may end up saving it.

[zheonlybeean]

you will be brilliant

Set after Selfishness v. Selflessness. 

Prinxiety (building-up), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending. CW: cursing, crying.

After Virgil sinks out, he doesn’t go to his room. He goes to check up on Roman. And Roman is far from being okay.

In Roman’s very humble opinion, Virgil’s timing sucks. It always has, especially back in the days when he was playing a very convincing role of an overachieving nuisance and lived to ruin each and every video with his remarks.

Or maybe this particular situation is about Virgil’s lack of tact.

“I’m busy,” Roman says through his teeth, turning away.

“With what? Your drawing board that is so imaginary even I can’t see it?” Virgil says. On most days, such words would be accompanied by a smirk so poignant it would be heard in his intonations. But it seems that Virgil is still very much on edge: the words sound harsher than… than Roman finds acceptable right now.

“I said I need to get back to work and I meant it. And you’re interrupting. Didn’t I hear you saying you wanted to go be ‘cool’ somewhere else?” With a snap of his fingers, a huge whiteboard appears in front of them, a pack of multicolored markers in a holder box. Roman turns his back on Virgil and faces the board, contemplating its size… and trying not to be intimidated by it.

“Who said I meant my room?” Virgil comes to stand by his side. “This is, technically, 'somewhere else’, so…” He drawls out the last vowel.

Roman purses his lips. He isn’t in a mood for banter. He isn’t in a mood for company. He isn’t in a mood, full stop. And Virgil, being the godforsaken anxiety, should damn well feel it.

And leave.

“No need to be this touchy. I just came to check up on you. The whole thing was a mess.”

Touchy? Since when the silence is being touchy? Roman grabs a red marker and takes the cap off. The popping sound of it is loud, and it’s one of the things Roman came to associate with the start of work. Usually, it sends a swift chill of anticipation over his skin. Keyword: usually.

“Princey?” Virgil tries again, and this time his voice finally sounds… softer. And… oh gosh, damn, darn it—

Roman’s hand shakes as he brings the tip of the marker closer to the board, right at the center. Go away, please, he thinks. You should not see it. You should not see me like this. The marker hovers some millimetres over the board. Please don’t be so kind, he pleas.

Because he is dangerously close to breaking. And he doesn’t know what word, what gesture will be the last straw before he—

“Roman…”

The marker falls, clanking loudly over the edge of the board.

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

Roman sobs.

His face curls into an ugly grimace as he tries to hold back the tears. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s of no help: another sob escapes him, then a thin whine. Tears blur his vision, and his lashes stick together, and his face feels so disgusting and weird.

“He wuh-wuh-was right,” Roman forces the words out. “I wanted to win.” His throat constricts, a series of dry short breaths escaping his mouth. "Not just to— to get what I want and go for tha— that callback. I wanted to be in the right. I— I—”

Something cold comes to rest over Roman’s nape. It makes him aware of how hot his skin is, how his lungs overwork, how his clothes seem too tight. The weight on his nape moves in gentle waves, and… Virgil’s hand. It must be. His hands are always cold. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“I wanted to be in the right. To…” Three quick breaths. “To maybe, if it was the right way, to… for us realize it. And act on it. But…” He grits his teeth. Stop crying, stop, stop, stop! “It wasn’t right. I made that judgment and I meant it. I’m not going back on my word.”

“Roman… listen—”

With a little more force than necessary, Roman slaps Virgil’s hand away and steps back.

“I have a right to be upset!” he cries out, his voice breaking; he faces Virgil for the first time since all of this disaster has begun. “I have a right to be hurt! Even if I know that we did the right thing! I have a right to be upset at hours and energy I wasted! That was my— my dream, and I— I have a right to—”

The crying is ugly and loud, returning threefold, making a mess of Roman’s thoughts and feelings and he’s not in control and he must run away and hide and he doesn’t actually have a right to be this way no—

Virgil’s arms come around Roman’s neck, a sure, tight grip, and bring him down, Roman’s chin resting in the crook of Virgil’s neck. The hoodie is oh so very soft and smells like it was washed just recently, clean and crispy, like comfort, like home, like—

Roman clutches at the fabric of the hoodie, encloses Virgil in his hold, feeling the heat of his back. His hands don’t shake anymore, not with how painfully he clenches his fingers.

“Yes, you do,” Virgil says quietly right into his ear, his warm breath washing over it. "You have every right in the world to be upset. The right thing isn’t always fair.”

