closing mantra

I am doing my best and it’s enough, 
It’s okay, 
I am doing my best and it’s enough, 
It’s going to be okay

I’m going to be okay
I’m going to be okay

I’m doing my best and I’m going to be okay

Too Close: Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Slight violence, maybe language?

A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry I haven't written much recently, but I do have the next few chapters of this lined out, so, please let me know what you think! <3


Don’t get too close. Don’t get too close. 

That was the mantra that was constantly playing in your head today. You had recently been contacted by none other than Wanda Maximoff of the Avengers. She’d heard through her source about a girl who could wield fire from her hands and immediately had her interest piqued. She stopped at nothing to find you. She wanted you to come to the Avengers facility, meet her, and possibly stay there. She said that the Avengers needed more people with abilities like ‘ours’. You had reluctantly agreed, hoping that your anxiety wouldn’t get the best of you.

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Secrets Part IV

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warning: N/A

Writer: hachievans

Summary/Request: Part One (X) Part two (X) Part three (X). Based off (X) (X) (X): You’re new to Beacon Hills…everything is mighty strange…

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SAO - Nekomata

Sachi/Kirito [for Valentina-Moon]

She slept for a year. Easy, the hospital bed as soft and comfortable as her mother’s womb.

Everyone had been surprised when she had woken up; her parents had been there when it had happened, her mother’s makeup smudged, her father’s face buried in her shoulder. There had been two– no, three nurses, and a doctor in a long white coat.

No one had been more surprised than she had, You Died still burned into her retina, pain receptors still screaming. His anguish permeated the room even though he was gone, even though she was dead.

She remembered– smiling, weakly, trying to reassure the doctor and her parents. But mostly she remembered dying, her spear falling from nerveless fingers. She hadn’t even been able to remember what had killed her, exactly, not the name or the stats or.. any of it. But she remembered him.

All her questions about the Black Cats are deflected, except by a government investigator who queries her about the game. She’s the first person to wake up, and no one knows why. None of her friends made it. They were the only ones who died that day.

They let her out of the hospital a few weeks later. She takes the NerveGear with her, although she hides it in the closet for nearly a month; it will be therapeutic to dismantle it eventually. Her fine motor skills are… as much of a lost cause as walking unassisted, but she tries. Muscle atrophy has eaten away much of her strength, and though her body remembers the actions, only time and persistence can return them. She has physical therapy to help, but her nerves are shot and she remembers– You Died.

There are websites with lists of the dead. The toll increases by the day, but they’re all real-life names, and his isn’t on it. The internet is flooded with pictures of them, memorials; schools and businesses have walls of the dead or the comatose, posted by family, friends, coworkers. She remembers his face, soft smiles and gentle amusement, the way his expression hardened when going into battle; but she doesn’t find him anywhere.

It hurts to look. She finds people she went to school with, people her parents worked with, sleeping dead dead sleeping, and she grieves, but she doesn’t find him. He isn’t to be found.

He’s alive, she thinks, and it’s a mantra she holds close, even as she lights incense for her friends. He’s alive. He made it out.

She does not attend school that year. It’s too hard to focus. Every dropped pencil is her perception alerting her to a monster in the rooms, every rainy day her muscles scream in agony, and everyone knows her face was on the wall. A binder is not a shield which can protect her, and her walking cane is not a spear to be used in her defense. It feels wrong to attend when so many others are still trapped.

She finds NerveGear schematics on the internet instead and picks apart her own. She was a member of the Computer Club, and she had earned that honestly. She knows well any machine she can get her fingers into, and it takes time and she almost misses it, but after several months of splaying the machine across her desk and her floor and parts of her bed, she knows what happened.

You Died. No, she didn’t.

She calls up the investigator and invites him to meet her at the park, wraps up the piece in question in an anti-static bag. She is… reluctant to hand it over. But she knows she is never going to wear the NerveGear again, the idea of it makes her hands shake too badly, and if there is something they can make of it… well. Maybe they can.

There was a manufacturing flaw. The odds of it are… astronomical, with modern machine lines, she’s not as good with numbers as she’d like to be. One in several trillion, maybe.

You Died. She had. She woke up. It was a fluke.

Almost everyone wakes up a few months later. There are a few hundred who do not, and like her, no one is sure why. But some wake up. The announcement is huge. The investigator calls to tell her in person before it hits the news, because soon there may be no way he can protect her from the sharks that are reporters, but he will try. She is not ready for those; not yet.

Those who do not wake up are flown to a federal hospital at the expense of the government. A few months later, they wake up as well, and once more, no one knows why.

She peruses the internet. He’s still not there. She holds her mantra close, but like a wind-torn banner the hope is beginning to fray.

The beginning of the new school year sees her transferred to the SAO Survivors School; because SSS and SAOSS make interesting banners and school logos, she guesses. She isn’t sure she wants to go to school, even now, but with physical therapy and plenty of medication, her strength and her nerves are settled enough that she can walk unassisted and her limbs actually obey her.

She still knows his face, so she’ll go.

The first day is a mess. There are too many people to keep the reporters away from everyone, even if they’re not allowed on school grounds, and not everyone takes kindly to being crowded. She witnesses three pushy newsmen thrown over shoulders in the first twenty minutes, and no few of them are still using canes. She holds her own firmly, ready to throw it up and defend herself, but right here, right now, she’s just another survivor, and they’ll take anyone they can get. The last group to wake up isn’t even here; the prognosis is that they’ll be joining mid-term.

First period after lunch is group therapy sessions, which is not mandatory, but come highly recommended, and adults who survived are invited to join. She picks a smaller group to insert herself in. The therapist is there to listen, mostly, and he’s large and broadly built, and probably there to prevent a fight. Using in-game names is heavily discouraged, but she’s had a year already to get out of the habit of introducing herself that way. She takes that step and leaps across the bridge like her Acrobatics skill became a top of the line reason to start the session.

It’s easier to remember the good things. She’s actually in the middle of recounting their first dungeon crawl with him when the door opens. Of all the things she could have forgotten, his face could never be one of them; it flushes white as a sheet when he sees her, so quick her knee-jerk reflex is to step for him, even though the therapist is already there, holding him up, holding him steady.

Kirito. He made it. He got out. She loops him in a hug on instinct, half-crushes him between her and the therapist. She might be crying, but it’s a small matter, and if she is it will be a relief. He curls his arms around her awkwardly, and she can feel how painfully shaky he is. Shock and disbelief, lanced grief, left to bleed again. But she cannot let him go.

“You can’t be.. Sachi?” His voice is steady, but low and raw.

Her own shakes like an infant’s rattle, relieved but broken all at the same time. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Borne to Chant 
because you can’t have enough death jokes with this game.

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anonymous asked:

What if you and Liam were making love and Harry accidentally walks in... You see each other but you can't stop staring at each other??

When he really gets going, Liam is relentless, rolling his hips into yours like he might come right out the other side of you.  He presses one of your legs out as far as it’ll go until you’re whimpering with protest at the burn, even as he continues pistoning into you, mouth at your shoulder and worrying the places where he can feel your bones through your skin with his lips and teeth.  He mutters praises and keens when you clench your pussy tightly around him, bites down the few times you’re able to meet his pace with your body.

And you’re so fucking close, his name a mantra on your lips, sound tearing its way up out of you as those thick and talented fingers find their way to your nipple, tweaking and tugging, then racing down your body to feel out the slick knot of nerves above where his cock still slides hard and heavy into you.

But he doesn’t notice the door to the bedroom opening - the two of you are sharing a suite with Harry, simply to conserve on space - and it’s quite obvious he’d forgotten that the two of you might do things like have sex.

His eyes are as round and wide as yours feel for a moment, until your quivering moan reaches his ears and he seems to give a little jolt.

As Liam seeks out that release for the two of you, unaware of his audience, giving Harry a good look at the tawny expanse of his back, the cute little curve of his butt as he fucks into you.  Harry’s eyes do dart that way and you watch his tongue poke at his lips, but then his gaze is on yours again, locked tight, but no longer shocked.

He doesn’t say or do anything, doesn’t move, just watches the two of you, watches Liam biting his way down your neck, oblivious to the light filtering in from the main room behind Harry.  He watches the way you buck up into Liam, crying out when he finds a particularly sweet spot and sweeps his cock back and forth over it, rubbing you raw and closer and closer to coming, your voice a bit ragged as you beg for the release.

And Harry watches as it washes over you, smirking as the curses lurch from your lips, and you squeeze Liam’s hips between your thighs as you jerk up against him, digging your nails into the meat of his back.  Liam thrusts hard into you, several more times, until his body shudders and his movements go sloppy and your head tilts back with a little shout as he drags another little orgasm out of you and comes seconds behind it, filling you up in a hot rush of white that leaks out around his cock and slicks up the center of you.  

Gasping for breath, you pick your head up just once, not sure why you need to see, not sure why didn’t warn Liam in the first place.  But when your eyes remember that they’re made for looking and you find the bedroom door, Harry’s gone, like maybe he wasn’t there in the first place.

Liam’s voice is wrecked and shaking as he mutters how much he loves you against his skin and though you feel sated, you still feel strangely, but you still murmur the same in turn, even if your eyes do dart to the door one last time.

CNN has hired Corey Lewandowski, Donald Trump’s former campaign manager, as a political commentator

Trump recently fired Lewandowski, who had become a controversial member of his staff, particularly in his manhandling of reporters and banning about a dozen media outlets from having reporters follow the campaign. 

From the NYT:

Trump allies and critics alike regarded Mr. Lewandowski as a fierce defender of Mr. Trump’s idiosyncratic approach to the presidential race. At a moment when many in the party have pressed Mr. Trump to soften his message and build a more conventional political operation, Mr. Lewandowski hewed closely to the mantra he had developed during the Republican primaries: “Let Trump be Trump.”

So he was too much for Trump, but CNN is more than willing to give him a mainstream, national platform? Even though he’s legally not allowed to say anything bad about Trump or his campaign, or reveal any inside information or perspective?

Wow, CNN. This is a new level of pathetic. 

Many female and Latinx reporters and producers at CNN are reportedly furious at Lewandowski being hired, but I bet the corporate authority will do what it has to to quell any and all dissent, including firing anyone who publicly objects to this. That’s how capitalist, corporate-run, media works. 

If this doesn’t spell out for you that CNN is trash, I don’t know what will. 

More information here.

Ariel’s eyes closed, whispering the soft mantra under her breath. “Breath, one, two, three,” wincing as the noise happened again, it was a clap of of some sort, the sound of the wind carrying a sign hard against the wall, sending a shiver down her spine, as memories filled her brain. “Breath, four, five, six,” she muttered once more. Wincing as it happened again. “Breath, one, two, three,” her mind went blank, before she thought of grassy field with flowers, her and Christian on their backs, giggling twins, rolling in the summer sun. A soft smile filling her lips. “Breath, four, five, six,” she murmured once more. “S-Sorry, the noise, I’m okay now,” she hummed as the noise filled the air again but she seemed to take it a bit better. She had suddenly taken in her surroundings, she must of froze the moment the loud clap happened the past few minutes was a blur as she had calmed her racing mind down, instantly feeling sorry for her companion. “What were you saying? I’m so-so sorry!”

A 3 part journey

I had had my first psychedelic experience around my 16th birthday through out the year I had mushrooms around five separate times with my largest dose being 4.7gs dried.

It was June a month after my 17 birthday I had obtained an ounce of mushrooms from a new source. I had planned on going on a full blown spirit quest (6gs) I decided before I would dive into the heroic dosage I would test the new source’s fungi.

Thursday night-mother and sister out at some party
I scaled out 1.6g ate them like candy then munched on a few extra tasty looking aborts.(should have weighed them)
My brother also ate some (a bit more than 2.5gs soaked in lemon juice) and munched a few extra caps.

An hour later I informed my brother that this was going to be much more than a test run, things were getting trippy (they had not hit him yet)

I laid down on my bed with my eyes closed and face in my pillow, he put on some ambient music of some sort( I have no memory of it)

With my eyes closed I repeated in my my head “ show me who you are, for yourself” (addressing the mushrooms)

I left reality.

I found myself falling into a swirling abyss of black and dark purple. Around me 4-8 multi coloured (lime green, pink, blue) sea monsters circling.
I recovered and open my eyes blocking my field of vision a massive toad.(my pillow)
I regain my vision and get out of bed walk five steps out my room. I do not know if my eyes were open or closed, I saw a person? An entity? Myself?
It was blue in a dark background with tiny white lights piercing the black (stars?) it transferred divine emotion to me I hugged my brother and tears of joy and wonder flowed from my eyes.

After that I stayed in reality for the rest of my trip but my perspective was always shifting no lines were straight.

Friday morning- fuck school lets trip
I met up with three friends( two of them my usual trip buddies-Taro and Lex)at a park near school. I told them about my trip the previous night.

Then I informed them that I had more mushrooms and wanted to share.
Case told us no one was home at his house (our usual hang out)
Taro-1g
Lex-1g
Case-2g
Me-3g
I had never tripped more than once within a month so expected my tolerance to be high after the day before. I just wanted to catch a buzz.

We all ate our mushies at a picnic table and each smoked a bowl, waited five minutes then headed over to Case’s house (30min walk)

Half way there they started to hit me, the road and side walk staring shifting in and out of a pink hue. No else was feeling it.

We got to cases street and went to the small park across from his house to get a drink from the fountain. Case took us to a bench where he told us he had dropped acid before.
We sat in the relaxing, I looked to the sky.

It was a beautiful day blue sky with a few white clouds. The clouds began to drift away out of my field of vision( wasn’t sure if it was just the wind)

Then the sky became washed with a solid grey blue. Instantly a massive ship shaped cloud with sparkling swirling intricate pattern adorning its bow came rushing over me, as it passed two Chinese style Dragons crossed the sky.

I looked to my friend Case, he was feeling it too and suggested we should head to his backyard, we all agreed.

As we rose from the bench and walked toward his house I looked up, the sky itself seemed to drift away and in its place was a giant dome of gears and sprockets and through the web of cogs I could see a purple mist beyond.

It soon became apparent that there were friendly faces pearling through the dome gears. ( the same entity I had seen the night before) they were a red orange colour.

I tore my gaze away from the dome( it was time to cross the street) the concrete swam as though it was fluid.

We went around the side of the house to the backyard. Case brought out the bong and a big box of Gatorade. Set up his surround sound system with the Dark side of the moon on repeat.
We all sat down at the table outside

Case got up to open the big sun umbrella. As it opened above us I was gripped with terror. It looked other worldly. The feeling passed as quickly as I came.

Pink Floyd was playing I sat in the shade. I put my head down and closed my eyes, again in my head repeating “show me who you are, for yourself” this time addressing the entity which I was encountering.

A slide show of intense psychedelia ensued. ( red and orange being the theme)
Than an I saw rows and rows of these entities, I then walked up a beautiful spiral stair case of magnificent other worldly architecture. I got to the top gazed out a window and saw again rows and rows o these people.

I opened my eyes, I opened my mind

As the lids of my eyes lifted reality seemed to be coated in an invisible goo every thing was round, curved and the colours were so bright, so bright.

As I looked to the sky the dome of gears dissolved, there was nothing between me and friendly, playful faces and the purple mist….. These entire were in the sky for the duration of my trip. I removed my shoes.

When the song “great gig in the sky” played I was hurtled through space on and asteroid.

When the song “money” played I became aware of the hilarious absurdity that the human mind is capable of. Me and Taro laughed and and laughed.

When the song “us and them” played Lex raised his fist to the sky, I cried.

When the song “ dark side of the moon” played pure confusion I did not not know if I was real.

We sat listening to the album for 5 hours time was meaningless.

I will remember that place for the rest of my life. 5 hours of pure mindless fun.

Sunday morning- I was bored still had what looked like a gram of shrooms left.

I soaked them in lemon juice and ate em. I lay in my bed with my eyes closed . Repeating the same mantra.

The first thing I saw was one of the same entities in turquoise peer at me from behind a pillar then it turned away and vanished. It did not speak to me but it conveyed a message. It was leaving never to be seen again I was glad to to met it, it was glad to have met me. But it was time for it go.

After that a beautiful pattern appeared it portrayed the same message I did not understand it, but I felt it. I was moved to tears of sadness… After that I began want to stop tripping I experienced no more meaningful visuals. I sat with my brother and waited it out. I looped and looped.

I know this was long, sorry but if u read it all then you have read learnt of the most meaning experiences I have ever had. I have since quit drugs and have decided where my I want my life too lead.

A 3 part story.
Breakthrough
Basking in the glory of the universe
A lesson learnt

Mushrooms the teacher.
Thx so much for reading

Coming of age stories are cultural rallying points, and of them, much is made. Their words, images and sounds represent the blinding optimism of youth and the reconciliation of simpler lives with more complicated futures. Everything in Transit is one of those stories. I lived, wrote and recorded this album in a haze of heartbreak and THC, a fast that did little to belie my sense of adventure on ambition. In retrospect, the beauty of Everything in Transit is its assertion that regardless of circumstance, so many people find themselves asking the same questions of the world as they attempt to build their own personal philosophies. I was searching when I wrote these songs. I was traveling and unafraid. I believed I could dismantle my life, relationships, accomplishments and failures, write it down and in the process become the artist and man I’d always wished to be. For a moment this was true. When people talk about Transit, many are quick to reflect on the strange events that followed its completion. I happen to be one of those people. Nevertheless, this is not an album about the illness I found at the end of some twisted rainbow. It is about the journey from my parents’ house to that first apartment I shared with friends. It’s about falling in love too young and the dual heartbreak that spoke from such a relationship. It’s about faith in the universe and the opening of one’s eyes and heart so they might end up on the path for which they were intended. Nearly 10 years later I am writing this copy from an airplane en route to a show for yet another new project. I wear a ring now, and it belongs to the girl I boxed the stars with in the bridge of “Dark Blue”. I am still searching and writing, dismantling and rebuilding. As I pass through the clouds and the ground comes into view I am reminded of the fading mantra which closes out this body of work, an album that means so much to so many, myself included. “Maybe we were made for each other. Maybe the world will look like this forever.” Maybe…
—  The introduction to the 10 Year Anniversary edition of Jack’s Mannequin’s ‘Everything In Transit’ is awesome!