#not to mention it’s ‘give tangible form to feeling and idea’

[jrwiyuri]

My teacher said I should try making some of the symbolism in my art less obvious but like.. idk how? Or how that would benefit it?

[myun-saidthoughts]

Reasons Why Water House Synastry Is Karmic and Intense:

In this post, I want to address some reasons why water house (4th, 8th, and 12th) synastry can be very intense, very transformational and why it creates/increases codependency.

(the basis of this thread is the fact that there is attraction and desire within the romantic connection, and the depth of feeling will run more true if you share multiple other intense synastry aspects/past life connections. Friendships/family relations that have heavy 8th/12th house synastry overlays manifest *very* differently)

Each water house has one common factor, and that's with these type of synastry overlays; you will feel seen or accepted. In some way, some form, the severity of it depends (as usual), but

if you struggle with:

4TH House:

Showing your true character to others without the fear of being judged.

Sharing your inner thoughts to others with ease and safeness.

The fact that you never felt/had a safe home, so now you long for that feeling (of being at ease/comfortable with someones presence).

Feeling ease and comfortability within your environment or within yourself, instead you experienced that those feelings came at a cost.

Feeling secure when you're meeting others/being open to others.

Stating your inner thoughts or feelings outwardly and confidently.

Trusting others.

8TH House: If you struggle with:

Self acceptance.

Self worth.

Self love.

Self confidence.

Accepting/receiving love.

Having low respect for yourself (meaning how others treat you may be hurtful but because of lack of validation within, you allow or accept that behavior).

Having a pattern where the way others treat you either gives or takes away validation your inner wounds need.

Deeply craving emotional closeness yet fearing it at the same time.

Allowing yourself to desire love.

The fact you're emotionally unavailable; so you're unsure with how to deal with romance, and yet a part of you still deeply desires a partner.

These also may resonate if you have 8H Placements, Pluto aspecting inner planets/Scorpio placements.

12TH House: If you struggle with:

Emotionally availability/allowing someone to see you, all of you.

Receiving tangible, stable, harmonious, love.

Having a habit to/find it easier to fix or save someone in hopes of changing their self destructive habits or mental health issues. This type of tendency creates an avoidance within yourself especially if you don't focus on your own needs or problems. (it's easier to focus on someone else's pain rather than your own)

Feeling safe with the idea of not being needed, instead you choose to be the giver or other woman since it subconsciously keeps you at a distance of being openly loved (which is something you subconsciously fear)

Holding the deep desire to feel seen past the physical 3D.

Allowing yourself to receive the type of love you're able to give/shower another.

Wanting to fix or heal someone's mental health wounds or problems, you find it safer to be their savior rather than have a true give and take partnership.

(These also may resonate if you have 12H, Neptune aspecting inner planets/Pisces placements)

These are a few examples of how intense these synastry overlays may manifest if you are struggling with the above statements. I briefly mentioned a few indicators, needless to say they are more and each synastry chart or even natal chart will always paint the picture better of how deep these relationships can manifest.

then 4th, 8th, and 12th house synastry will cause internal shift within, whether you want it to or not.

4th House: With the 4th house and when someone walks into your life and they ignite your IC, the part of your character that you readily hide becomes unlocked. If you personally have struggled with being comfortable in your skin, or have struggled with feeling secure with who you are as you are, then this person to you will feel like a comfort blanket. Their presence will shift you into a mood where all you feel is safe, present, and in the moment. With them, you will feel complete in showcasing your inner world and your inner thoughts. Their presence will become this key that you didn't even knew you need. It'll feel easy with them, and there is no hesitation, confusion or worry. You can't feel worry, and it's not because they insistently tell you not to feel anxious, you just naturally won't. You guys will likely share the same humor or communication style, and if there is a Venus conjunct IC then the IC person will feel this romantic pull with showcasing their personality outwardly that they won't be able to shake towards the Venus person. Overall these feelings are especially true if you struggle with letting someone in, if it takes some time for you to allow someone else to see your personality or thoughts, then they will feel like a cure for allowing to let that side of you out and when you're next to them; you'll feel like you're finally home.

Example: you walk into a bar and they make eye contact with you, you instantly smile, they instantly smile, and the conversation that ignites feels as if you just spoke to them. It could be weeks, months even since you last saw them but the comfortability between the two of you oozes out in a way where it feels like they just came back home to you. (especially if you share heavy 3H synastry overlays as well or if their mercury softly aspects your inner planets, vice versa)

The reason why this type of connection can be hard to let go of is because their presence might cause or create a codependent need in you for them in order to feel "safe." All their presence is doing is igniting the secure feeling in you that you wish you had, you finally can look into another's eyes and feel that type of comfortability you've always been scared enough to unlock or accept. Your private thoughts and characteristics feel safe next to them, and because of that, they create this security within you won't know how to let go of. So, all they are doing is unleashing your wish of being your truest self without fearing the consequences of being seen for who you are.

In some cases, 4th house synastry may not run as intense, and some say it can be 'mundane' or boring, especially if you don't struggle with the listed wounds I stated, or if you don't share other intense or cute attraction synastry aspects with them; but in essence this individual will feel like a grounding force.

The bond you can form with them is tangible, it's secure, and it feels real. So, letting them go will feel as though you're letting go the one desire of ever revealing your private inner self with ease, especially if this is a part of you that you've been too afraid to openly show or even accept.

Songs That Relate

Look After You - The Fray

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Control - Zoe Wees

Hey Stranger - Billie Flynn

8th House: With the 8th house, these type of connections are more intense, and naturally so. With this type of synastry, and if you struggle with self acceptance especially with self love or self worth, then letting go of this connection will feel near to impossible. It will feel like life or death if they walk away from you, and it will feel like a part of you dies every time they don't give you the reassurance or acknowledgment your soul wishes for. Their eyes alone, tell you it's time to let that wall down and without effort your wall crumbles. You know that if they leave, a part of you will leave with them but if your wound of wishing to be accepted runs so deep within, you can't help but take that risk. You're aware that the unavoidable low following their absence will cut deep, yet instead of walking away, you prepare yourself for its inevitable arrival.

You allow that pain to embody you because that pain hurts less than not feeling those moments of acceptance that they are able to give you, especially if it's what you've always reluctantly wished for.

With their presence that void of wanting emotional closeness that you've always longed for will feel like it has vanished, their eyes alleviate the long-ignored half-empty feeling, and so the part of you that wishes to been seen, the part of you that wishes to feel accepted, the part of you that wants to be vulnerable won't know how to let go.

You could run into them and it could be weeks, months even and if you still struggle with loving yourself in the way you wish they would, their presence will create this upheaval that will shake within you, this synastry holds cycles, loops, ups and down to the point of where if you don't hate them, a part of you will still want them.

This synastry creates a dynamic where this soul that entered your life is only igniting the parts of you that you, yourself don't accept, love or acknowledge. Their presence becomes this band-aid that somehow soothes the deepest parts of you that have been abandoned, and their presence soothes the part of you that you yourself believe you can't heal. This fear then creates a scarcity mindset that can cause you to become someone you're not, and even if you logically know what is objectively best to do in situations to not create more intensity within the connection; there's just a part of you that can't care.

The reason why this type of connection can be hard to let go of is because their presence might cause or create a codependent need in you to have them in order to feel "seen." Their presence gives you a sense of acceptance where you allow yourself to accept love in. If you struggle with emotional abandonment, or fear love, then their presence will feel like a "skip the line" pass with inner healing the parts of you that feel broken.

The reason why 8th house synastry is discussed so promptly and openly is because these feelings that persist (when dealing with inner wounds) become such catalysts of growth and ego deaths; but that is only because this connection allows in the hope for love you've been wishing for all your life. You want to be held, you want to be cared for and loved in a way that you've never received, and this person presences grants that sole wish. They bring you that one solace feeling that you've never felt and because of that, letting them go is letting go the one key that makes you feel worthy, seen, and accepted.

Their presence creates this codependent need within because they become this one "thing" that you think you need in order to fulfill that self love wound you keep repressing. You'll start to rely on them for emotional clarity or serenity, you'll start to "need them" in order to feel good, and you'll expect them to make you feel "better" emotionally and if they fail to meet those expectations, all you'd be faced with is the unwavering feeling of the lack of self love or worth you're too afraid to self develop.

The love you're so readily able to give them, is what your soul is asking you to give yourself.

*Those who have prominent natal Scorpio or 8th house placements as well as having Pluto aspecting harshly their inner planets or ascendant will feel these trials and errors more*

Songs That Relate:

Locksmith/You Don't - Sadie Jean

Addicted - Kelly Clarkson

Im Yours/Heartbeat - Isabel LaRose

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart - Ariana Grand

Heavenly - Cigarettes After Sex

Is There Somewhere - Halsey

12th house:

This post focuses exclusively on a 12th house relationship between two kind and evolved individuals. While there are other darker themes associated with 12th house synastry — such as deception, substance abuse, hidden affairs (like being the other woman or mistress), lies about one partner’s true nature, or fear that one partner is withholding information or their true self — I won’t be discussing those here. I might explore those themes in a future post, as they are important to note, but for now, my main focus will not include those themes.

“Though I barely know you, it feels as if I do. Your eyes and body language seem to speak your thoughts, even the ones I can’t fully grasp. There’s no visible thread connecting us, yet this feeling remains.” — Planet Person

With the 12th house, this synastry unlocks so many different routes and experiences. Many factors influence how each individual can feel towards this ethereal connection. One way this synastry can manifest is through the tendency for the 12th house to cloud, confuse, and bring hesitancy into the connection. In some cases, Person A (or the person who has heavy Neptune/Pisces/12th house placements) will feel as though they can read Person B in such a deep and subconscious way; this type of knowing may even be hidden from Person B to the extent that they are unaware of their own subconscious emotional needs, thoughts or feelings, and yet (especially if there's care or desire on their end) Person A can read Person B like a book. 12th house synastry can be so thought provoking because of the absolute depth and surreal feeling it can add into the connection. The planet person (or the person who has heavy Neptune/Pisces/12th house placements) will feel this innate drive to be with the house person (or the other partner who isn't as spiritual adept). It's as if one partner, driven by an innate need to give endlessly, is profusely tossing their sole bucket of water into the vast ocean of the other partner's needs. The giver (or the person who has heavy Neptune/Pisces/12th house placements) is so focused on giving that they overlook the importance of receiving, while the receiver remains oblivious.

If Person B remains unaware of the deep spiritual bond between them that can manifest, they may perceive Person A's actions as invasive or unnecessary. Person A, recognizing wounds in Person B that Person B may not be aware of can evoke a sense of fear in Person B, this has to deal with the issue of them not allowing or accepting a form of love that they believe (Person B) doesn't serve them.

If this scenario resonates with you, then this individual is provoking a wound within yourself that deals with the acceptance of receiving authentic love. This innate need to only give highlights your own fear of receiving real reciprocal, stable, tangible love.

In this scenario where one party wants to save, fix, heal or give, highlights that fearful nature within you where you allow to stay in shallow waters. You subconsciously know that you have such passionate love to give, but that thought of giving to someone who in turn might be willing to give back evokes fear and uncertainty within you.

This subconscious block holds more comfortability within you since it allows you to never accept a love where your soul will fully be fulfilled. It's self sabotaging and self written, you naturally already know how the story will end between you two, and so you subconsciously will find a character who perfectly embodies the story you yourself say you try to run from.

On the other hand this synastry (when desired and when it's dealing with highly evolved individuals) can unlock such deep soulfulness between both partners. Between the two parties, it'll feel as if they have found someone that can finally understand them better than anyone ever has, it'll feel dreamy and mystical. It'll feel as if their body language writes stories that you could only read.

In a pure sense, one partner that desires the other very deeply and whole heartedly wants to make sure that their partner is seen, and understood. And this comes from a very sincere place and if the other receiving partner allows that kind of love in while being okay with giving that same love back, that is when this type of connection can be ideal.

Now in this scenario, this type of codependent nature deals with over emphasizing redemption with no boundaries. If there is solid exchangeable love, a part of you may believe there is always more good than bad within them or within the relationship, and so their wrongdoings or unacceptable behavior to you or to others somehow receives justification or more understanding than he or she should receive. (especially if you also share 8th house synastry with them). As well as it's important to understand that if there is this innate understanding given by one partner that's always present when there shouldn't be, that's when the relationship can become overwhelming, or draining. Just because you know, understand or empathize with the other partner's actions or patterns doesn't make their actions okay.

This type of dynamic receives interchanging parts, with the 12th house things can lack a solid foundation and have a lack crystal clear communication, some days you both won't deal with struggling dynamics, then one day Partner 1 acts out, to which Partner 2 cuirasses and holds, then a few weeks later Partner 2 acts out and Partner 1 comes to their aid.

Truly the amount of stories, experiences, how Person 1 will feel vs Person 2 is genuinely so intercomplicated and nuanced. Each story lies within the two parties involved, with this house they are just so many different routes and avenues it can uphold, so this particular post may not cover every ounce of information on 12th house synastry. If you are curious to learn more only about this synastry I have a long updated post titled "Understanding 12th House Synastry" and it's far more in-depth (click the text).

In essence, how the other partner receives this type of boundless understanding calls for them to be a very kind and open individual. It's important to understand and recognize red flags or self undoing patterns. Staying aware of the actual real situation instead of sitting in bed thinking of the "What if's" are key. Their posts may not be about you, that song on their story can be just a song, remember that. Especially if the individual lacks self awareness or care on their end.

Finally, I don't believe water house synastry holds malicious energy or serves as a dictatorship with stating how the relationship will fail. Not every synastry overlay is set for such intense energy or uncomfortable experiences, each planet in a natal chart holds different themes. What truly matters at the end of the day are the two souls involved within the connection. Desire, care, love, and acceptance are all foundational keys for any relationship to last even those with or without water house synastry. Accepting yourself in the purest form when it comes to each water house theme (4,8,12) is key.

Your natal chart when it comes to synastry serves as a mirror within yourself, everything you are feeling for someone else is already sitting within you.

Don't forget that.

[decayedsword]

Boys Beware

(Electric Guitarist) Ronin Beaufort x (Criminal Investigator) Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Mild Blood, Mentions of Murder, Stalker Behavior, Making out, References to Religion

Reader: Nonbinary (They/them), Second Person POV

Summary:

When you're a rising criminal investigator who finally gets stumped on one of their cases, the only clue you (probably) have is a safety pin left in the middle of an alleyway.

You drown out your sorrows in a bar, only to lock eyes with the lead guitarist of the band on stage.

You can't find it in you to ignore him.

But, you can find it in you to ignore the safety pin tucked by the zipper of his jacket falling from his shoulders.

Read more... below! Cross posted on ao3 under <rottenvamp>

There have been a number of news reports on a new serial killer in town. This is a devastating fact for you, after all, you've spent weeks gathering as much intel you can on him —The Butcher. You kept reading over the list of the clues on the scene, watching videos of the mess of gore and guts he left behind, searching for various motives and connections he may have to his victims, to no avail. He's untraceable. No one would think he existed if it weren't for the occasional body-in-a-satanic-ritual he left every few months.

Your room is currently a mess of papers, pictures, sticky-notes and red yarn because of this new case. As a rising criminal investigator, you believed you could track down anyone, especially after busting down several meth-labs and drug dens. It's as if this guy was testing you, questioning your ego and pride and smirking in your face as he did so.

You sort through the notebooks and documents on your desk. Your laptop lies underneath. Swiftly opening it, a ding comes from your phone. You sigh in frustration. You wanted to go through with this as soon as possible. For someone you didn't know, The Butcher was good at getting on your nerves.

Boss - 17:43
Good evening. You are temporarily dismissed for the week. I request for you to find clues to our “uptown killer.” Thank you.

Ah. Short and sweet, you think as you grit your teeth. Just great.

It seriously doesn’t help how everyone at work says they know the media’s just “lying” and it’s all a big conspiracy. There’s usually no body left behind, and even if there are, their bodies are too much of an amalgamation of blood and bones. Several of your clues are lacking. The only tangible piece of evidence you have in your hands is a safety pin dropped on the scene, and even you’re unsure if it belongs to the killer or not.

The headache bubbles up from your brain to your eyes. You can feel the lack of sleep sinking in slowly. As you massage your temple, a wretched idea forms its way up to your head, pushing away the tired from your mind. Alcohol.

Well, you are of age, and you’ve always seen detectives and police officers drinking in bars during a case, so why not? Your manager basically did give you a week-long break. You knew with how secretive your killer is, you wouldn’t be able to find a trace of them anyway. Might as well put your dismissal to good use.

You grab your jacket off of your chair and head out the door.

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You can’t remember the time anymore.

The lights at the club are bright and almost epilepsy inducing. There’s a band performing on the stage, you don’t care who they are. Sure, maybe they're all somewhat attractive, but you really can't afford a one-night stand right now, and there’s no way in hell that you have time for a relationship. Your grip on your drink tightens in contempt.

You hop off your seat and lean backwards against the counter, taking in the drink the bartender just gave you. It’s disgustingly sweet. You forgot what you ordered for him to make it taste like this. Out of drunkenness, you hope you didn't tell him something embarrassingly edgy.

The familiar numbness nestles itself inside your brain. You’re still exhausted and pissed about the case, and this Strawberry-Shortcake-esque drink is not helping. You bite your lip, running the series of events through your brain again. How the Butcher took lives in the same alleyway, his way of making the victim disappear, the way he tore their stomachs open, the similar trauma marks to the back of the head, the safety pin left behind—

The sharp sound of an electric guitar brings you out from your senses. It’s ruthless, messy, and yet so beautifully mesmerizing. Your eyes move back to the band and maybe you admire the burgundy-haired guitarist and how he presses his back against the blonde singer as she belts out the most melodic tune you could think of. They looked like a match made in heaven, but somehow their aura screamed “just friends”.

You observe how the riffs of the guitar fight against the notes of the singer. It’s a competition that the blonde lets the guitarist win as she rolls her eyes at him. The guitarist only smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers against the strings and only playing harder. He’s truly a sight to behold, the way his jacket falls off his shoulders and pools near his elbows, revealing a black tank top that hugs his toned body. His neck is adorned with a variety of necklaces, but the choker imbued with spikes he wears kind of makes him look like a dog.

Your eyes widen as you move from his neck to his shoulders, seeing a safety pin stuck to his jacket right below a pin with a big red X on it.

You cover your eyes with your free hand as you look down. You’re crazy. This is real life. That man before you is not a serial killer. For a second, the two voices in your head argue back-and-forth about the mystery man. Sure, he's kind of hot, but if he really were The Butcher, wouldn't that put your life at risk? Plus, you just said you had no time for relationships.

You take a sip from your glass and look back up to the stage and find that the blonde is singing again. The guitar is drowned out now, seeing as how it’s overpowered by the harmony of the drums and the keytar.

All is well until you spot a pair of onyx eyes glaring at you from across the room, and a devilish smirk that has you falling for temptation, offering you the fruit from the garden. You swallow. He runs his tongue across his teeth, and you spot a round piece of metal that settled itself nicely on the muscle. You shudder.

After the band finishes their act, the ravenette playing the keytar speaks a few words of thanks into the microphone.

You don’t miss the way the guitarist brings his hand up to his ear, with only the thumb and pinky up, as he stares into your eyes, seemingly prying for information from you. You can physically feel him enter the room in your brain and destroy the months of evidence you've worked so hard on to compile onto one cork-board. He mouths, “Call me.”

You can’t find it in you to turn away.

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You rush home, getting on public transit to avoid being followed. The gut feeling that you’re going to die tonight is unshakeable, and you're more than aware that the chances of you getting murdered on the street only get higher when you're alone. The bus you’re on passes by an alleyway and you swear you see two figures in the dark. Abruptly rising from your seat, you press your face closer to the window, however the shadows have disappeared into the night, reclaimed by the darkness. The bright full moon in the sky laughs at you.

The bus stops. You excuse yourself from the arraignment of people standing. Hurriedly, you tap your bus card onto the scanner and leave, chucking it back into your pocket. Upon entering your apartment complex, you deem the elevator too dangerous. Once it closes, you’re trapped inside with whoever’s in there forever. You opt for the stairs instead, the quick pitter patter of your footsteps breaking the deadly silence of the night.

You reside on the 14th floor. Well, technically the 13th, but due to the city’s fear of superstition, they skipped the number entirely. As you reach your door, there's a package on the ground, and you swear you’re being watched as you stare at it, burning holes into the cardboard. You feel the erratic beat of your heart as you take it indoors, locking the door behind you.

Taking your jacket off and tossing it to god-knows-where, you put the strange box on your kitchen counter. You notice that it has no shipping label, so someone must’ve left this out there for you. You gulp.

You bring out a cutter and tear through the tape sealing it shut. You’re sure you’re sober now, and you feel as though you’re going to release eternal damnation to the world by seeing the contents of this box.

Opening the flaps, you’re met the disgusting smell of rotting flesh. You’re sure of this, this isn’t your first criminal case, you've seen worse than you've smelled. Aside from the foul odor, there’s mix of paper and plastic, and atop the mess is a note in messy handwriting. You concluded the note was not written using someone’s blood after noticing the stains of black ink every few letters. You read.

"Darling detective,

Eager, are we? the desperation and utter obsession you bestow all for this Vicious little butcher? i might as well be your muse, your god even, with the hours you spend looking for me. this is so fucking Invigorating. i wonder if its the same for you, do you Love this? or does it make you want to rot?

see ya in purgatory <3"

Analyzing the text leads you to conclude that whoever-left-this-on-your-doorstep's ego is huge. Claiming to be The Butcher, shamelessly flirting with you, leaving a heart at the end of the note, hell—the act of leaving this package in your very capable hands itself is already prideful. You can feel your eye twitch at the idea.

You don't miss how the capitalized letters spell out "DEVIL." ...What an edgelord.

Moving around the paper and plastic, you're met with a shocking site. The image of a decapitated human hand holding a bleeding heart burns itself into your retinas, and you can feel the smell worsen. You hurry and grab a pair of gloves to ensure that you can send this to the lab for testing.

You go for the heart first. After holding it in your hands you can tell it's fake, a prop, a mere pawn pushed by The Butcher in this silly game of tag. You come closer and sniff the blood dripping off of it, and it's smells like nothing. The realization hits you that it's fucking fake blood that must be made out of cornstarch or some other similar substance. You wish you could crush it in your fist out of anger, but it may be better to keep it as evidence. You hope the hand'll show you better results.

It doesn't. The hand is hallowed out, no bones, no blood, no nothing. The fingerprints and handprints are meticulously scraped off, making it unable to identify who this hand belongs to. You curse under your breath. As much as you hate to admit it, this guy is good.

Stuffing the bloody paraphernalia back into the box, you take off your gloves and wash your hands. You send a quick message to your boss and hope he doesn't reply. You're sick and tired of today. You've created this weird rivalry with a serial killer who might be stalking you, and it's driving you insane.

You punch the wall out of frustration, gritting your teeth as you do so. You shakily breathe through your nose, and decide that this is best resolved tomorrow when you're in the right state of mind. If you tried to look for the serial killer today, you're sure you'd become a murderer yourself and stick a knife down his throat to shut his ego up.

As you flop down to your bed, a mess of pillows and a large blanket, your phone rings. Groaning, you pick up the phone.

"Yes, chief?"

"I thought I told you to call me."

Your eyes are force open by the sound of a voice you don't recognize. This is not your boss. You open your phone and there it says: Unknown Caller ID. With a slightly wavering intensity in your voice, you manage to get out "Who are you?"

A cackle is heard in the background, nauseating and revolting. You can hear the smile he has on his face and you can tell he loves playing with you like this, controlling you like his doll, amongst the other dolls he has chewed open and spit out. You wonder if he's going to ruin you as he ruined them.

"The Devil."

The call ends there, and you're left unsatisfied for the night. This guy has it out for you, but now you're sure that the hot guitarist you saw at the club and The Butcher are one and the same.

You're almost disappointed. The guitarist really looked like he was sweet, like he was an angel who descended from the heavens above, but then he decided to twist this imaginary narrative you've created. He's a fallen angel, from an archangel to the devil himself—that was precisely who the The Butcher is, it's what he stands for. He takes lives with no remorse, just as how god has taken his. The intake of information floods your head, making several deductions and conclusions left and right. You reach for the note, wrinkling the paper with how hard you hold it in your hand.

"see ya in purgatory <3"

You grab your jacket off of the floor and leave your phone behind. You're going to track down a serial killer tonight, and that's final, and you're going to see the look on the devil's face when he's met with an angel of justice. 

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You rush to "Purgatory", the name of an alleyway Uptown. The stone walls are covered with graffiti, and if you observe closely, you can smell the scent of blood and death carved onto the pavement. There's a strange feeling that you're not welcome here, like the crows themselves would swoop down from the sky to peck at your insides and steal your humanity. You let out a shaky breath and go deeper into the alley.

There's no light coming from inside Purgatory. The other side of the way is blocked by a building, walls overgrown with vines and white flowers. With how beautiful this scene can be, you find yourself a bit surprised that this is where The Butcher's murders take place. You remember you were here a month ago, investigating the death of one of his victims when you found the safety pin on the ground. 

Your breath is taken from you when someone slams you against the wall. Your heart is stolen from you when he stares at you, grotesque and rotten and grinning like the devil he is. There's blood dripping out of his nose and you fight the urge to wipe it off him alongside his smirk. He leans in closer, and you flinch, closing your eyes. The Butcher pulls you close to him, your bodies flush together. He throws his head back and cackles, just like how he did over your phone call. It makes your stomach flip upside down.

The murder of crows caw in unison, acting as a messenger to allow you to finally open your eyes. His gaze, once more, burns into yours, and you're met with the ever-familiar onyx eyes you saw at the club tonight. He's taller than he acts, especially with how his back hunches to level himself with you, admiring your face. 

"Good morning, darling." he whispers, his raspy voice making itself heard in your ears, and you're sure that this is it, this is temptation, this is what Eve saw in the garden that day, this is what made her turn away from Adam and fall for the serpent. He grins and it's oh-so mischievous.

Dawn approaches. The sky's a light purple, and you can feel your sweat prickling down your neck. His breaths are felt against your lips, and maybe, maybe, this is where you fall, this is when you bite the fruit he's bitten into, and this is where your body will rot. You can feel his intention to devour you, to gut you alive and laugh as he does so. You're not scared, you could never be, this is love in its purest form, its sickest form, and this almost-parasocial relationship you've developed finally becomes requited.

You pull him by the collar; his lips are heaven and his tongue is hell. He tastes forbidden, but you're too far gone to notice. His hands slither to your waist, pulling you closer. His tongue piercing is cold in contrast to his mouth, making you shiver. Your hands are now at the back of his neck, begging, urging him for more. There's so much to take from him and so little time to do so. When he pulls away, there's a thin line of saliva that connects your lips, and your face flushes at the indecency.

The Butcher stares at you. You stare back. The tension in the air is thick. The sun's almost up. You two could so easily get caught like this. You swallow the fruit he's given you, and now you're expecting to be condemned to hell.

"You're pathetic." he whispers with a grin. You fiddle with the spikes on his collar. You whisper back.

"You love me for that."

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

"Good morning citizens! Today's news comes from our local police department. A criminal investigator seems to have gone missing after being given a one week dismissal to find clues related to a serial killer you may know the name of, "The Butcher." Witnesses say the investigator was at a bar the night before they went missing, however no one knows what follows. More recent news about the kille—"

"Hey!" You screech, trying to reach the remote from your boyfriend's grasp. "I was watching that, you know!" 

He holds the remote high in the air as you try to grab it, laughing at your desperation to watch the show.

"Ronin, you dick!" 

It's almost domestic in a way, how the two of you managed to end up in his apartment, hiding from the watchful gaze of the divine and the powerful, but this is not your happy ending. He is a murderer and you are a dead person walking.

[hools]

Sorry if this is a weird question, but how do you come up with your drawings? What does through your mind while making them? I find your compositions so gorgeous and intriguing but I can't really figure out how you approach things since everything's very shifty and abstract. It's really gorgeous work, I'm so glad I discovered your art :,)

hey first of all this isnt a weird question at all & i'm really glad you enjoy my art heheheheheehe. there's an incoming large largely unformatted block of text that i hope you dont mind!

Honestly there are a billion things going through my mind at a time while I'm drawing and they all sort of bump into each other and cancel each other out like opposing particles. If you've seen any of my streams i'm usually very fast and iterative in a lot of my process and i rarely ever slow down even past the early parts like thumbnailing and sketching. i kind of let my hands do the talking more, yknow? but even then theyre never talking about a single thing at a time. everything interacts with everything, which is probably why i always end up getting lost and meandering. composition is not independent from color & value and neither are they from texture and perspective. its hard thinking of all of the ways they mesh and react to one another so i spend less of my energy thinking and more of it doing, and then assessing once something interesting comes about it. i guess then i prioritize my Hand Movement Actioning and Eye Vision Seeing over my Brain Neuron Assessing. but even though iterations can come and go quick this kind of informed throwing-against-the-wall isn't really the Fastest. but its fun. and you get to stuff all the unused ideas in your pocket for later.

even though i did say how connected everything is i always seem to start with composition. it kind of affects and informs everything the most at least on an individual piece level. with thumbnails & composition in general i think youre supposed to think huge right. so i Always think huge. push everything as much as you can. start with a crazy angle (not necessarily angle meaning "perspective" but like an angle between two lines) and border your scene within it. take an already steep foreshortening and steepen it further with the transform tool & see what shapes form from the empty & filled space. shrink your subject to only fit 3/4ths of the canvas and build around it to make it work. blow things up (enlargen) and blow things up (remove & obliterate). with composition you have so much room for fuckery if you give yourself the grace to accept the fuckiness.

and i guess this freedom to fuck around and iterate and build and build and build upon comes from how most of the time my initial ideas are very. vague? abstract like you've said. sometimes its Just a song or a song lyric and nothing else (no characters to attach to just the feel and my gut). sometimes its a less than 5 word phrase i felt strongly about throughout the day. in my me-only discord server i have messages in #to-draw channel that just say shit like "something about guitar straps" "thanks for knowing me!" "angel don't look at me" "DITHER QUEEN" (<-been meaning to make something with that). for things that have specific guidelines i spend more time thinking conceptually (the "rare animal" coelacanth drawing being an example) but otherwise it mostly comes out after. again. the first strokes. after you put the meat and bones on the canvas. an artist at a workshop i was at last year when i was in my own head about Needing to have a fleshed tangible Profound concept before being able to start something told me not to underestimate the stories that can be told just by your hands. and i think thats what stuck with me the most.

& one last thing i wanna mention is how despite how much i revel in the chaos of the process ive found how important limits are. i don't like cutting back on everything but i like cutting back on some things. sometimes i cut out backgrounds for solid fills and i love them that much more. sometimes i have little subconscious rules in a piece that i try not to break to keep a little level of consistency. if somethings a big wonderful mess already then i love a limited pallet and i love keeping parts empty and i love being able to breathe a little. yknow. but still go over the top in the other parts you have so much permission to. less is more but have a little more in your art than less. YKNOW?

but yeah thanks again for your kind words and wanting to listen to me talk. i havent been drawing much at all so these arent too fresh on the mind but i think i got a lot of what i wanted to say out. i hope u and others can get things out of this! if i made any sense <3

[xxuhaechan]

6. tease free zone

The teasing had been relentless.

It felt like every time you breathed, one of your friends would mention something about how you and Haechan were secretly in love, or how you were totally going to end up together.

And honestly?

You were done with it.

But today, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, your friends had suddenly stopped.

It started when Jaemin and Renjun finally stopped making their usual comments, the ones that made your cheeks feel like they were on fire.

They’d been giving you looks, you knew those looks, the ones that made it clear they thought they knew something you didn’t.

You were sure that at any second, they’d start in with their usual teasing about you and Haechan being secretly into each other, but instead,

Jaemin just slid into the chair beside you with a bored expression.

“Alright, enough with the drama,” he said, setting his phone down on the table. “I’m here to work. Don’t need to hear you two bantering every five minutes.”

Renjun nodded, giving a pointed glance toward Haechan, who was grinning like an idiot. “Yeah. It’s getting old.”

You blinked, confused. “Wait, what?”

Haechan, still leaning back in his chair, shrugged casually. “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You definitely know what they’re talking about.”

Instead of smirking, though, Haechan just sighed. “Look, Y/N, I’m trying to get work done. Can we focus on that instead of… whatever this is?”

You blinked again. That was… surprisingly mature of him.

There was an odd, almost tangible shift in the air as everyone seemed to come to an unspoken agreement: No more teasing.

You had no idea what had caused it.

Maybe it was the way you looked absolutely miserable whenever they brought it up, or maybe they just didn’t feel like it today.

Either way, you couldn’t help but feel a little… relieved.

Jaemin crossed his arms and leaned back. “We know you two are probably not some secret couple or whatever, but it’s kind of fun to mess with you guys.

But… I think we’re all sick of hearing it at this point.”

Renjun nodded, glancing at Haechan before turning to you. “Yeah, you guys have been partners for this project long enough. Let’s just get it done.”

You stared at them for a moment. Were you dreaming?

Haechan, to your surprise, didn’t say anything. He just sat there, finally focused on his laptop. You glanced over at him.

Maybe he’d somehow bought into the whole “let’s work” thing, and this wasn’t the worst situation you’d ever been in after all.

You let out a sigh, adjusting your glasses. “Okay, fine. Let’s finish this thing, then.”

The group spent the next hour actually working. There was no teasing, no ridiculous remarks, no mention of you and Haechan in any form of romantic context.

It was… strangely peaceful.

You even managed to get through the last part of the project without feeling the usual annoying tug in your chest when

Haechan’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Instead, you focused on your part of the work and let the silence settle over the table.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a solid compromise.

As the last of the project was wrapped up, Jaemin stretched his arms above his head. “Well, that was easier than expected.”

Haechan shot a playful look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaemin grinned. “I just thought you two were about to end up fighting again. You know, you can’t get through an hour without some kind of verbal sparring.”

This time, when Haechan looked at you, it wasn’t with his usual teasing grin. Instead, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.

“Guess you were wrong,” he said. “We’re actually capable of working without getting distracted.”

You smirked, feeling a bit of the old tension lift from your shoulders. “Yeah, well, miracles happen.”

And for the first time in a while, it felt like you were finally on the same page as him, not as rivals or enemies, but simply as people who had a job to do.

No more teasing.

No more awkward silences.

And, for once, no more denying that maybe, just maybe, this project was actually a little more bearable when you didn’t have to fight the way you usually did.

It was quiet when the group decided to head out, everyone happy with the completion of the project.

You stood up, grabbing your bag, but before you could fully leave, Haechan called out to you.

“Hey,” he said, voice suddenly quieter than usual.

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual teasing grin. It was… a little more genuine. “We got through it. So, um… thanks for sticking with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

“I told you,” you said, a little unsure of how to react. “You’re not the worst partner.”

Haechan chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now.”

You laughed, more out of nerves than anything. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

And as you turned to leave the café with your friends, for the first time in what felt like forever, you had no idea what the next step was, but you were okay with that.

Maybe you and Haechan weren’t quite on the same page yet. But you were finally starting to think that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite as far apart as you once thought.

And that was a pretty big deal.

You stepped outside, the fresh air hitting you as you walked toward your friends who were already chatting and laughing amongst themselves.

The usual tension between you and Haechan wasn’t there. Sure, there was still a lot of awkwardness, but for the first time in a while, it felt like things had shifted in a way you weren’t quite ready to analyze.

It wasn’t that you suddenly liked him, oh no, not that.

But the teasing, the constant back and forth that used to feel so grating? It wasn’t there anymore.

You glanced behind you to find Haechan, who was walking a few steps behind you, looking as normal as he ever had.

He didn’t look like the guy who used to annoy the life out of you, making sarcastic comments and constantly trying to get under your skin.

No, now he just looked like a regular guy who had, against all odds, become someone you could tolerate.

And maybe… that was a small win in itself.

“You okay?” Ningning asked, nudging your shoulder as she walked beside you.

You blinked at her. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a grin. “You’re acting like you just solved world peace or something.”

You rolled your eyes, your nerves making you feel awkward all of a sudden. “No, I just—” You stopped yourself before you said anything too much. Instead, you just shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I’m fine.”

But Karina, always a little too perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just discovered something… interesting.”

“God, it’s not like that,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“You sure?” Karina smirked. “Because if we didn’t know better, we’d say something’s going on between you and Haechan.”

“I swear to God, if you guys say that one more time,” you started, but Karina just grinned wider.

“I’m just saying,” she teased. “There’s definitely something going on there.”

“Nothing is going on,” you replied firmly, even though you could feel your cheeks warming up just a little bit.

“Sure, sure,” Karina said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But if you change your mind…”

You groaned, walking ahead of them in a half attempt to escape their relentless teasing. But you couldn’t help but notice the way your mind kept wandering back to Haechan.

As you reached the street corner, Haechan caught up to you, sliding in beside you with a casual smile. “Hey, I know they’re teasing you, but you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of funny, right?”

You shot him a look. “You’re the one who started it.”

Haechan chuckled, giving you that familiar, mischievous grin. “What can I say? I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Maybe. But you like it.”

You shot him a glare, but it wasn’t as strong as before. You couldn’t explain it. There was something about his confidence that didn’t bother you anymore.

In fact, you might have found it a little… charming.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts. “I really don’t like you, you know.”

Haechan glanced over at you with a half-smile, his voice dropping lower. “Yeah, you keep saying that, but I think you’re just in denial.”

You turned to him, about to give him another snappy response, but stopped yourself. Because, for some reason, you felt the sudden urge to just enjoy the silence.

You didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, you were getting used to his company. You definitely didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten used to his teasing and his antics.

But as you walked, a thought popped into your head: You could get used to this.

Keeho planned a meeting with us and haechan's friends so we decided to hang out at a local restaurant to celebrate finishing the project. You’d lie when u say u didn’t know his intention.

Yours and Haechan's friend group has been open with the teasing of both of us yet, only I seemed affected by it which bothered me more than it should.

As you and your friends gathered around a table, you tried to keep your focus on the food rather than your thoughts of Haechan.

But of course, Haechan wasn’t about to make that easy.

He slid into the seat next to you, uninvited, and flashed you one of his signature smirks. “So, how’s the ‘I don’t like you’ act going?”

You shot him a look but said nothing. The less you engaged, the less he’d tease. At least, that was the plan.

But Haechan wasn’t that easy to ignore. He leaned in a little, just enough to get your attention. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like me, you sure do spend a lot of time with me.”

“Can you not?” You pushed your plate away slightly, suddenly feeling too warm from the way he was looking at you. “Can we just have one meal without you saying something ridiculous?”

Haechan chuckled, shaking his head. “But ridiculous is what I do best.”

Your friends were too busy chatting to notice the small exchange between you two, but you could see the amused glint in their eyes.

Jaemin caught your gaze and gave you a knowing smile, while Renjun just shook his head.

They had obviously noticed something you hadn’t fully processed yet.

And that, despite everything, was enough to make your heart race.

Previous chapter - masterlist - next chapter

[doberbutts]

Hi, I recently came across a post of yours that said

"The only thing men have to lose from supporting feminism is misogyny. Feminism is not about tearing men down. It is about lifting women up."

I disagree with this assertion. Well, the first one at least, I absolutely agree with the second one.

I think men, materially speaking, do have things to lose from supporting feminism, aside from just misogyny.

Men would lose the ability to take advantage of women's labor. Either for free in the form of labor around the house, or for cheap by paying them less compared to men (this usually being achieved by relegating the majority of women in the workforce to positions that have been devalued as a result of being associated with womanhood, like teachers or nannies or housekeepers and so on).

I don't believe it's dangerous to acknowledge that oppressors dont have material reasons to cease their oppression, because after all if they they would've stopped a long time ago. Misogyny is pervasive not because of some pure ideological effort, but rather because it's a convenient excuse for the people in power to take advantage of a quite large subset of the world population (and as consequence spread as an ideology).

Of course I do think that quite a lot of men, once they understand this reality, would choose to reject the privilege being offered to them as they recognize accepting it would mean taking part in and upholding the system, but in doing so they're clearly not only giving up misogyny, but a tangible advantage in life that would make their lives easier (not to mention that, even if they did want to do this, the system is nonetheless pervasive and inescapable in its current form, so they would still benefit regardless of their intention. That's male privilege, after all)

I also do believe that men of all sorts suffer from living under the system. I reject the idea that all men equally benefit from it and that none ever feel its aftereffects. That being said, I do still think it's relevant to acknowledge that even men whose manhood is questioned by the system (either rejected or seen as a threat or any other way in which it doesn't fit the perfect idea of a wealthy abled cishet white man) and suffer as a result are rewarded for being men in the first place, even if they can't take full advantage of the benefits reserved for the ideal male archetype.

(I'm largely leaving my thoughts on how trans men fit in all this because I believe that to be a fairly complicated discussion)

I hope I don't come across as picking a fight or arguing in bad faith, and I'm open to hearing counterpoints if you feel differently from me (of course, if you even care to engage at all. Feel free to ignore this if that's not the case)

I mean I don't think you're picking a fight I just think you're dramatically misunderstanding what I'm saying, partially to the point where you're saying you disagree while repeating my logic back at me.

Men have nothing to lose from supporting feminism except misogyny. Taking advantage of women's labor is, in fact, misogyny.

Feminism is not about tearing men down but about lifting women up. Yes, by losing male privilege, one could I suppose argue that there are a lot of losses that come with that. To me, that is not a material loss, because the only thing we'd be removing is the entitlement to that privilege.

When I say feminism is not about tearing men down but about lifting women up, what I mean is this:

There is a fairly well documented pay gap, with men of most demographics being paid higher (even if marginally so) than women of equal demographic. Fixing the pay gap isn't lowering men's salaries. It's raising women's. What they have stays the same. What they lose is the ability to pay women less- the misogyny.

There is a fairly well documented disparity regarding women in the workplace vs men, especially in physical labor and in STEM. Fixing this issue does not remove jobs for men- it judges job candidates on their actual ability instead of sex or gender.

This is also what I mean when I say this contributes to a net positive for both sides: don't hire a shitty welder just because he's the only man applying. Hire any number of the experienced and proven welders that are women who also applied. Return to teaching welding in schools, get any kid interested in the trade the knowledge they need to start. This will not only improve the quality of the trade skills your specific employer has to offer, but it will also improve the quality of trade skills for the future generation that will replace you when you retire or die. Literally the only thing men have to lose in this situation is misogyny- the misogyny of keeping women out of the workforce, and the misogyny of keeping women from learning the trade in the first place. They get more qualified people working and all for the low low cost of not being a jerk to women.

Misogyny, like most oppression, is about control. It is not about making things better for just one demographic, because often time that very same demographic does suffer under that oppressive system while simultaneously benefitting from it. As said in my previous example, continuing to hire shitty welders just because they're dudes while deliberately passing up good welders just because they're women just makes things worse for everyone.

Not accepting college applicants just because they're women while taking substandard men who can't get in without daddy's money just makes things worse for everyone.

Continuously questioning the credentials of accomplished and professional women traching a class while nodding along in agreement to some jerk-off man's half-assed non-researched opinion on twitter just makes things worse for everyone.

Voting for Old White Man #736194 because his opponents with politics that align more closely with what the country wants- and needs- are women just makes things worse for everyone.

Ditch the misogyny. That's all. Level the playing field by actually bringing women up to the standard we've set for men. Feminism is about lifting women up.

[shrekgogurt]

Ten Questions for Writers

Thank you for the tags! @artsyunderstudy @roomwithanopenfire @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @monbons @larkral I'm eating up reading your answers because we're all so DIFFERENT.

How many works do you have on AO3? 9 (technically 10 but we orphaned one of them out of shame)

What’s your total AO3 word count? 99,978 (mine) + 7,531 (shared) + 9,991 (someone else's) = 117, 500 (total)

What fandoms do you write for? presently, Carry On but back during my high school ff.net days I did some Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus (Percabeth and some separate OCs), Alex Rider (OCs), The 100 (as an elaborate prank), Harry Potter (literally just a My Immortal parody), and Divergent (OCs) and if they weren't oneshots they were never finished.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? YES! I'm currently behind on my replies, but it's so fun! It's like a book club but for stuff I created!!???? Shit rocks. I fully didn't expect anyone to read IKABIKAM (my first fic on ao3) when I first published it and so every comment still feels like a miracle.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! I love collaborating because it gives me something to bounce off of. A scene partner. A ticking timer. It's like lifting a heavy object by yourself versus getting someone else to bear some of the weight with you. It's easier. I also find myself constantly seeking collaboration with other people even with my solo fics. I'm all up in those DMs pestering people both as motivation and as external processing. And by GOD, do you fuckers have some good ideas. Y'all make me exponentially better.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? SnowBaz but also in a very real sense...Percabeth. (You never forget your first.)

What are your writing strengths? I got my start with rping, so dialogue is really comfortable for me. I also think my training in other art forms (dance, music, theatre, film, academia) positively influence my approach. When writing action, I often mentally frame it as 'blocking' the scene or 'choreographing' the movement. When crafting sentences, I'm constantly evaluating the rhythm and rhyme and repetition (not to mention alliteration) as if it's a song, always searching for the perfect word or metaphor. I also listen to actual songs and pull the emotion from them, using them as character studies or a musical soliloquy. I imagine shots and then write what I see from the perspective of a director explaining the actor’s motivating thoughts. I constantly revisit my thesis, grounding the narrative in callbacks and a cohesive structure like it's an academic paper. And all those things combined create this kinetic cause and effect style I'm really proud of and tangibly improves every time I write something new.

What are your writing weaknesses? I do not have a firm grasp on proper grammar. I'm also really slow and inconsistent with my output because my process is so physically disorganized and meticulous which often frustrates me. I'm also impatient. I don't do wholesale messy drafts; I edit as I go and when I'm done I want it published immediately. I also fall victim to the white room syndrome with physical descriptions. Establishing shots? Don't know them. What a guy looks like? What they're wearing? Sorry, I haven't told you because it felt weird to jam in there. Outside of fanfiction, I also struggle with creating something from nothing. I'm a theologian rather than a god. I much prefer playing in a sandbox and exegeting meaning from someone else's grunt work rather than conjuring the wood and the sand myself. My writing is also incredibly referential to pop culture which I'm not sure would translate outside of fanfic, but I guess I'll cross that bridge if I ever get to it.

First fandom you wrote for? Divergent (big cringe)

Now tagging! @onepintobean @cutestkilla @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @mooncello @brilla-brilla-estrellita @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @urban-sith @prettygoododds @valeffelees @ileadacharmedlife TELL ME HOW YOU WRITE YOU GENIUSES

[litmot-archived]

III. Mais, Vrai, J'ai Trop Pleuré!

In which your infatuation becomes tangible. ~2,800 words

Warnings: smoking, talk of suicide

Overview // II. The Dead Travel Fast

Your eyes flickered from the sketch on the canvas to Xanthus’ form in front of the bookcase. He looked tense but comfortable, sitting upright in his red cushioned chair, his head turned slightly to the right in a seemingly faraway trance that did not lessen the sharpness of his gaze. 

It had been your idea to have him seated in the drawing room in front of the muted browns and blacks of the books. He appeared content to follow your artistic vision. 

The only instruction he had given was to capture more than what was right in front of you. It spoke of his disappointment with realism, a sentiment you understood only too well. 

Xanthus wanted you to paint the atmosphere. He wanted you to express more than met the eye, giving the portrait a soul of its own that reflected the world realistically but added the feeling of it as well. 

“What exactly should I try to capture?” you asked him, touching up on your sketch before preparing the paint. “Through what lens should I look while painting? Romantic? Majestic?”

“Haunting,” he stated, his tone so airily soft that your hand stilled. His eyes had shifted, now staring into you, gauging your reaction. 

You blinked, remaining silent and continuing your work a moment later. 

His mouth twisted into a faint smile, the morning light softening his sharp features.

You began painting, stroking the brush across the canvas to outline his silhouette. The movement made you feel the toll the carriage rides had taken on you, and you tried not to wince as your muscles ached.

The uncomfortable stiffness in your lower back, on the other side of your ribs, was more annoying than anything else, while the tense muscles of your shoulders and neck burned painfully from how you had been sitting.

You had tried massaging them, but every time you applied pressure, it felt like they lit on fire anew. The tightness would not leave — only with time, as you knew — so you resigned yourself to grit your teeth and hide your discomfort. 

“Things are weighing on my mind — on my heart, if you will,” Xanthus murmured, snapping you out of your thoughts as he broke his pose to raise the cup of tea to his lips. 

Images of old friends played before his eyes, bloody and dead. An anguished cry in the night from his mentor, who had lost everything. His thundering heartbeat as he ran because it had been his fault. 

“The regret of past mistakes.”

You rolled your shoulders, hands trembling as you thought about an unmarked grave in a cemetery on the outskirts of London. Why had he mentioned it? Was he implying something? 

You felt your heartbeat pick up, and you lowered your head to hide behind the canvas to close your eyes and take a deep breath. You were tired. You needed a day to lounge on your settee without lifting a hand, with the only weight you carried a book in your hand as you allowed your body to rest for a while. It needed it. You needed the time to breathe.

“We all regret things in life,” you said, straightening again and missing his concerned glance as you refused to look at him. 

“Is that why you left London?”

Your heart jumped. “No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “I left to find peace and then decided to chase the pleasures of life when I did not find it. That is the blessing of the second child.” 

“Your parents must be proud of your success.”

The mention of your parents made you freeze. “Of course,” you said with a smile you hoped was convincing. “They decided to take a break from everyday life as well” — your gaze flickered between him and the painting, partly to continue your work, partly to ascertain he believed what you were telling him — “my mother wanted to visit Crete, so they left.”

Xanthus' expression remained impassive. 

“I thought it was Athens?” he asked. 

You felt a pang in your heart, panic overtaking you. 

What did you say at the soiree? Had he even been there when you had told the lie? Was it spreading already? 

You looked up at him, plastering on your most charming smile. “Athens, then Crete,” you said. “She is— was— is a woman of many passions and an infinity of interests. Stay still, please.”

He tilted his head to gaze past you again, muttering an apology for breaking his pose. You did not notice the slight upturn of his lips but began painting it on the canvas nonetheless. 

You observed him closely, memorizing his features to commit to canvas and wondering what it was about him thatseemed to pull forth your secrets when you wanted to hunt for his instead. 

“I do not mean to interrupt,” Xanthus said, allowing his gaze to meet yours. The sun had long since traveled along the east wing, illuminating the drawing room harshly since its windows faced south. “But I need a break.”

“Certainly,” you said, putting down your brush. Your arms ached, and you twisted your head to each side to loosen the stiff muscles. “We can continue in the evening if you would like.” You needed a break as well. 

“Join me for a walk in the meantime?” he asked, rising from his seat and stretching. He walked over to the side of the drawing room, opening a glass door that led to a small wooden terrace and gesturing for you to follow. “The gardens are breathtaking this time of year.”

You fell into step alongside him, listening to his occasional comment about the flowers in the garden as he led around the east wing on a delicate road composed of small white stones. 

“It took generations for it to be harmonious,” he said, looking around with pride. “It was trial and error, truthfully. Sometimes, plants were too competitive, killing the neighboring ones. They had to be replanted in more secluded areas. It is its own art to create an ecosystem that is in balance. My father completed the garden insofar that the balance is maintained, but I am not so sure anymore. It is already a beautiful composition, but a garden is never finished, I have realized.”

“Were you close?” you asked, thinking of the barren walls and the absence of family pictures. 

“Not particularly,” Xanthus said, halting to regard the snowdrops growing peacefully. You winced at the memory of Mr. Fint. “He did not care as much for me as for the supposed honor I could bring to the family. Above all, he wanted me to fulfill my duty, so he sent me off to die for King — pardon — Queen and country.” 

So he did serve. 

You hummed, understanding his predicament. Your father might not have wanted you to join a war, but his displeasure and overt disappointment in what you enjoyed and chose to do with your life followed the same sentiment. 

“I have never understood the appeal of gardening,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I adore flowers, but I see none of the quiet happiness people talk of when digging in the dirt.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to face you with a smile. “I find it calming,” he said, continuing the stroll with you by his side. “And figuring out how the plants work to create a harmony among them — it makes me feel like a god,” he said, “pardon the blasphemy.”

You stepped into the part of the garden behind the north wing. The branches of a bush to your left rustled violently. You jumped back startled. 

A woman emerged, her thick black hair tousled despite the tight bun she wore. She looked at you quizzically, her dark brown eyes narrowing as they landed on Xanthus. She glared at him and crossed herself, not uttering a word. 

Xanthus clicked his tongue in displeasure, returning her glare, but whereas hers held a burning hatred, you only saw amusement accompanying his. 

“Rosaria,” he said, not in greeting but in a tone of voice a king might use to order his underling to perform a useless task solely for his amusement. It felt teasing but lacked the necessary benevolence. “I’d like a bouquet. Not garlic flowers. Am I understood?”

Her glare was unwavering, but she nodded once, disappearing behind the bushes. 

He looked after her, shaking his head. “Her mother was less trouble,” he murmured, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and offering them to you. 

His comment made you frown. While the gardener did not seem particularly old, she looked older than him by at least a decade. He must have heard his father’s commentary on her mother’s work, you reasoned, accepting a cigarette.

“Too kind,” you said, beating him in retrieving a matchbox first and lighting a flame triumphantly.

You lit his cigarette, earning you a teasing bow. “Likewise,” he smirked, taking a drag.

Despite having met him only a few days ago, the familiarity between you and Xanthus brought a smile to your lips. It felt good to meet a person you connected with. You were similar, you felt, and you looked forward to spending more time with him and getting to know him better. The initial intrigue had developed into cautious fondness. You liked him. 

Judging by the grin he gave you as he exhaled the smoke, the feeling was mutual.

Rosaria came back through the bushes, presenting the bouquet of roses, daffodils, snowdrops, and poppies. Xanthus placed the cigarette between his lips, taking the flowers with both hands and inspecting them. He hummed in satisfaction, turning to you. “Consider it a deposit,” he said, holding out the bouquet.

“There was no need,” you said in surprise, “but— but thank you, nonetheless.” Your gaze flickered between your host and his gardener, uncertain to whom to direct it. 

You noted the latter’s fixed stare. 

Rosaria’s eyes were trained on the exposed skin of your neck, looking at it intently. You did not know why and shifted self-consciously. Xanthus, noticing her searching gaze, huffed out a breath of smoke in annoyance.

“Get back to work,” he barked, glaring as she bowed, giving you one last weary look. “She reads too much fiction,” he grumbled, watching her retreating and scoffing as she glanced over her shoulder, crossing herself again. 

You missed the exchange, preoccupied with observing a bee collecting nectar from the poppy. 

Xanthus continued walking, pulling you along with an invisible string. He led you away from the estate and down a small hill until the water of a lake came into view, shimmering in the sunlight. You exhaled in awe, fingers itching for a blank canvas to freeze time and hold onto the scene before you forever. 

“It is one of my favorite places,” he said, smiling calmly at the peaceful scene.

“I miss the sea,” you confessed, almost dreamily, as you imagined the rolling waves crashing against the hull of a ship, lulling you to sleep with their gentle rocking. 

He chuckled mischievously, catching your eyes and nodding towards a little boathouse you had previously overlooked. “I suppose a lake is the next best thing,” he said, offering you his hand. You took it, running down the hill with his hand in yours.

The troubles of your family seemed far away in the moment, and you forgot about propriety as you heard Xanthus laugh at seeing you trip and nearly fall. You were tempted to tug on his arm to make him lose his balance, but held back. 

With the fresh breeze fanning across your face and the shade cast by swaying leaves of the trees, the thought struck you that you were painfully happy. 

The moment was perfect. You felt free. You were at peace. You had finally found what you were looking for in vain in a city far away.

You were never happy. It was the fate of all great artists, you reasoned. It felt absurd that Xanthus could bring those feelings out of you after only a few days of being acquainted. 

You sat at the stern of the little boat, watching as he rowed it further from shore. “I can help,” you offered, the aching muscles of your shoulders protesting. It looked like rowing took him as much effort as it took you to raise a paintbrush, but still, it felt wrong to let him do all the work.

“I can manage, don’t worry,” he said, glancing at you and laughing silently to himself. 

You pulled out your sketchbook, commemorating the beautiful scenery to paper. You took care to include the bouquet, resting on the roof of the boathouse and waiting for your safe return. 

The sketches of the scenery slowly turned into sketches of Xanthus, who was rowing the boat to the center of the lake. You tried to capture his serene expression, the softened lines of his face as he looked at the ripples the oars made in the water, disturbing the smooth surface. He was beautiful, fitting into the peaceful scenery as smog over London.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly, looking at him in gratitude.

Xanthus stopped rowing, reaching the center of the lake. His eyes found yours, not hesitating as he leaned forward to kiss you. 

Your eyes widened. You turned your head to avoid his lips. “I—” you searched for words in vain. His actions had been so sudden that your brain was processing things much too slowly.

Panic and euphoria were waging a war inside you, freezing you in place. You gaped at him. It was the only thing you could do as blood rushed in your ears. 

He backed away to give you space. The dejected expression on his face tore at your heartstrings. “I must have misread things,” he said quickly, searching your gaze for any sign of discomfort. He had feared he had made things awkward.“Please, forgive me.”

“No, I—” you began, shaking your head. You had not expected things to develop so soon. It felt like a rush, as if you were drunk on a high of pleasure and happiness you had never felt before, as Xanthus encompassed you in a whirlwind of levity and impulsivity. 

It made you wonder if you were ready for it. You had rushed into things before, and the mere thought of the past was enough to make you shudder, filling your heart with the heaviness of past mistakes and regrets. 

You averted your gaze as uncertainties washed over you. “My last—” you tried, the words lodging in your throat. 

It was hard to admit. It was painful to revisit the past. 

“He died,” you said, adding shakily, “a— a suicide. It left— When I think— think about it—” You gripped the capping tightly to ground yourself, taking a deep breath. “I am cautious with— about these things now.”

Two fingers rested delicately under your chin, tilting your head up until you looked into deep, ruby eyes. 

“You have nothing to worry about with me,” Xanthus said, holding your gaze until you felt you would drown. You felt safe. He made you feel warm, appreciated, and happy. “I promise.” He leaned in, patiently waiting for you to close the gap. 

You took a moment to reflect, looking at his open expression and finding the reassurance you needed. You kissed him hesitatingly, allowing him to take the sketchbook from your lap to put it aside. 

You felt him smile into the kiss before his arms snuck around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he kissed you scandalously. Burying your hands in his hair, you deepened the kiss. 

His touch made you melt, and you lost yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his arms around you and the kisses he placed first against your lips, leaving you breathless — then on your cheeks, your jaw, and trailing lower. 

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck, making you flinch. It broke the spell of the moment. 

Xanthus pulled back.

“Apologies,” he said raspily, licking his lips. “I was too eager.” 

He ran a hand through your hair and adjusted your collar. The only indication that something transpired between you was your dazed expression and the darker shade of your kissed lips. Xanthus smiled to himself, placing a last chaste kiss against them. 

He picked up the oars, rowing back towards solid ground eagerly. You returned to your sketches, adding the new twinkle of fire that appeared in his eyes. 

You could not say if it was one of pleasure or mischief, but you were eager to find out. 

Annotations // IV. The Abyss Also Stares Into You

[cynic-spirit]

Orchid Garden iii

One evening, as Yn was busy preparing her lecture notes for the next day, John found himself wandering through their shared living room. His eyes scanned the shelves, taking in the various books and trinkets she had collected over the years. It was a quiet moment, filled with the soft hum of the city outside and the rustle of paper as Yn worked.

Suddenly, his gaze landed on a familiar book—an old, worn-out first edition of "1001 Nights." John had seen Yn reading it countless times, completely absorbed in the tales within. She had once mentioned to him, in one of their rare but treasured conversations, how much the stories meant to her. It was her favorite book, a source of comfort and adventure.

John approached the bookshelf and gently pulled the book out. The cover was frayed, the spine cracked, and the pages yellowed with age. It had clearly seen better days. His heart ached at the sight of it, knowing how much it meant to Yn. This book was a piece of her soul, a constant companion through the years, and it was falling apart.

He ran his fingers over the cover, feeling the texture of the worn fabric. A surge of determination filled him. He couldn’t let his beloved’s favorite book remain in such a state. He remembered his old hobby of bookbinding, a skill he had picked up during the quieter times of his life. It had been a way to find peace, to lose himself in the meticulous work of restoring old books. He hadn’t touched his tools in years, but for Yn, he would.

John's thoughts raced as he began to plan. He would restore this book, bring it back to its former glory. It would be a labor of love, a way to show Yn how much he cared for her, even if he couldn’t yet find the words to express his feelings. He envisioned her reaction, the joy and surprise that would light up her face when she saw the book restored. It would be his silent declaration of love, a testament to his devotion.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. The book was delicate, and he would need to handle it with the utmost care. But John was nothing if not meticulous. He thrived on precision and patience, qualities that had served him well in his former life and would now be put to a much more tender use.

He would start by carefully removing the old cover, preserving the original material as much as possible. Then, he would reinforce the spine, ensuring that the book could withstand many more years of reading. He would clean and mend the pages, smoothing out the creases and fixing any tears. Finally, he would create a new cover, elegant and durable, that would protect the stories Yn loved so much.

As he held the book in his hands, John felt a sense of purpose. This was something he could do for her, a way to be close to her without words. It was a way to channel his feelings into something tangible, something beautiful. And in doing so, he hoped Yn would understand just how deeply he cared for her.

He put the book back on the shelf, careful to place it exactly where he found it. Then, he began making plans to gather the necessary materials and set up a workspace. This project would take time, but it was time he was more than willing to invest.

As he glanced over at Yn, still immersed in her work, a small smile played on his lips. He knew she had no idea what he was planning, and that made the surprise even more special. John Wick, the Baba Yaga, was not known for grand gestures or declarations of love. But through this act of restoration, he hoped to show Yn just how much she meant to him. She had brought light into his dark world, and this was his way of giving a piece of that light back to her.

John waited until Yn was deeply engrossed in her work, her attention fully captured by the stacks of term exams and assignments she was meticulously checking. He watched her for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration, a small crease forming between her eyes. It was the perfect time to take the book; she wouldn’t notice it missing for a few days.

He carefully retrieved "1001 Nights" from the shelf, handling it with the same delicacy he once reserved for his weapons. The worn cover and fragile pages felt like a fragile piece of Yn’s heart, and he intended to treat it as such. As he held the book, a sense of reverence washed over him. This wasn’t just about restoring an old book—it was about showing Yn how much she mattered to him, even if he couldn’t yet say the words.

John took the book to his study, a quiet sanctuary where he could work undisturbed. The room was sparsely furnished, but he had everything he needed: a sturdy table, his old bookbinding tools, and a lamp that cast a warm glow over the workspace. He laid the book down and took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of anticipation and determination.

He began by examining the book in detail, noting the extent of the damage. The cover was frayed and discolored, the spine barely holding the pages together. Some pages were torn, others stained or creased. It was a challenge, but one he was more than willing to take on. His hands moved with a practiced precision as he started to disassemble the book, carefully removing the old cover and setting it aside.

As he worked, John’s mind wandered. He thought about the first time he saw Yn reading this book, her eyes lighting up with every turn of the page. She had looked so peaceful, so completely absorbed in the tales of adventure and romance. It struck him then how much she loved this book, how it was a refuge for her in a world that often felt overwhelming.

Each step of the restoration process felt like a small act of love. He cleaned the pages, gently wiping away the stains and smoothing out the creases. When he came across a tear, he meticulously mended it, making sure the repair was nearly invisible. The process was slow, requiring patience and care, but John found it strangely therapeutic. It was a way to channel his feelings, to express his love and devotion without words.

As he worked, he imagined Yn’s reaction when she saw the restored book. He pictured the surprise and delight in her eyes, the way her face would light up with joy. He hoped she would understand what this gesture meant, that it was more than just a practical repair. It was his way of showing her how much she had come to mean to him.

John moved on to the spine, reinforcing it with strong, durable material that would ensure the book could withstand many more years of reading. He took great care in this step, knowing how important it was to preserve the book’s integrity. As he worked, he thought about the countless hours Yn had spent with this book in her hands, lost in its stories. He wanted to make sure she could continue to do so without fear of it falling apart.

Finally, he turned his attention to the cover. He chose a high-quality leather, soft to the touch but strong and durable. He measured and cut the material, then carefully bound it to the book, making sure every detail was perfect. He added gold lettering to the spine, a touch of elegance that he knew Yn would appreciate. The finished product was beautiful, a testament to his skill and dedication.

John sat back and looked at the restored book, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was more than just a book now—it was a symbol of his love and devotion. He hoped Yn would see that, would understand the depth of his feelings for her.

As John worked on the final touches, he felt a sense of pride and satisfaction. This was more than just a restoration; it was a labor of love. He decided to add a personal touch to the book, something that would remind Yn of his dedication every time she opened it.

First, he embossed her name in elegant gold lettering on the inside cover: "Yn's Beloved 1001 Nights." The letters shimmered softly in the light, a beautiful contrast against the dark leather. He then created a small, elegant seal that read "Restored by John Wick," and carefully imprinted it on the back cover, a subtle mark of his craftsmanship.

Next, he wrote a note on a piece of fine stationery, tucking it gently inside the front cover:

My Dearest Yn,

This book holds a special place in your heart, just as you do in mine. I hope this restoration brings you as much joy as you have brought into my life. Every page is a testament to your passion for stories, and every touch of this book is a reminder of my devotion to you.

With all my love, John

Finally, John decided to make a beautiful bookmark for Yn. He chose a piece of high-quality, deep blue velvet ribbon, which he believed would be both elegant and durable. He adorned it with a delicate silver charm in the shape of an orchid, knowing it was her favorite flower. At the end of the ribbon, he attached a small, intricate silver key, symbolizing the key to his heart that Yn held unknowingly.

John carefully placed the bookmark inside the book, allowing the charm to dangle gracefully outside. He then returned the book to the shelf, exactly where Yn would expect to find it.

As he finished, John couldn't help but smile, imagining Yn's reaction when she discovered the restored book, the heartfelt note, and the beautiful bookmark. He hoped she would understand the depth of his feelings through these small, but meaningful gestures.

John’s patience was both a virtue and a testament to his deepening affection for Yn. Each day, as Yn continued her busy routine of grading papers and preparing lectures, John found himself keenly aware of the passing time. He was like a watchful guardian, waiting for the precise moment she would notice the subtle changes he had made.

Every morning, when he passed by the bookshelf, he found himself glancing at the old copy of "1001 Nights," eager to see if Yn would pick it up. He imagined the moment she would pull the book from the shelf, noticing the newly embossed name and the carefully placed note. His thoughts often wandered to how she would react: her eyes widening in surprise, her fingers tracing the embossed letters, and the smile that would inevitably spread across her face.

John’s anticipation grew with each passing day. He took solace in the simple act of waiting, finding a certain comfort in knowing that he had done something meaningful for her. He was meticulous in his attention to detail, and this small act of love had given him a renewed sense of purpose. Every time he caught a glimpse of Yn’s busy schedule, he felt a pang of eagerness but also a deep sense of satisfaction.

The waiting game was not easy for him. He was accustomed to action, to taking control and dealing with immediate consequences. Yet, this was different. This was a test of his ability to remain patient and composed, to allow Yn to discover the gift in her own time. He found it surprisingly difficult to keep his excitement in check, but he was determined to honor her space and let the moment unfold naturally.

He often thought about the note he had written, the message of his love and devotion that lay hidden within the pages of the book. He hoped that when Yn read it, she would understand the depth of his feelings. The anticipation of her reaction was almost as enjoyable as the act of giving itself.

John also took pleasure in observing the subtle changes in their interactions. He noticed how Yn’s eyes seemed a bit more reflective, how she occasionally picked up the book and glanced at it before putting it back. He wondered if she had already sensed something different or if she was simply too immersed in her work to notice.

In the quiet moments when Yn was absorbed in her tasks, John would catch himself smiling inwardly, his heart swelling with affection. He relished the thought of the day she would finally discover his gift, of the joy it would bring her. The anticipation was a sweet agony, a reminder of how deeply he cared for her.

John’s feelings were a blend of excitement and contentment. He was content in the knowledge that he had done something special for Yn, and he eagerly awaited the moment when she would discover the book. The patience required was a new challenge for him, but one he embraced willingly, driven by the hope of making Yn feel cherished and loved.

Yn had always found solace in her cherished copy of 1001 Nights, a book that had accompanied her through countless evenings of escape and wonder. On this particular weekend, with the term exams behind her and a quiet day ahead, she decided it was the perfect time to reconnect with the beloved stories within its pages.

She approached the bookshelf, her eyes scanning for the familiar, worn-out cover. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the book, resting in its usual place but looking markedly different. It seemed to almost gleam with a new, yet timeless elegance. Yn gently pulled it from the shelf, her fingers brushing against the smooth, luxurious leather binding.

The book felt substantial and comforting in her hands. It was as if it had been imbued with a new life while retaining its antique charm. The leather was rich and deep, with a dark, polished finish that was both soft and sturdy. The gold embossing of her name, "Yn's Beloved 1001 Nights," shimmered subtly in the light. The spine, once fragile and worn, was now robust and perfectly aligned, a testament to the care taken in its restoration.

Yn turned the book over in her hands, marveling at the seal on the back cover: "Restored by John Wick." The seal was a small but striking mark, adding a personal touch to the book. She could hardly believe that her favorite book had been so lovingly restored.

Her eyes then fell upon the bookmark. It was a deep blue velvet ribbon, soft to the touch, adorned with a delicate silver orchid charm and a small key. The charm sparkled in the light, and the key seemed to symbolize something precious and significant, like a hidden treasure.

Feeling a mix of awe and curiosity, Yn carefully opened the book to the front page where the note was tucked. The note was written on fine stationery, its edges slightly scalloped, adding to its elegance. The words were penned in a neat, flowing script:

My Dearest Yn,

This book holds a special place in your heart, just as you do in mine. I hope this restoration brings you as much joy as you have brought into my life. Every page is a testament to your passion for stories, and every touch of this book is a reminder of my devotion to you.

With all my love, John

Yn’s eyes brimmed with tears as she read the note. The simplicity and sincerity of John's words touched her deeply. She could hardly believe the extent of his thoughtfulness. She bit her lip, struggling to hold back her tears. This gesture was so unexpected and so profoundly kind that it brought a swell of emotion to her chest.

She had been so absorbed in her work and daily routines that she hadn’t noticed the time and effort John had put into this gift. The thought of him dedicating his time, amidst his own busy schedule, to restore something so precious to her was overwhelming.

In her heart, she felt an immense gratitude and a tender warmth. How had she never seen this side of John before? His actions spoke volumes about his feelings, and the depth of his care was becoming increasingly clear.

Without hesitation, Yn turned to thank John, her eyes shining with emotion. She saw him standing there, quietly observing her reaction. His usually stoic demeanor was softened by a hint of a boyish smile. There was a slight flush of bashfulness on his cheeks, something she had never seen before.

John’s smile was gentle, almost shy, and his eyes reflected a tenderness that made Yn’s heart ache with love. He stood there, awaiting her response with a mix of vulnerability and hope, the weight of his feelings clear in the way he looked at her.

Yn felt a rush of affection and appreciation. She walked over to him, her steps light but purposeful, and reached out to gently touch his arm. Her voice was soft but full of gratitude.

“John, this is… this is incredible. I don’t even know how to thank you. This book means so much to me, and you’ve restored it perfectly. I’m… I’m really touched.”

John looked down at her, his eyes conveying more than words ever could. He took her hand in his, holding it gently. The gesture was simple, but it spoke of the deep connection they were building.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Yn nodded, her emotions still too raw to articulate fully. She hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth and strength of his presence. John’s arms encircled her, holding her close with a tenderness that spoke of his deepening feelings.

In that embrace, Yn realized that their relationship was evolving into something more profound. What had begun as a practical arrangement was now becoming a genuine bond of affection and care. And in John’s embrace, Yn found comfort, warmth, and a growing love that she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

Yn felt a deep sense of warmth and admiration for John as she stood holding the restored book. His gesture had touched her in ways she hadn’t anticipated, revealing the depth of his feelings and his commitment to making her happy. As she looked at John, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, she struggled to find the right words to express her gratitude.

“This is… I don’t know how I’d repay you,” Yn said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion.

John’s response was gentle, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “It’s a gift, Yn. You enjoying it is the repayment.”

His words, simple yet profound, conveyed the sincerity behind his actions. Yn’s heart swelled with affection, and she couldn’t help but feel that John was more than just a kind-hearted man—he was someone who genuinely cared for her well-being and happiness.

“You are the most wonderful man I have come across,” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “I don’t even know how to thank you enough.”

John watched her with a slight, appreciative smile, though he remained composed. His feelings were evident in the way he looked at her, the warmth in his gaze, and the subtle softness in his expression. He could see how deeply touched she was, and it only reinforced his desire to continue showing her how much she meant to him.

As Yn continued to thank him repeatedly, her voice a mix of gratitude and embarrassment, John gently interrupted her. “How about you read your book in your wonderful garden, and I’ll get you your tea?”

Yn, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by her emotional reaction, looked down, her cheeks flushing with a touch of embarrassment. She was aware that her response had been more enthusiastic than she had intended, and she felt a bit self-conscious.

“Yes, please,” Yn replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of shyness. She couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and modesty, knowing that John had gone out of his way to make her happy.

John’s smile grew a little wider as he saw her blush. He took her hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right back with your tea,” he said, his tone warm and encouraging.

Yn nodded, feeling a sense of relief that John had taken her reaction in stride. She carefully placed the book on the nearby table, admiring its new binding and the beautiful bookmark once more. Then, with a sense of contentment, she made her way to the garden.

The garden, bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, was a tranquil haven. Yn settled into her favorite spot—a comfortable chair surrounded by blooming flowers and lush greenery. She opened the book, savoring the crisp, clean pages, and let herself be immersed in the enchanting tales of 1001 Nights.

As she began to read, the soothing sound of John’s footsteps approaching with the tea added to the serene atmosphere. She could hear the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint murmur of a breeze, which complemented the peaceful ambiance of the garden.

John returned with a steaming cup of tea, carefully balancing it on a tray. He placed the tray beside Yn’s chair, ensuring that everything was just as she liked it. His attention to detail was evident in the way he had prepared the tea, with a delicate touch and a sense of care.

Yn looked up from her book, her eyes meeting John’s with a smile of appreciation. “Thank you, John,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. She took the tea cup and inhaled the comforting aroma, feeling a profound sense of contentment.

John nodded, watching her with a sense of quiet satisfaction. The scene before him—Yn reading in the garden, enjoying the tea he had prepared—was a reflection of the happiness he had hoped to create for her. He lingered for a moment, admiring the peacefulness of the moment, before stepping back to give her space.

Yn, now fully absorbed in her reading, felt a deep sense of gratitude and affection for John. His thoughtful actions had not only restored her cherished book but had also reinforced the bond they were building. The garden, the tea, and the book all seemed to symbolize the growing connection between them, one that was slowly evolving from a practical arrangement into something profoundly meaningful.

John's POV

John watched from a distance as Yn approached the bookshelf, her gaze intent on finding her beloved copy of 1001 Nights. His heart raced with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. He knew how much this book meant to her, and he had poured a great deal of effort and care into its restoration. Now, it was time to see her reaction.

As Yn’s fingers closed around the book, John noticed the subtle shift in her posture. Her eyes widened slightly, and he could see the spark of surprise as she examined the newly restored cover. The transformation was evident: the leather was supple and richly colored, the gold embossing gleaming softly in the light. John felt a surge of relief and pride, seeing her initial reaction of astonishment.

He observed her closely, noting how her eyes moved over the book’s binding and the intricately embossed name. The way she handled it gently, almost reverently, showed just how much this book meant to her. The care with which she turned the pages, the reverence in her touch, all spoke volumes.

When Yn discovered the seal that read “Restored by John Wick,” her reaction was immediate and profound. John watched her face flush with emotion as she read the note tucked inside. Her eyes glistened with tears, and he saw her struggle to contain them. This reaction, so heartfelt and genuine, was everything he had hoped for.

John’s own heart swelled with a deep, personal satisfaction. Seeing Yn’s emotional response, her gratitude, and her subsequent blush of embarrassment made all the effort worth it. The sight of her holding the book close, the way she bit her lip to keep from crying, struck a chord deep within him. It was a reminder of how much he valued her happiness and how deeply he felt for her.

As Yn turned to thank him, John saw her shyness and the genuine appreciation in her eyes. Her repeated thanks, though perhaps excessive, only underscored the depth of her gratitude. He could see her vulnerability and how she had been moved by the gesture. It was a side of her that he had come to cherish deeply.

John felt a mix of emotions—pride, joy, and a bit of bashfulness. He had been meticulous in every detail, from the restoration of the book to the creation of the bookmark. To see it all come together and bring such joy to Yn was profoundly rewarding. It reassured him that his feelings for her were not in vain, that his actions had touched her heart in a meaningful way.

When Yn’s embarrassment became apparent, John’s smile grew. He had anticipated this reaction, knowing how deeply personal and emotional the gift was. His offer for her to read the book in the garden, while he prepared tea, was a way to give her space and also to maintain the serenity of the moment. It was his way of showing that he valued her comfort and happiness.

John took in the sight of Yn settling into her garden chair, her eyes focused on the book. The scene was peaceful, framed by the vibrant flowers and the soft afternoon light. As he prepared the tea, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment, knowing he had created a moment of genuine happiness for her.

Watching Yn enjoy the tea and the book, John realized that the relationship between them had evolved beyond mere practicality. The small, thoughtful acts of kindness were building a foundation for something more meaningful. His affection for her was growing stronger, and he felt hopeful about the future they were creating together.

In this moment, as Yn immersed herself in her reading, John stood back, observing with a sense of contentment. He felt a quiet joy in knowing that he had made a difference in her life, even in such a seemingly simple way. The bond between them was deepening, and he cherished the newfound connection that went beyond their initial arrangement.

John stood quietly, his gaze fixed on Yn as she sat in the garden with her newly restored book. The sight of her beaming smile, unbroken and radiant, filled him with a profound sense of contentment. He had always been a man of action, finding satisfaction in the completion of tasks and the achievement of goals. But this moment was different. Seeing Yn’s joy and the way her smile lit up her face was deeply gratifying.

Her happiness was evident in the way she held the book close, as if it were a precious treasure rediscovered. The smile that graced her lips was one of pure delight, and it made John’s heart swell with warmth. Every time she glanced up from the book, her eyes sparkling with appreciation, it only reaffirmed the significance of his gesture.

John took a moment to reflect on the transformation he had witnessed. Yn’s initial astonishment had been replaced by a genuine, enduring happiness. Her smile, unguarded and heartfelt, was a reflection of her appreciation for the effort he had put into restoring something so meaningful to her. It was a reminder of the depth of his feelings for her and the lengths he was willing to go to make her happy.

As Yn turned the pages of her book, her expression one of utter contentment, John felt a sense of pride and satisfaction. He had succeeded in his goal not only of restoring the book but of bringing a smile to her face. The joy she exuded was a testament to the success of his effort, and it was a feeling he cherished deeply.

John watched from a respectful distance, savoring the tranquility of the moment. The garden, with its blooming flowers and gentle breeze, seemed to frame Yn’s happiness perfectly. He knew that this was a special moment, one that encapsulated the growing bond between them.

In his quiet observation, John realized that his affection for Yn had evolved into something deeper and more profound. The simple act of restoring her book had become a symbol of his care and commitment. As he continued to watch her, he felt a renewed sense of purpose in their relationship—a purpose that went beyond their initial arrangement and was rooted in genuine affection and shared happiness.

-----

Yn’s thoughts were consumed by John’s thoughtful gesture throughout her time at the college. The restored book, with its meticulously repaired binding and the carefully crafted bookmark, kept drifting into her mind. Each detail of the gift reminded her of the effort John had put into making her feel cherished, and she found herself grappling with the depth of his actions.

As she reviewed term papers and graded assignments, her mind would wander back to the note inside the book. “Restored by John Wick,” it had said, followed by a message that touched her deeply. The note was simple but spoke volumes. It was as if John had used those few words to convey a complex mixture of care, affection, and a personal connection that she hadn’t fully understood before.

Yn couldn’t shake the thought that the kiss they had shared, and the tenderness John had shown her since then, might have meant something more. Her emotions had been stirred by the kiss—a kiss that had left her breathless and yearning for more. John’s recent acts of kindness and his attentive nature only seemed to confirm that there might be deeper feelings at play.

She found herself questioning the nature of their relationship. Was it possible that John had feelings for her beyond their initial practical arrangement? Could it be that the kiss was not a fleeting moment, but rather an indication of his true emotions? The idea that he might love her, or at least have strong feelings for her, began to take shape in her mind.

Yn couldn’t ignore the growing affection she had developed for John. His gestures of kindness, the way he went out of his way to make her feel valued, and the intimate moments they shared were all signs of a bond that went beyond the surface. She had felt a stirring of love for him, and the possibility that he might feel the same was both exciting and daunting.

As she walked through the college halls and interacted with colleagues and students, her thoughts remained tethered to John. Each memory of his touch, his smile, and the way he had looked at her during their moments together made her heart race with anticipation and hope. The uncertainty of his feelings, juxtaposed with her growing affection, created a whirlwind of emotions within her.

Yn found herself longing for clarity. She needed to understand where she stood with John and whether their relationship could evolve into something more meaningful. The idea of confronting her own feelings and exploring the possibility of a deeper connection with him was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The thought that John might love her, and that their relationship could become something beautiful and genuine, was a prospect she could hardly ignore.

Yn sat with Diana at their favorite café, the atmosphere warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to the turmoil swirling in her mind. She sipped her coffee nervously, stealing glances at her friend, who was attentive and perceptive, always ready to lend an ear.

“Diana,” Yn began hesitantly, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Diana looked up, her curiosity piqued. “What’s on your mind, Yn?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about John recently,” Yn said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “You know, the kiss we shared and the gift he gave me—the restored book.”

Diana’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Go on.”

Yn took a deep breath. “The book he gave me was incredible. It’s like it’s brand new, but still so much like the old one I loved. And there was this note inside—‘Restored by John Wick.’ It’s just… so thoughtful. And his touches, they feel different now. More intimate, like he’s trying to be closer to me.”

Diana nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That sounds like a lot more than just a practical arrangement, Yn. Have you considered that John might have deeper feelings for you?”

Yn’s eyes widened. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Diana said firmly. “The level of attention John’s showing you isn’t typical of someone just going through the motions. He’s put a lot of effort into making you feel valued and cherished. The kiss, the gift, the way he’s been attentive—these are signs of affection, not just duty.”

“But how can I be sure?” Yn asked, her voice tinged with both hope and doubt. “What if I’m just reading too much into it?”

“Trust your instincts,” Diana advised. “When someone goes out of their way to make you feel special and puts thought into every detail, it’s usually because they care deeply. John’s actions suggest he sees you as more than just a convenience. The fact that he’s touching you more often, that he’s paying attention to your needs and emotions—it all points to something more profound.”

Yn took a sip of her coffee, processing Diana’s words. “So, you think there’s a real chance he might have feelings for me?”

“I do,” Diana said with confidence. “It’s clear to me that John’s behavior indicates he’s developed feelings for you. The way he looks at you, the way he interacts with you—it’s not just about keeping up appearances. It’s about building a genuine connection.”

Yn felt a rush of relief and excitement. “Thank you, Diana. I was so unsure, but hearing this from you makes me feel like I’m not just imagining things.”

“Of course,” Diana said with a reassuring smile. “Just be open to exploring your feelings and see where they lead. Sometimes the best things come from embracing the uncertainty and taking a leap of faith.”

Yn sat quietly, her thoughts racing as she considered how to approach the situation with John. She knew that direct confrontation wasn’t her style, and she was acutely aware of John’s reserved nature. He was a man of actions rather than words, and she herself was too shy to ask him directly about his feelings.

The idea of broaching the topic in a straightforward manner seemed daunting. John had always been stoic, and she didn’t want to risk making things awkward or putting him on the spot. Instead, Yn thought about a different approach—one that might allow her to gauge his feelings in a more subtle and playful way.

“Maybe I need to create a situation where he’s more open to expressing himself,” she mused internally. “John’s actions speak louder than words, so perhaps if I create a setting where he feels relaxed and comfortable, he might reveal more of what he’s feeling.”

Yn pondered various scenarios, trying to find a balance between playful and revealing. “What if I organize a simple, fun activity—a way to relax and enjoy each other’s company without the pressure of deep conversation? Something that allows us to connect on a different level.”

She considered activities that would bring out a more personal side of John, something that would encourage him to open up without forcing him into an uncomfortable situation. “Maybe a weekend getaway or a simple picnic where we can be ourselves and enjoy each other’s company. It could create an opportunity for us to talk more freely and see how he reacts.”

Yn smiled at the thought of a playful approach. “I could set up a scenario where we both have to engage in something lighthearted. It might help him drop his guard and let his true feelings come through naturally.”

The idea of combining fun with a chance to explore their deeper emotions seemed perfect. Yn felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of discovering how John truly felt while enjoying a meaningful and enjoyable experience together.

“Whatever I choose, it has to be something that makes us both feel comfortable and allows us to be ourselves,” she thought. “I’ll create a setting that invites openness and closeness, hoping that John will reveal what’s in his heart without feeling pressured.”

As she contemplated her plan, Yn felt a sense of anticipation. This playful approach seemed like the perfect way to navigate their complex emotions and find out where they stood with each other. It was a delicate balance of understanding John’s reserved nature while allowing her own feelings to be expressed in a way that felt natural and sincere.

Yn had long noticed John’s uncanny ability to be aware of her presence, even when he wasn’t directly observing her. It was as if he had an intrinsic sense that allowed him to know where she was and what she was doing at all times. This keen awareness was part of what made John so intimidating and effective in his world, but it also translated into a subtle yet profound attentiveness in their domestic life.

In the quiet of their home, Yn could feel John’s watchfulness even when he wasn’t physically in the same room. It was in the way he anticipated her needs before she even voiced them, like the time he had restocked her favorite ink and made sure her closet was filled with things she loved. His actions were never intrusive; instead, they were a testament to his attentiveness and deep care.

Yn often found herself reflecting on this silent vigilance. It was as if John had an invisible thread connecting him to her, an awareness that seemed almost instinctive. She’d catch him glancing at her from across the room, his gaze steady and unwavering, even when he was supposedly preoccupied with something else. There were moments when she’d enter a room, and John would look up from his work, as though he had been expecting her.

This subtle observation wasn’t just about physical presence. It extended to her moods and habits. John seemed to sense when she was feeling down or stressed, and though he rarely spoke about it, his actions would shift accordingly. He might bring her a cup of tea or leave a thoughtful note without any words of explanation. It was his way of silently acknowledging her feelings and providing comfort.

Yn couldn’t help but marvel at this aspect of John’s nature. It was as if he had an intuitive grasp of her needs and emotions, an unspoken connection that didn’t require words. His ability to always be aware of her, even in his absence, made her feel both cherished and understood.

It was this same attentiveness that made Yn believe in the depth of John’s feelings. The way he seemed to know her so well, often before she even realized what she needed, spoke volumes about his care and consideration. It wasn’t just about being watched; it was about being seen, truly seen, in a way that made her feel valued and important.

part 4

[silence-and-reveries]

YouTubers and LOA subreddits aren't actually helpful (short-rant)

Let me explain,

The various loa subreddits are kind of a cesspool. It's always some person who has no idea who you are trying to push their limiting beliefs about love and money onto other people.

You can never talk about sps cause nowadays people will call you limerent, you can't say you want to win the lottery (even though tonnes of people do!) cause they think it's not possible or that you're messing with the middle "oh you can get the money in any way, don't limit it to the lottery!"

Dafuq. No one tells anybody they shouldn't play the lottery. Rich people buy lottery tickets. Someone ALWAYS wins the jackpot eventually.

The 3D means nothing though and neither does other people's limiting perceptions about possibilities.

I hate how we call any person that doesn't immediately move on from a deep connection "limerent" these days. That term didn't even exist 50 years ago.

All of the classic and historical works of fiction, and even historical tales themselves portray romantic plots far more convoluted and disparaging than anything modern people experience nowadays. No one told these people that loving a person who you're in separation from was bad, that was literally the norm cause life was so much more chaotic.

People have to understand that circumstances can come in any form and that no one's circumstances mean really anything in regards to their manifestation. Because that's the fundamental principle of the law.

Another thing, we can't go around telling people their desires are bad for them. Cause that's stupid as fuck. Nobody chooses the things they get to desire, it's literally given to us by our higher-self, subconscious, divine self or whatever the fuck.

Yeah you can have tangible needs based on your 3D circumstances but as a manifestor you have the option to change the 3D itself or manifest something to change the 3D. Either way, we're still the operant power!

"You don't want to win the lottery, you want the feeling of wealth"

"You don't want that SP, you want the feeling of being in a loving relationship"

Like, this was literally posted today and all the comments are people agreeing. When it's fucking nonsense.

Literally shut the fuck up. No one tells engaged people they aren't actually in love, or tells business people that they don't actually want to have success. So wtf are we doing? Why do the mods let people say these kinds of things and reinforce people's limiting beliefs, literally killing their manifestation????

Please, if you can stop watching loa content creators on yt and stop reading subreddits (at least the posts that aren't success stories) cause these people don't read/listen to the source material and are making shit up to feel above others and ensure they're constantly dependent on them for advice, cause their manifestations are being sabotaged.

Never, ever give the 3D circumstances power over your subconscious mind or let it dictate what you should or shouldn't desire. Because that's you. The 3D is YOU. It would just be your past, unrealized self telling your current self to maintain the old ways. NEVILLE LITERALLY MENTIONS THIS

Idk idk, it's so upsetting to see posts like that first thing in the morning. I wish the mods would get over themselves and be more consistent.

Neville quotes about desires, limiting beliefs and the nature of the 3D

"Stop asking yourself whether  you are worthy or unworthy to receive that which you desire. You, as man, did not create the desire. Your desires are ever fashioned within you because of what you now claim yourself to be."

"Facts are the fruit bearing witness of the use or misuse of the imagination. Man becomes what he imagines. He has a self-determined history."

"Imagination is the way, the truth, the life revealed. We cannot get hold of truth with the logical mind. Where the natural man of sense sees a bud, imagination sees a rose full-blown."

"Truth cannot be encompassed by facts. As we awaken to the imaginative life, we discover that to imagine a thing is to make it so, that a true judgment need not conform to the external reality to which it relates."

"To passively surrender to appearances and bow before the evidence of facts is to confess that Christ is not yet born in you."

He says so many important things but people want to misconstrue his words for their own benefit. It's a problem.

[broken-clover]

think it's really curious that during the scene in the Undersnax Filbo has his sudden crisis of leadership. Because he frets about being in charge a lot, but I think it's the only time where he outright says that 'everybody hates (him).' I've seen some say that they don't feel it makes sense, but I think it does feel fitting given how that Lizbert is suddenly no longer some absent-but-mythical figure that everyone looks up to. His whole intention was to get her back, obviously, but the ambiguity of where she even was made it feel less to him like he was taking her place and more of a necessity even if he wasn't the best at leading, and he could rely on the idea of the 'actual' leader coming back eventually. It's suddenly something he has to contend with again in a physical form, that his position is anything more than being temporary filler even if he gained a degree of confidence.

Interestingly compared to the rest of the villagers, Filbo doesn't seem to take much interest in the bugsnax. Sure, he eats them when you catch him some in the beginning quests, but he's literally starving and has nothing else to eat. While the others have regular requests and even the mystery requests in the mail, as far as I know Filbo never specifically eats any snaks in questlines aide from the starting ones and the spuddy you give him, which isn't even him asking, it's part of Wambus' quests. Also, if I'm remembering correctly, Beffica mentions that he just eats the bugsnax because everyone else does, and not out of any particular like of them.

Since we know one of the things the bugsnax do are manipulating insecurities to create a desire for more and a dependence to try and fill the hole, this raises an interesting thought. Characters like Gramble and Shelda don't eat snaks for personal moral reasons, but Shelda, at least, still shows a desire to do so and tries to repress it. But Filbo...Filbo lacks that entirely. Something about him makes him indifferent. He isn't allergic like the journalist, he just doesn't feel that same drive.

I think there's two possible ways to look at it. One, the more optimistic, is that he has no 'void' to fill because he's the only character aside from the journalist to have a tangible, practical goal that can feasibly be fulfilled. He could wonder if the snaks would somehow make him a better leader in the same ambiguous, amorphous way that everyone else thinks the snaks would be able to solve their problems, but, ultimately, it wouldn't do anything to get him any closer to finding Lizbert in any tangible way.

The more pessimistic thought, which interests me, is that Filbo did consider if the snaks could make him better...but he's fundamentally convinced that he is beyond fixing and nothing can change him. We see that Filbo is capable of some pretty deep self-loathing and puts a lot of stock in how others view him, he likes it when everyone gets along and he can be useful to the point that it's not unreasonable to assume a lot of Filbo's self-confidence and self-worth comes from other people liking him, or at the very least considering him useful. He's at a very low point in the beginning of the game, not only starving but also desperately trying and failing to keep the last of Snaxburg standing after he failed at the task he was assigned by a person he highly respects and looks up to. I'm gonna talk about how that might fit into this

Specifically, another interesting thing to note is that when the characters all succumb to their vices in the bad ending, their dialogue doesn't indicate any of them are particularly interested in eating. They have eaten, sure, but all of their dialogue is about their personal problems. Shelda declares the snaks have no power over her, Wambus bemoans being unable to control his hunger and the futility of his work, Wiggle accepts her status as a failed career musician, et cetera. They've all crossed that horizon from hunger into obsession. It's just conjecture, but how bugsnax addiction works may involve a point where a victim is convinced there's no other option left than what they're obsessed with and nothing can divert them from their path anymore, and are all-consumed by it to the point of not even desiring the bugsnax as food anymore- which isn't a concern to their life cycle, as by that point everyone has already consumed enough snaks to be fully converted.

(Also, an aside note, but a common symptom of depression (and a lot of other mental health issues) is a disinterest in eating and a lack of appetite.)

I think the reason that Filbo wasn't literally already dead and converted by the time the journalist made it to the island is because he couldn't catch enough snaks. Psychologically he was already there, but physically he had no snakmatter on his body that hadn't already worn off. And when he finally does get some snaks to eat, he has the journalist to spark some hope that Lizbert would come back after all and that the town could be rebuilt now that he had someone else's help.

I know people tend to say Filbo is like the one sane character who's decently well-adjusted but I think he's one of the most severely in need of some kind of therapy.

[nerdbaron]

I have been feeling awful for the past few days, so I thought I would give a huge update for anyone whom it may concern

(CW: Vent Posting)

If you have been following this blog for a long while, especially since the late 2010s, you may have heard me mention some big video game project I was working on. The game itself went through several different changes throughout the years, to the point where it could be considered several different games, with several different names. However, I kept them all grouped as one project in my head, known as Project Marian, named after a personal favorite song of mine. The goal was to achieve a dream I had since playing Undertale in 2015: to make something emotionally impactful like that game. The latest form of the project was a game called Galactic Prix, a story-driven racing game.

However, Galactic Prix, like all the games before it I've tried to make for this project, ran into major issues. There were issues with the story that I could not figure out how to resolve. Things I wanted to touch on but had no idea how. I would have to imagine that my attempts to make a captivating story would have had better results if I had actual experience as a writer.

The entire project itself has caused damage to my psyche as well. I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder, which makes me constantly horribly nervous about pretty much everything. This disorder and this giant project I held close to my heart combined to make me horribly afraid of the passage of time; I became worried that if too much time were to pass I would end up in a world where this project couldn't be done. As you may guess, this anxiety grew exponentially in election years, a time when every which way I would hear talks that "our future is at stake." The project left other effects on my mind as well. When I see or think about Undertale, the game that started this whole project, I slightly panic. The release of Deltarune Chapter 2, as good as it was, devastated me, and part of me has been seeing the release of Chapter 3 as a sort of Doomsday, mentally. I have grown antisocial, only really holding a conversation once every few days, but that may be more due to autism and external circumstances making it difficult for me to leave the house.

However, I kept going with the project, because I always thought that if I got something off the ground, some tangible form of gameplay to say "I am actually doing this," all the problems would go away. But that never happened. I would put together a few prototype elements, and then my entire brain would turn off. I tried everything to get around this wall. I switched between game engines constantly, to the point where I probably spent way more time comparing game engines than actually programming. I eventually stopped using game engines altogether in the hopes that they were the problem. I tried FNA and Raylib, and had a bit of fun playing around with them, but I still couldn't make any progress. And so I kept trying, and my mental state kept getting worse.

Therefore, late last month, I made the heavy decision to cancel Galactic Prix, as well as the entire project. It had caused me a lot of pain, and despite dreams of it becoming the next big thing, I knew it wasn't worth it. At the time, I didn't feel too bad about abandoning the project. I felt slightly freed, considering all the damage it had done.

However, earlier this week I suddenly grew extremely emotional. I blamed it on a small glass of champagne I had a few hours before, but the crying continued into the night. I couldn't figure out why i had become so sad. I then blamed it on the thing I was watching at the time, an online roleplaying production, since I was feeling emotionally moved by it, maybe inspired by it, but I could never dream of having the friends to do such a thing myself. But the sadness had settled around having horrendously low self esteem. It was earlier today that it hit me why: my dreams were all put in Project Marian. Now that project is cancelled. As of right now, my dream has been crushed. And I was getting emotionally gripped by an online production, which had in a few short months achieved what I spent seven years failing to do.

What do I do now? Part of me wants to make a huge article chronicling the history of the project, in order to truly document what it meant to me, and ultimately what went wrong. Maybe it would reveal that going through the project was a valuable experience, and therefore I would still have value even without it.

However, even more important is that I break out of this antisocial shell I am in. I want friends to hang out with constantly. I'm not that into roleplaying but I want to be with people who care about me enough to do so if we all wanted to. I want people who could help me work on whatever comes next, since one thing I learned from Project Marian is that these kind of things can't be done alone. And most importantly, now that the thing I put all my self worth into is gone, I dream of having people encourage me and keep me up until I can learn to find self worth in myself, project or no project.

[cosmama]

p3 thoughts/ideas now that there are some interactions going - contains major spoilers for p3/psr. these can always change and isn't necessarily concrete ( note: i know about the answer; i'm choosing not to bring it up due to spoilers b/c of the dlc for reload ):

while there is a canon explanation to how nyx's psyche and body separated, it's kind of a little boring to me. considering the way history often goes, it would make sense if the limited amount of info on it/she ranges from being vague but relatively simple and straightforward to something more mythological than based on reality: did nyx crash into the planet and that impact caused its separation...or was this entity stricken down by humanity when it first made contact under the guise of being one of them - the shadows birthed from it more a consequence of humanity's wrongdoings? ultimately it doesn't matter, i just like to think on it.

it is associated with life just as much as death - this is shown in the form of shades of nyx's body, the plumes of dusk, are able to revive the party to full health in battle and also are used to power ( or give 'life' to ) beings like aigis.

considering nyx is referred to in outside material as star ( or planet ) eater, that's a concept i'm definitely interested in building on ( lol ). the name wouldn't be literal - her arrival to a star is for either two reasons: to observe and nurture its infant life by attaching herself to an orbiting moon or because their time has finally come to an end. when death calls, she always answers. all life must return to the galaxy's center to begin anew. she takes long naps in between these two tasks; she works hard i swear okay.

you may call her nyx. she's originally known as cosmos but space itself is dark and vast so an association with the night stuck as well. mene is fine too. maybe mother. or father. maybe your beloved's name if that works better? anything you want...as it doesn't matter - it's an illusion. when the moon grows full and death comes, they appears as who you most cherished so that your end is sweet ( think the third impact seen in the end of evangelion ). the 'fall' in p3 doesn't happen this way due to her broken state and chaos' interference.

chaos always chases cosmos' light: it yearns for them to reunite and feels bitterness for not evolving like she did. it spreads itself by living in the hearts of those that are born from the cauldron/galaxy's core/whatever you may call it - manifesting through their sadness, despair, hate, etc. which weakens nyx who thrives off the opposite. it often attempts to manipulate her arrival and destruction of a star in order to reunite; the in-game fall is the closest it gets to succeeding ( *there's also the possibility that there can be manifestation of chaos aka beings influenced by it similar to SM. characters like shuji ikutsuki would fit ).

kind of disappointed with the lack of info on the nyx / thanatos connection, how the whole appraiser situation works, etc. so know that i am thinking about it even if it's not mentioned much overall here.

in terms of the actual events of the game, interacting with her, etc.

she cannot be 'physically' met until all the arcana shadows are defeated and her appraiser has awoken. considering their connection, however, she's indirectly influenced by his own experiences to a lesser degree. she doesn't have any memories because of her broken state and shifts between being somewhat tangible to appearing like a ghost when speaking. does odd things with her body unintentionally ( aka body horror but doesn't realize it's scary, she's sorry about that ).

in early november, she will begin to appear during the dark hour only. she feels drawn to the protagonist despite never meeting them before, act as if she knows them well and is very affectionate / doting on them. she has a general oddness / alienness about her though ( kind of the beldam / other motherish vibes but like, without the trying to trap you forever and eat you part ).

i don't see the point of her having a social link and even if she did, the arcanas most fitting for her are already taken ( although i do find the imagery of her pettily summoning the MC to the top of tartarus if they haven't visited after a certain amount of days funny ). interactions with her through november are fairly limited.

things change after december 2nd: she is aware of who she is now since her appraiser remembers his true purpose. she's no longer affectionate with the protagonist and is more cold/distant towards them ( she's more like cosmos in canon here ).

interactions with her during this month are more challenging - both mentally and philosophically because well, it's conversing with a primordial being who may be the universe personified. this behavior is not really to 'test' the MC but she often poses questions to them about the struggles of living and other existential, purposefully moralistic questions. it doesn't change where they stand but a part of her enjoys their answers and perspectives on life nevertheless.

she doesn't get involved in the decisions that lead to the choices made on december 31st. regardless of what is chosen, she isn't available to speak with again once the new year begins. if the appraiser is 'spared' and judgement day comes, she can be seen on march 3rd outside of the dark hour for the first and only time. the MC can't speak or even go up to her as she watches them from an inaccessible location. she says nothing to them; only smiling before disappearing to sleep once again.

[anti-book-lobby]

Too many "Literacy is dead" takes rely on using common annoyances as signs of a new illiterate hegemony. I feel like, if you're going to argue that illiteracy is normalized, you should be looking at 1) Moments of illiteracy that society actually normalizes, rather than the ones it tolerates; and 2) Things that are connected to tangible literacy skills, rather than cases where illiteracy is being speculated or dunked upon.

Some picrew avatar yells at you over a bunch of things you never said? More than likely an emotional-regulation problem, which is arguably not something you become immune to by being literate. Not to mention, this is a stereotype of social media, not some ideal that society moves towards.

Reading a run-on sentence full of unfamiliar words, though, and deeming it incomprehensible? Or, worse yet, implying that one's brain is "cooked" if they can understand it (often meaning they're capable of sentence chunking and inferencing)? That's a normal and socially-acceptable way of disengaging with difficult texts, while assuming that anything not written for a layman audience must be vapid and meaningless fluff. This way of thinking is anti-intellectual, and encourages people to give up when encountering ideas being shared by people with radically different skill sets or life experiences. Written-word accessibility, not as a courtesy and a demonstration of honesty with regards to one's intended audience, but as a demand placed at the feet of those who share knowledge--one more way in which the algorithm-driven norms of social media drag niches into their most basic and palatable forms.

That is to say, people's reactions to "incomprehensible" fandom callouts-- (I pass out from carbon monoxide inhalation)

[iterationofaphoenix]

Naruto (Episode 1) and Naruto Shippuden (Episodes 162, 163, 168, 174, and 175)

Naruto is one of those anime which is exceptionally hard to avoid due to its widespread popularity. Even people who do not enjoy the media form usually know something about the anime, whether that it is about ninja's or certain characters. It would be foolish to say Naruto had anything less than a profound effect on society today. With that being said, I found it really enjoyable to go and watch the assigned episodes for this assignment. I have watched Naruto before, but there is a big difference between turning on a show to have something on and going to look deeper and analyzing it. For me, this was the first time watching it and really paying attention, so it felt like watching it for the first time with a twinge of nostalgia. Personally, I enjoyed it a lot more this time, even if it felt a bit out of place with the major skips. It made me remember a part of my childhood that I don't often look back to. I was much more a Beyblade and Yu-Gi-Oh! child.

For this review, I would like to focus on the major theme I felt was prevalent throughout the work. I feel like this might be very basic, but the idea of hard work and its importance always has stood out to me in Naruto. No one can deny that Naruto is extremely talented and has a skillset which allows him to succeed, but that being said, I feel like people often overlook the fact that he put a lot of effort into being a great ninja. Even more so gaining the respect and trust from the people of his village. There was a tangible difference to which you could see with that. He realized why people hated him from his home and he worked to prove it wrong. Their hatred was not justified, he was just a kid and didn't have the knowledge to understand what they thought of him, but once he did he worked to change that. That type of dedication can be so easily overlooked, but working to prove yourself to someone who already has a negative impression on you is so hard. Everyone knows how important a first impression is, because people make conclusions in a split second on who you are. With the amount of hate they harbored towards him, to change that around is astounding. That was what really stood out to me. The change in how the people act towards him. The fact that he got there. Many would just give up and try to find a new home. He, however, loved his home no matter how it treated him. This type of care drives him to achieve everything he does. I know that really is only one theme, but to me it was extraordinarily important because oftentimes people don't acknowledge the hard work of characters. That is for many reasons, while I haven't touched much discussion on Naruto and I don't know if that is the case with this anime, I still wanted to mention it.

Overall, this was a very fun anime we got together! I am so happy we had it on our watchlist.

[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s 22 July 2023, and I’ve been unable to concentrate, which usually means something is coming together that I can’t look at yet because it’s not ready but it’s at the stage where I’m distracted, meaning I focus but not on math, not on work, not on anything much but what is in front of me. There is an alternation in that, which means an SBE, because this form counts states, and we have Start, over to the other side and back is Between, and End, so what happens is each of these basic chains construct so they are alternations. That’s why even permutations, the count of 2 permutations is the count of these 3 states.

Beyond that, I think I need to say that permutation means the solution to whatever generates that permutation, meaning the real action is on the other side of the permutation, which explains the various operations we use. This is getting obscure. I’m trying to say, if my middle fingers would cooperate better on the keyboard, is that we can list a permutation that counts to the Between End of Between. Between can be squeezed or expanded within the Start and End constraints, if that isn’t obvious. And we can list whatever returns to End. But that means the solution which is both of these, which constitute the SBE, are gs constructions, meaning they can include vast gs process. Was that obvious? I now see it that way but it didn’t feel obvious until I said it. We are here connecting this representations, so when the make sense, when they ring, they should feel obvious.

Ring the bell. So many meanings in that. Oh, so that which makes the bell ring, with all those meanings in there, resonates above and that shows them the bell is ringing here.

I am suddenly revisiting a thought from yesterday in which I saw how 2 is 3 and so forth through the construction of a 3rd which is visible from different perspectives, meaning there is a 4th, so this has constructed up to fD and thus into gs. The anti-hero indeed. Okay, to explain that, visible from different perspectives means a 3rd is the 4th relative to the other 3rd, where the other 3rd is merely the pespective of each of the paired 2. I keep hearing and this is orthogonal, but something is preventing me from accepting that without more. This is a version of the idea developed not long ago that reality works with the face-face physical existence of actual bodies, and that acts as the dividing 1-0Segment of an fD whose Ends are the perspective of the one toward the other. This was the I//I of tangible and intangible, meaning we or at least I accepted without thinking about it that I//I is the conception of Irreducible forms in general, another now obvious truth.

Well, maybe we did mention the idea once before. I know that recently it’s been implicit. Another example of a Thing moving along partially obscured, visible only in glimpses, as they move through the alternations, through the cycle phases that become CR. I think I’ll post this and make some food.

———————

It is with some trepidation that I say things like we connect Triangular to the Leech lattice through a D12 lattice over the Eisenstein integers. So that’s the complex Leech lattice and the Eisenstein integers are a triangular lattice in complex numbers.

And we mentioned the connection between a Janko group and the Monster through a Conway group. The idea needs me to get lower before I can say this well. So maybe the form of the Eisensteins. I’ll give it a spin.

The first idea I see is that we have an integer and we add a construction to that to make a third. The construction is a 2nd integer times a component equal to e^i2Pi/3, which is the count from 1 to 2 in gs process over CR divided into SBE. That makes sense; it’s like saying you start with a, go through b and end at c. Why is 3 SBE here? One reason is that if you define the Irreducible to the representation using a pie chart of a circle or the like, then you get Hexagonal. That’s cool because now you can define Hexagonal as breaking into and thus being made of the Irreducibles of D3 translated into CR.One representation would be of triangles making a star so the tips are equidistant.

Try the next definition: -1 + iroot3 / 2. What does that translate into? The imaginary root 3 is going to be End to End over an fD. The divided by 2 is that the fD is made of 2bT. The -1 locates the - - quadrant, which is how the alternating process works. This also translates roots of unity into CR. I think that’s my main insight now, that roots of unity are … oh, what’s this? If I look at an image of how they graph these, I see xK with implicit yK, which is the point of the Irreducibles and the I//I process. This thus maps counting those processes and counting over them.

Sorry, I was eating cheese like a dog when I started thinking and this means we, meaning people in general not us, do use Triangular and gs, which are the Gaussian integers, and thus the entire D-structure is there, and I was happily chewing away until my non-dog-eating-cheese-mind snapped into place and I went, ‘What was that?’ This is D-structure. This is where it connects. I remember thinking several time this had to be true, but now I reached the conclusion from the other direction. Instead of trying to apply these knowns, I’ve reached them as being what fits to what I now know. Connects the knowledge.

I can’t say I’m comfortable enough with this to do a public presentation this minute, but this is really good work. We’re adding an entire layer of comprehension on top of these mathematical structures.