Roman leans his head just a bit to the left, just enough so his forehead and temple are tickled by Virgil’s hair. He tries to even out his breath.

“And maybe it’s hard to think about it now, but… The opportunities will come. And you will take them. And you will be brilliant.”

More tears gather at the corners of Roman’s eyes. But his chest, it's— He feels— He feels lighter. There’s the weight of Virgil’s arms, the desperate force behind it — and he feels lighter.

“Roman. I’m very, very proud of you. Of everything you’ve done today.”

Oh, that… This is… But…

With force, loathing to move from his position that brings him so much comfort, Roman lifts his head from Virgil’s shoulder and tries to lean back enough to look him in the eyes. Virgil weakens his hold but doesn’t let go completely, his arms still encircling Roman’s shoulders.

“Even… now?” Roman asks, his voice small and raspy.

“Especially now,” Virgil says, no shadow of doubt in his voice. And his smile… That gentle thing full of love that he usually reserves for Patton — he is giving it to Roman. And the way it makes Roman feel, it’s… better than he has ever imagined. It feels like… everything. Like something that might make going through any struggle worth it.

As they hug this time, a second time, it’s Roman who leads, hugging Virgil tight, his thumbs rubbing quick lines onto him.

“Thank you… Virgil.”

Virgil just hums in response. He makes no attempts to move away. Roman exhales, relief filling all his body.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, beats in his head as they hold each other. I needed what you gave me, so damn much, even though I didn’t know I needed it, even though I fought you on that.

And with his head so clear, it’s much easier to believe in what Virgil said about new opportunities. About his brilliance. It doesn’t feel like acid to think of what is lost. And the emptiness of the whiteboard doesn’t scare him anymore. In fact…

“What are you doing?” Virgil says, his trademarked grumpiness back, as Roman manoeuvres them until Virgil’s back almost leans on the board.

“I…” Roman says, grabbing one of the markers with one hand and wrapping the other arm more comfortably around Virgil, “am working, my dear stormy knight.” He draws the outline of a big square in the middle, then sections it into five more-or-less even pieces. Now, let’s see…

A short pause. Virgil makes an mmhm noise. “And what? Do you need me right here for that?”

Roman stills his hand, the marker making a big dot at the end of the word he is writing, and looks at Virgil. Roman… doesn’t know how to answer this. But his arm — almost involuntarily — tightens its grip around Virgil’s waist.

Something in Virgil’s face shifts, and then, before Roman can even register it, he turns around and moves to stand with his side pressed tightly against Roman, Roman’s arm still holding him.

Virgil snaps his fingers. The sounds of a bass guitar, brazen and energetic, fill the room. He grabs a marker, a strict black one, and unclasps it.

“So… what did you have in mind, Princey?”

Roman beams.

[zheonlybeean]

Deceits Embleme

Oky soo

I have a small theorie/headcanon, that Deceits Logo Thingy is a snake with two heads cuz

He speaks with a forked tongue.

Cuz he is a liar n stuff

Also I googled something to kinda back up that theorie and I found the following:

The phrase "speaks with a forked tongue" means to say one thing and mean another or, to be hypocritical, or act in a duplicitous manner. In the longstanding tradition of many Native American tribes, "speaking with a forked tongue" has meant lying, and a person was no longer considered worthy of trust, once he had been shown to "speak with a forked tongue".

I'm like,, very sure that's fitting for Deceit, isn't it? Especially after the last Sanders Sides

[zheonlybeean]

I found it

Every single odd number has an “e” in it.

[zheonlybeean]

Good to know

Alternatives to Tumblr if Yahoo goes any further

Soup.io - well-known alternative to Tumblr. Reblogging, post types, themes, collab blogs, dashboard, artsy, great community already there. Soup can auto-import everything you’ve posted on Tumblr.

TypePad - Includes reblogging. Dashboard and post types similar to Tumblr.

Jux - Artful posts, beautiful blogging experience

[zheonlybeean]

You are the world’s most successful marriage counsellor. Each case ends with a 100% satisfactory rate for both sides. One day, a rather unusual couple enters your office. Through questioning you find out that the two people in front of you are in fact Zeus and Hera. And they won’t leave until you fix their mess.

[zheonlybeean]

Reblog If Your Blog Is Safe For

Transgender people

Homosexual people

Bisexual people

Genderfluid people

Asexual people

Pansexual people

Autosexual people

Demisexual people

Bigender people

Agender people

Polysexual people

Straight people

Cisgender people

Straight allies of the lgbtqpiad community

ANYONE