#Introspection

[poemwav]

from "Baby Love" || from her collection "A Bright and Borrowed Light"

[star-struck09]

Do you think of me as often as I think of you?

[echoesoftheinfinite]

Part of the 'Wandering Echoes' collection.

[aventurineswife]

❤ The Language of Flowers | 021

❤ | Your options shall be: Noah, Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade, Phainon, Mydei, or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition: Sylleblossom | symbolize hope and romance. Giving someone Sylleblossoms can mean you want to take the next step in your relationship. Its Japanese name is "flower of zeal". Zeal is dedication or enthusiasm for something, often meant for devotion to God or another religious cause.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Noah (OC) x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Romance, Slow Burn, Emotional Depth, Symbolism, Slight Angst, Introspection, Subtle Fluff, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Symbolic Gestures.

Warnings: Themes of Trauma & Emotional Baggage, Psychological Complexity, Mentions of Blood (Noah's part), Survivor’s Guilt (Aventurine's and Sunday's parts), Power Imbalance.

[Header credits]

The dark elegance of Noah’s presence filled the dimly lit parlor, his single amber eye gleaming as he regarded the bouquet in your trembling hands. The Sylleblossoms—rare, violet-tinted petals blooming in delicate fervor—seemed almost too soft for his world of blood and justice.

"You know what this means, don’t you?" His voice was smooth, edged with a dangerous amusement as he leaned back in his throne-like chair.

You swallowed, fingers curling around the stems. "I do."

The air grew taut, silence stretching between you like the space between stars. Noah tilted his head, assessing you, his sharp-toothed grin widening.

"Hope? Romance?" He let the words roll off his tongue, testing them like a fine wine. "I wonder… do you understand the weight of offering these to someone like me?"

You met his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath it. "I wouldn’t have given them to you if I didn’t."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something raw, dangerous, but undeniably intrigued. Slowly, he reached forward, plucking a single Sylleblossom from the bouquet. His fingers brushed yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

He twirled the flower between his fingers, watching the petals sway. "Taking the next step in our relationship, are we?"

Your heartbeat quickened. "If you'll let me."

Noah chuckled darkly, standing fluidly, his sheer presence suffocating and intoxicating all at once. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Then be prepared," he whispered, lips ghosting against your skin. "Because devotion to a God of Justice… is absolute."

The floating Sylleblossom petals shimmered under the Astral Express’s gentle glow, their meaning woven into the quiet tension between you and Sunday. He stood by the observation window, bathed in celestial light, his hair shifting as he turned to face you.

"You brought me flowers," he murmured, eyes tracing the bouquet in your hands. His voice carried its usual softness, but there was something deeper—something hesitant.

You nodded, stepping closer. "Do you know what they mean?"

Sunday's fingers brushed against a petal, his wings behind his ears fluttering slightly. "Hope. Romance." His tone was unreadable, yet his gaze lingered on you with an intensity you weren’t used to.

For a moment, you thought he might reject them. Sunday had always been distant, lost in his philosophy, reluctant to tether himself to emotions he believed transient.

But then—his hand covered yours.

"You surprise me," he admitted, almost to himself. "Offering something so… zealous to someone who has doubted love itself."

You swallowed, watching his expression shift—wistful, almost yearning. "Maybe… you need someone to remind you that love isn’t just a dream."

A soft chuckle escaped him, tinged with disbelief. "And you think you can be that person?"

You hesitated, then smiled. "If you'll let me."

Sunday closed his eyes briefly, exhaling as if releasing a weight he’d carried for too long. When he opened them again, something softer had replaced the guarded melancholy. He accepted the flowers fully, fingers lingering over the petals before carefully tucking one behind your ear.

"Then let us see where this dream takes us," he whispered.

"Ah, what’s this? A gift?" Aventurine’s smirk was effortless, but his eyes flickered with something more as he plucked the bouquet from your hands.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. "It’s not just any flower. Sylleblossoms symbolize—"

"Hope and romance," he finished smoothly, twirling one between his fingers. "Taking the next step in our relationship, are we? Bold of you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you kept your voice steady. "I figured you'd appreciate a gamble."

Aventurine laughed—a genuine, rich sound. "You know me well, sweetheart." He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "But tell me, are you ready for the stakes?"

You met his gaze, unwavering. "Are you?"

For the first time, Aventurine faltered. It was slight—barely noticeable—but you caught it. The charming, ever-confident gambler was used to controlling the odds, but this? This was a risk even he couldn’t fully calculate.

Then, with an unreadable smile, he tucked a Sylleblossom into the folds of your attire. "Guess we’ll find out," he murmured, his fingers grazing your collarbone before pulling away.

His grin returned, playful yet tinged with something deeper. "Just don’t be surprised if I make the game more interesting."

[Navigation]

[bernardreneguillot]

" L'arlesienne " panneaux papier kraft assemblés et marouflés sur toile 293x263

[enenkaydoodles]

Uncertain feelings in uncertain times after 5 months of being unemployed with no end in sight

[minimalist-quotes]

In the end, people always have a way of revealing who they are. You just have to give them the space and time to do so. No mask can be worn forever.

[miamaimania]

"Bjork" (1995) ◆ Blue-hour confessions on bedroom floor

[emmathe82nd]

I’m glad Dan has been through enough therapy to realize this now. I think it’s very important to understand this if you want to understand Dan and his character and why the hiatus happened and why WAD was so important and why he seems so much happier now that he’s sort of accepted that he doesn’t have to keep up this battle armor all the time of being cynical and sarcastic and negative. In this “new era” he can just vibe and be whimsical and happy and be accepted and loved by us.

[eelhound]

"The idea of reforming Omelas is a pleasant idea, to be sure, but it is one that Le Guin herself specifically tells us is not an option. No reform of Omelas is possible — at least, not without destroying Omelas itself:

If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms.

'Those are the terms', indeed. Le Guin’s original story is careful to cast the underlying evil of Omelas as un-addressable — not, as some have suggested, to 'cheat' or create a false dilemma, but as an intentionally insurmountable challenge to the reader. The premise of Omelas feels unfair because it is meant to be unfair. Instead of racing to find a clever solution ('Free the child! Replace it with a robot! Have everyone suffer a little bit instead of one person all at once!'), the reader is forced to consider how they might cope with moral injustice that is so foundational to their very way of life that it cannot be undone. Confronted with the choice to give up your entire way of life or allow someone else to suffer, what do you do? Do you stay and enjoy the fruits of their pain? Or do you reject this devil’s compromise at your own expense, even knowing that it may not even help? And through implication, we are then forced to consider whether we are — at this very moment! — already in exactly this situation. At what cost does our happiness come? And, even more significantly, at whose expense? And what, in fact, can be done? Can anything?

This is the essential and agonizing question that Le Guin poses, and we avoid it at our peril. It’s easy, but thoroughly besides the point, to say — as the narrator of 'The Ones Who Don’t Walk Away' does — that you would simply keep the nice things about Omelas, and work to address the bad. You might as well say that you would solve the trolley problem by putting rockets on the trolley and having it jump over the people tied to the tracks. Le Guin’s challenge is one that can only be resolved by introspection, because the challenge is one levied against the discomforting awareness of our own complicity; to 'reject the premise' is to reject this (all too real) discomfort in favor of empty wish fulfillment. A happy fairytale about the nobility of our imagined efforts against a hypothetical evil profits no one but ourselves (and I would argue that in the long run it robs us as well).

But in addition to being morally evasive, treating Omelas as a puzzle to be solved (or as a piece of straightforward didactic moralism) also flattens the depth of the original story. We are not really meant to understand Le Guin’s 'walking away' as a literal abandonment of a problem, nor as a self-satisfied 'Sounds bad, but I’m outta here', the way Vivier’s response piece or others of its ilk do; rather, it is framed as a rejection of complacency. This is why those who leave are shown not as triumphant heroes, but as harried and desperate fools; hopeless, troubled souls setting forth on a journey that may well be doomed from the start — because isn’t that the fate of most people who set out to fight the injustices they see, and that they cannot help but see once they have been made aware of it? The story is a metaphor, not a math problem, and 'walking away' might just as easily encompass any form of sincere and fully committed struggle against injustice: a lonely, often thankless journey, yet one which is no less essential for its difficulty."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

[poemwav]

– Courtney Kampa (1987-2022) || from the collection "A Bright and Borrowed Light"

[star-struck09]

I fear the sadness will consume me alive one day.

[echoesoftheinfinite]

Echoes, The Murmurs of Lost Souls

[parasolladyansy]

A little art therapy as I realized how my creative phases were like the water cycle 🌧️ If you’re also in a bit of a creative “dry spell”, this one’s for you.

PS: thanks so much for all your support / input on my artist’s block post. Just seeing your response helped me sketch out what I’m gonna do for the next couple of comics. I may not make my deadline, but it feels a lot better to have a plan. 🩵

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Aventurine, Ratio and Dan Heng (separately) with a female S/O who never calls them handsome or hot because in her opinion that's overrated? And instead when she compliments their looks she always calls them something more poetic I guess, like "You're gorgeous", "mesmerizing" or just calls them pretty?

Please and thank you.

More Than a Pretty Face

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Romance, Fluff, Light Humor, Emotional Moments, Introspection.

Aventurine lounged on a velvet chaise in his opulent quarters, his earring catching the light as he idly shuffled a deck of cards. “Tell me, darling,” he said, flashing his signature smile, “on a scale from dashing to devastatingly gorgeous, where do I stand today?”

You chuckled from across the room, rolling your eyes as you adjusted a vase of desert lilies. “I’d say... clever. Maybe a touch insufferable.”

Aventurine’s smile faltered, replaced by a mock pout. “Clever? That’s all? You wound me.”

You turned to him, hands on your hips, your gaze warm but teasing. “Oh, come on. You don’t need me to inflate your ego. You’ve got mirrors for that.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “But a man like me thrives on compliments.”

You approached, your voice softening. “Then here’s one you don’t hear enough—you’re brilliant, Aventurine. The way you outmaneuvered those IPC board members today? It was genius. That’s why I’m with you. Not because of your looks.”

For a moment, his facade cracked, and the weight of your words settled over him. He reached for your hand, pulling you onto the chaise beside him. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “And you’re more than just a pretty face, even if you like pretending otherwise.”

Aventurine laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room. “Darling, you may be the only gamble I’ve ever taken that feels like a sure thing.”

Ratio was deep in thought, sketching out a complex theorem on his holographic tablet. You sat nearby, engrossed in a book, though your eyes occasionally flicked to him. The way the strands of his hair fell into his eyes, his intense focus—it was hard not to admire him.

“Something on your mind?” he asked without looking up, his sharp intuition catching your gaze.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How you’re... brilliant. And maybe a little intimidating.”

Ratio finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Brilliant, I’ll accept. Intimidating, though? That’s a first.”

You set your book aside, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You’re intimidating because you always seem so sure of yourself. Like there’s no challenge you can’t overcome.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with curiosity. “You could simply call me handsome, you know. It’s what most people resort to when they’re unsure how to express admiration.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Handsome is overrated. Plenty of people are handsome. But how many can look at a problem no one else can solve and find the answer?”

Ratio’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Flattery through intellect. Unexpected, but effective.”

You leaned down, brushing a kiss against his temple. “Good. Because that’s the kind of man I fell for—the one who challenges the universe, not just the mirror.”

Dan Heng sat in the archives of the Astral Express, organizing old data files with his usual quiet precision. You entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea. You set one beside him and took a seat across the table, watching him work.

“You don’t have to hover,” he said without looking up, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Who’s hovering? I’m just... admiring the view,” you teased.

Dan Heng’s gaze finally met yours, one eyebrow raised. “Admiring?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your tea. “What? You’re not used to me watching you?”

“I’m used to you avoiding words like ‘handsome’ or ‘hot.’ It’s... unusual.”

You set your cup down, leaning forward. “That’s because those words don’t do you justice. You’re more than that.”

His expression softened, the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “More than that?”

“Yeah. You’re dependable. Thoughtful. A little too serious sometimes, but it’s part of your charm.” You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “You’re the kind of person people can rely on. That’s what makes you special, not just the way you look.”

Dan Heng’s silence spoke volumes, the weight of your words sinking in. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. “That means more than you know.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Mr. Reliable.”

For the first time in a while, Dan Heng allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”