I’m deadass making it my mission to shift before the summer is over.
FUCJ FUCK FUCK FUKC YK WHAT IM SHIFTING TONIGHT FUCK ALL THESE YEARS AND IM DONE!!! I HAVE REACHED THE END IDC IIIIIII ME I IIII I MYSELF AND I AM TELLING YOU GUYS IM GONE IM NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL IM WAKING UP IN MY DR NO LIKE ACTUALLY IM PUTTING IN ALL THE EFFORT IM TIRED OF ME LIMITING MYSELF I AM GOING TO SHIFT AND I WONT COME BACK FOR MONTHS BECAUSE FUCK THIS SHIT HELL NO IM NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL IM SHIFTING AN SIM STAYING UNTIL I CAN PUT UP WITH THIS SHIT
this is all to do with focus.
when a person first learns about shifting, they are eager and excited to be in their dr. the focus, attention, and energy is in the place they desire.
when someone has been on their shifting journey for awhile, the focus is no longer on being in the dr, it is GETTING to their dr, it is simply the act of shifting. getting symptoms, the first moment of waking up there, the feeling of "success."
i was also doing this, and i realized a crucial difference in those two definitions. one defines themselves as someone who is trying to get somewhere, and one is someone who is already there. in their heart, in their mind, in their energy, they exemplify the person who is in their dr.
i understand it like being on a plane. one person doesn't focus very much on the flight, it is just the transportation to get to the real destination. another person imagines that the plane doesn't work, so they are focused on how to get there. that ensures that they remain on the plane.
in other words, undue focus on the process will lead to more "process."
another person on tiktok said this well, when they advised to not focus on your symptoms. that is because those symptoms aren't happening to the person in your desired reality, they are happening here. the act of shifting is happening here! the version of you that has shifted is there.
shifting isn't a physical thing. to be in that reality, you become the person who has always been there. and to have always been there, shifting MUST not be the focus.
someone (💗) sent me a tiktok about this, it was a reddit post, please if someone knows the @ tell me!
MWAAHHH!! 💝💝💝 LOVE YALL GUYSSS 🫶🏼
I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet. I am in my DR, i just don't see it yet.
okay let’s be honest how many times in those 4 years have you actually tried to shift? 😬😬
Guess who is shifting tonight!!
AN: So this is a fic that literally nobody asked for but I've had it in my drafts forever and I thought it would be a shame to waste the idea. Whoops. Enjoy. CW: Non-Con, Cunnilingus, Brief mentions of spitting in mouth and spanking, Threat of pregnancy, Sort of implied American reader but you could read it as any english speaking country, though there is a dig in there that is pretty much aimed at Americans,
It’s hard being a foreigner in a country where you can’t speak the language. Harder than you’d thought it would be when you moved halfway across the world for work.
Getting around is tough and it’s hard to remember all of the customs and formalities, but the worst part about living so far from home is how lonely it is.
At the beginning, you spent most nights curled up in your tiny apartment, crying and googling time differences to see your parents would be awake to call. Things haven’t changed much since then. You know a little more of the language but you're still lonely. You still haven't made any friends.
Well, unless you count your hot landlord who lives next door.
He doesn’t speak a lick of english, but you don’t need to speak the same language to fuck.
You aren’t quite sure how your arrangement came to be. One minute you were handing him rent money and the next he was lapping at your cunt like a starved man. It doesn’t matter. You're content knowing that if he’s waiting on the staircase when you get home from work, it’s going to be a good night.
He’ll pull you down the hall, hands tangling in your hair and lips crashing against yours, fumbling clumsily with his keys to unlock the door to his apartment, all but kicking the door open and carrying you inside.
His kisses are hungry, greedy. Filled with a passion that you’ve never felt with boys back home. Maybe it’s just the fantasy-fulfillment aspect of having a hot foreign lover, but if he’s anything to go by, the rumors of men overseas being better at sex are definitely true.
Before you can even make it into the bedroom, your clothes are peeled off and shed on his kitchen floor. He's all over you the minute you’re naked, grabbing and touching you like he wants to commit the feeling to memory, worshiping every nook and cranny like he may never feel you again.
You and him will somehow stumble into his bed in between hot kisses. Sometimes he’ll chase you playfully, sometimes he’ll lead you by the hand, sometimes he’ll scoop you up and throw you onto the mattress; mumbling something in his language that you don’t understand but sounds pretty hot regardless.
Then he’ll climb on top of you and take you apart piece by piece. Suckling gently on your nipples while his fingers work your clit, nibbling little love bites on your thighs before lifting your hips so he can bury his face in your cunt, pressing teasing kisses down your body, mumbling what you assume to be praise of your figure in between each one.
He just understands your body. He's attentive, a quick learner. It only took about a week of sleeping together for him to know exactly how to unravel you. He’s a generous lover. You’ve never slept with him without orgasming at least once. You’ve never had to fake an orgasm either, which is a massive improvement from the past men you’ve been with.
It's not lost on you that the way he treats you is kind of strange for a fuck-buddy...
...But damn if it isn’t hot when he gets down on his knees and mumbles a prayer of adoration into your stomach.
Once it’s his turn to receive it can go one of two ways:
He’ll either be gentle, caressing you like fine china as he rolls his hips into yours, making love to you slowly, reverently, using your moans as a guide on how to touch you. He’ll cum with you, holding your hand as you both tumble over the edge, then pull you into his chest as the two of you come down and prepare for round two, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
Or he’ll be rough and relentless. Pounding into you unforgivingly, tossing you into whatever position he pleases before fucking you hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. He’s quite kinky, you’ve learned. When he’s in these moods he likes spitting in your mouth and pulling your hair, calling you filthy names as you cum for the third time.
You’ve learned a few new words in his language since you met him: faster, slower, slut, fuck, and I’m going to cum.
Not very practical for day to day use but still nice to know.
Once the two of you are spent, you’ll shower and he’ll pour you a glass of wine, then you'll sit on his small balcony in silence, looking out at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.
It’s…nice. Peaceful. It’s strange that you feel so intimate with him when the only real conversation you’ve ever had was a google translated text message about rent.
But just like any good drama with a foreign fling, it can't last forever.
As great as he is in bed, this country isn’t your home. You miss your family and friends and being able to ask for directions without feeling like an idiot. You’ll miss him—no doubt lie in bed sometimes and wonder what he’s doing, if he still thinks of you—but it’s better this way. You don’t belong here, you never have.
You’re sitting on his balcony basking in afterglow about three weeks before you’re set to leave when you drop the news. It’s better sooner rather than later, you decide. It’s not like you could irish-goodbye him, he is your landlord.
“Leaving…” his brow knits. He says it like the word tastes sour in his mouth.
“Yeah, in three weeks.” you smile, holding up three fingers for clarification.
He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray, shaking his head and mumbling something that you can’t understand. He looks…distressed. You hadn’t expected him to be thrilled by the news, but he looks like someone just punched him in the gut.
“Are you alri-”
“You aren’t leaving me.” he snaps, grabbing your wrist hard. Possessively, as if he’s nervous you might run away from him.
You're surprised by his hostility, but more so by the response he gave you. It was heavily accented and short, but it was grammatically correct English—something he’d never given any indication of knowing.
“What are you-”
You're cut off by a searing hot kiss. Ravenous and passionate, full of teeth and tongue—but not in the way they normally are. This one is… darker, like he’s trying to establish his dominance.
You squirm and try to push him off of you but he won’t let you go, fisting a hand in your hair to hold you in place as his mouth claims yours.
“Did we mean nothing?” he asks, backing you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head, “We’ve been making love for months and you want to leave?”
“English…” your eyes tear up as he nips at your neck, “I thought you…”
“I’ve known it the whole time,” he lets out a small laugh of amusement. “They teach us English in school. We actually have good education here.” You cry, feeling his hot breath on your skin as he alternates between making out and nibbling at your neck, “I thought you'd think it was romantic, having a foreign lover.”
Each kiss steals your breath, makes you dizzy. He licks his lips, eying you hungrily, “I was going to pretend to learn english for you. I thought it would be a cute story to tell our children…”
Your eyes widen. Children? He wants to have kids-
Your thoughts are interrupted by him rising to his feet, hoisting you up with him and walking you to his bed. He tosses you on the mattress, climbing on top of you, hissing something quietly in his language that you don’t understand as he rocks his hard erection against your thigh.
“You aren’t leaving.” he growls, “I’ll handcuff you to this damn bed if I have to. There is nothing where you came from that you don’t have here”
You writhe as he kisses down your torso, bucking and squirming, trying to push him off of you. He tugs your hips down with a growl, sinking his fingers into the squishy flesh to keep you from moving.
“P-please…” streams of tears roll down your cheeks as he tugs down your pants, “M-my home… My family.”
“This is your home now,” he growls, holding you down with one hand, fumbling with his pants with the other, taking out his hard penis.
He chuckles to himself in amusement and lines up with your hole, murmuring the next part in against your swollen lips as he pushes himself in.
“And I’m gonna make you a brand new family tonight.”
You once heard that foreign men are better lovers.
Guess it depends on which one you run into.
suguru geto, satoru gojo, levi ackerman, eren jaeger, bakugo katsuki, keigo takami, shouto todoroki, atsumu miya, osamu miya, tooru oikawa, kuroo tetsuro, kiyomi sakusa, keishin ukai, cameron beck
y’all i’m shifting tonight. i’m shifting to my dr and there’s nothing i can do about it. i’m literally the universe and the universe says i’m shifting. no one and nothing can stop me from shifting tonight. i’m shifting period. the stars are always aligned for me and they’re telling me i’m shifting. i WILL shift to my dr. i HAVE shifted to my dr. nothing in the world can prevent this from happening.
Was anyone else weirded out by the trafficking side plot with Klaus?? It made me so uncomfortable, and I felt horrible for Klaus. While I always love Klaus's screen time WHAT did that add to the plot?? It was just creepy and unnecessary and played off as a JOKE.
I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat.