#Introverted Perception

[innumerablebackstages]

Os Iusti

A Playlist About Ni as a Dominant Function.

This is an unapologetical ramble that will be soon followed by a lot of even verbos-er rambles. Give the Playlist a listen if you found this somehow interesting.

A disembodied hand carrying a key is the perfect metaphor for Introverted iNtuition (Ni): the key itself represents the unfathomable knowing, but the unseen door leaves us questioning what is it that can be opened, known. What lies beyond is veiled, both to others and to the Ni-Fe themselves, until the moment of revelation. This playlist mirrors the labyrinthine and multi-dimensional nature of the Ni dominated psyche, mapping a journey that is simultaneously personal and universal.

Os Iusti, meaning “The Mouth of the Just,” speaks to Ni’s relationship with revelation. Though silent and elusive, when Ni does speak, it unveils profound truths that resonate on a mythic and symbolic level. It won't necessarily be well translated to others, though, and here arises a Cassandrian problem for the Ni-dom. This function often “sees it all coming” long before others catch up, only to be dismissed until hindsight vindicates it. How well developed the J-functions of the user are will determine how much they get out of the alluring mind palace of Ni.

We can see in Jung's Psychological Types (1921):

Inner objects appear to the intuitive perception as subjective images of things, which, though not met with in external experience, really determine the contents of the unconscious, i.e. the collective unconscious, in the last resort. Naturally, in their per se character, these contents are, not accessible to experience, a quality which they have in common with the outer object. For just as outer objects correspond only relatively with our perceptions of them, so the phenomenal forms of the inner object are also relative; products of their (to us) inaccessible essence and of the peculiar nature of the intuitive function.

that Ni is untranslatable; the things a Ni-Dom user experiences as their normal cognitive process is composed mainly by images, impressions, vague certainties. These types are very specific kind of people: I see online a tendency to broaden what it means to be Ni-Dom, but Jung is clear with it: introverted perception is aloof and loony and guides itself with impressions of the body and the imagery of absolutes. This is what is so fascinating about introverted perception functions: they deal with probability, yes, but the user experiments those probabilities as absolutes. The user will rarely focus on "all the possibilities" but on The One Possibility their powerful perception marks. We can understand the Pi functions as internal maps: one based on impressions of the body and the other, "of the soul". "The Soul" here means the archetypes of the universe. The Sun, The Warrior, The Emperor... They all masquerade as situations rise and fall over time in a never-ending cycle. A repetition. An eternal return. All closely guarded by the collective unconscious. For the introverted intuitive, the world is a constant flux of cycles that repeat themselves and can be gazed at. At least partially. As images. As impressions.

You see, the experience is as puzzling for the user as it is for our inner circle: as exhilarating as my certainties can be for me, I don't really know where they came from or what exactly do they mean. A "vibe" I get from someone can assume the form of a vivid image of them kicking someone in the balls for fun while smoking a joint. Or something less explicit: I can feel they are terrible violent people by the way they smiled. Why? Hell knows. I can just feel snakes crawling up my arms when they smile. What does that even mean? I will give you a delicate shrug. You do you, my gut told me. I trust it with my bones.

Finally, and we will follow with the songs and why they're there I promise, we need to understand something about Ni: it is narrative in nature. The impressions it deals with are composed mostly by images that serve a deeper, much bigger focal point.

Thinking on images means an acute sense of aesthetics too, of the aesthetic nature of patterns: perception means contemplation and passivity, not capable of judgement. It reminds us of The Crone, the ancient chaman who knows the secrets of the stars. Ni deals with equilibrium and divinity and the impressions evolution and society have made us grasp with the strength of a baby in need. Ni sees the egg and the snake that coils under the earth. Necessarily, a Ni-dom gets their impressions from images, because the introverted intuition deals with the disembodied triggers a sensation can awake.

Or, as Jung would eloquently put it:  

Intuition receives from the sensation only the impetus to immediate activity; it peers behind the scenes, quickly perceiving the inner image that gave rise to the specific phenomenon (…) It sees the image of a tottering man pierced through the heart by an arrow. This image fascinates the intuitive activity; it is arrested by it, and seeks to explore every detail of it.

Without further ado, the songs:

Hide - CS01 version — Dorian Concept

whispers in motion

This track is about how Ni feels. It's disorienting and elusive. It's also full of patterns. Here, it's mean to speak about the layers of abstraction behind Ni-images. This function only perceives sensorial information to generate images.

I once told a friend Ni feels like structures building themselves. Without my knowledge, action or conscious effort insights sharpen into crystalline clarity only to fragment under their own weight. Some of them don't, but I have no compromise with them. They're product of the wild energy of being a flesh machine. I judge their beauty, their soundness, their structure. And I won't ever find a way out.

The disjointed rhythms evoke this. In this moment, I become an observer, piecing together fragments of a vast structure underneath. Constantly moving from one filament to another, piecing into an unconscious web of... Something. Introverted intuition feels constantly as something that occurs outside of me, like a spider would inevitably create a web. This is a joy and a pain in the ass.

A Dark Cloud is Coming — Moby

an apocalyptic vision

This one is slow and paced and builds up to an intense ending. It's a little over the nose, isn't it? Well, the gift of prophecy can only be understood as a dangerous delusion: it bears an indistinct sense of impending doom that grows clearer with time. Yes, of course the impressions are useful. I have already stated how much I trust them... But it still gets itself into visions of doom. It feels like a constant weight on the shoulders, real or not. In a lecture, Jung (1938), speaks of a persona gifted with a second vision. Her delusions are not "of neurotic origin" and so she's not considered mentally ill. These visions, however, give her a "strong personal dissatisfaction"; she was absolutely terrified by sensations that were not entirely real and were not entirely hers.

This also delves into the very annoying, very real apocalyptic visions Ni can give the user. When under stress, they can be realistic and feel like accurate depictions of what will become reality. Here, the absolutes Pi deals with become a double-edged sword: if your always trusted perception tell you there is something off going on in the world... Will you ignore it? Exactly.

In this Album, Moby channels his reflections on contemporary life and personal torment into jagged post-punk. However, this time they emerge wrapped in a deceptive gentleness—like the smothering embrace of a down pillow, soft and suffocating all at once. This is an album about his fear of the species future. His eclectic style and the beautiful lullaby this song is felt just right.

If I Were — Vashty Bunyan

mammals yearn

My story with this song is from long ago. The first time I listened to it my hairs went up and it felt like I had discovered something of ultimate importance. I yearned. I yearned painfully and I did so because of the images in my head. The feelings they gave me. I became aware of my gut-wrenching, existentially itchy habit of contemplating (sometimes believing in) alternative realities.

Not as mere fantasy, but as something that illuminate the present and they do so because we are plagued by impressions of our past. We have developed a collective, evolutionary, memory that makes us enjoy and be terrified of basically the same things. Bunyan’s lilting voice and bittersweet lyrics imagine a world shaped by care and gentle longing. Ni yearns to align the external world with its internal tapestry of symbols. Whatever these images are, they're much more beautiful than wherever the Ni-dom is currently dwelling. Beauty, as stated before, is a main driver for the psyche of introverted intuiters.

Ni doesn’t just seek beauty; it obsesses over it, hunts it down, and then mourns its impermanence. It creates these beautiful, impossible ideals, then leaves you stuck in a world that can’t match them.

Jung, has something insightful to say about this, actually:

 it is an aesthetic problem, a question of perception, a 'sensation'. In this way, the consciousness of his own bodily existence fades from the introverted intuitive's view, as does its effect upon others. The extraverted standpoint would say of him: 'Reality has no existence for him; he gives himself up to fruitless phantasies'

I rest my case.

Forest Nativity - Francis Bebey

this tropical ape

This song is about something I mentioned before. Ni sees the snake. Why the snake? Well, as a symbol it is connected to the earth, to clay, to water, to flexibility and longevity. The snakes are one of the most ancient evolutionary enemies of primates. It also symbolizes lost of control, danger and chaos.

We fear them with such uniformity that out brain is wired to recognize snakes in less than a second (2016). What I'm saying here is our ecosystem has influenced the way our brains react and think collectively: if we all come from the same savannah, then we have the same primal fears. The same, old, tropical fears. I, personally, think archetypes primarily arise from there. From terror.

This track is about intricate rhythms connected to instinct. Here, I only want to remind you, and me, that Ni is a function born of instinct. Of music and religion as catalysts of society. No matter what we perceive, our feet are touching the jungle's soil, always —it’s that gut feeling of “there’s something off,” the perception that always feels just outside of reality, dancing on the edge of the conscious.

This constitutes, then, a liminal zone for the psyche: trapped among excel sheets and the animal impulse, broker of ties and marriages and skin boots. Ni thrives in these liminal zones. In the in-betweens. It weaves meaning from the interplay of this forest nativity. Ni fleshes out these collective memories through narratives and images, constantly exploring this... And for a Ni-Fe, that also means the human drama.

Olsen Olsen - Sigur Rós

trascending as a sweet

Sigur Rós is a band of icelandic Post-rock. Yes, cope. Their music is ethereal, and made to be beautiful: their creative process follows first the sound and then the meaning of each track. That is a familiar feeling. Stephen King, a famous Ni-Te, describes its creative process as unplanned: he just follows his internal map. What works. What can be envisioned as beautiful. Whatever beautiful means in a given situation.

Like Ni creative process, this song goes away from mundane concerns and toward the sublime. With its otherworldly vocals and expansive melodies, It is firstly concerned with creating sensations and crafting an image. The song was written in an invented language specifically for it, one that will be revisited by the band in future songs, but is just crafted to sound beautifully.

Few tracks embody both Ni tendency to transcendence in the sublime and the irony of its prison of flesh. The ending of the song, after a long descent into imagination and memories, a childhood sweet or a card game, crashes us with the familiar low roar of a supermarket.

Buzzcut Season - Lorde

detached awareness of impermanence

I will be honest, Lorde was not my favorite during most of my life, until her EP in maori came out. I had had my head up my ass all this time about an amazing artist. Buzzcut Season was a serendipity: and in this case it talks very openly to me about the inevitable detachment I feel for the world. And about how it feels to grow up when you don't think it has any meaning. About ignoring and fantasizing.

Something I already mentioned comes to play here, a weaving of opposites. I perceive collective dissonance and their inner tension between empathy and cynicism. I am weighted down by the impossibility of eternity. Lorde's detached delivery contrasts with the emotional gravity beneath the lyrics. I knew when my childhood ended with painful clarity, and I remember the details of my particular tragedies with detail. I still struggle to find myself outside of my head.

Now, this detachment is not in an emotional sense exactly. It's of a different nature. It's more of a hyper-involvement in a symbolic layer that renders the mundane world irrelevant.

This song is about Ni's tendency to detach from the present, observing it as though from a distance. Recognizing the impermanence of everything that has ever existed and the underlying patterns that shape them, yet unable to scream in horror. The Ni-dom is at deep emotional resonance with the world’s beauty, tempered by an almost clinical awareness of its fragility.

Illusion of Seclusion - Photay

I am one, or all, or nothing

I might sound like some kind of purist here, quoting fucking Jung and all, but I do think there is value in whatever insights and further readings into typology new blood has to give. The people from Cognitive Type, for example, have very interesting takes on Ni. Its creator explains that Ni's perception is translocal: meaning all information gathered, processed and burped out as an automatic castle will be working in function of an axiom.

This is why Ni can feel so disjointed from the “now”—because it’s not just analyzing the present, it’s tying it to an entire temporal and spatial continuum.

It will always have a direction, a focus, it will follow a specific narrative. While introverted sensation knows the facts in a sort of bulleted manner, introverted intuition inevitably arranges the facts as if they were part of a thematic web. Ni has, intrinsically, a direction. A focalized pull. Even the smallest data sets of the pathway must conduct towards the completion of the spider-web.

The previous gives birth to another characteristic of the Ni-dom, a certain idea of panpsychism and synchronicity. The psyche of Ni dominated people tends to think of the world as one. Or everything. Or nothing. But all of it for sure. It’s that nagging sense that every event, every detail, even the most mundane moment, serves a larger function in the grand scheme.

Beneath it´s solitary exterior, Ni is constantly weaving connections, weaving a web of meaning that reveals the unity behind apparent separations. For Ni, sometimes, all of the mental and physical objects are but buttons and shafts being pulled by the same forces since the beginning. Solitude is, then, an impossibility.

Os Iusti, WAB 30 — Anton Bruckner

divinity in beauty

This piece is the spiritual core of this playlist. I had the idea while giving this a listening. But first, Os Iusti comes from a bigger quote. It's from the bible, Psalms 34:30, and reads as follows:

The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just.

So this song is about prophecy and truth. Allow me to get a bit mystical with my creative depiction of how it feels to inhabit Ni. To keep it short: beauty is divinity. Transcendence and divinity are but tied to the same log and they flail against the absurd with savage strength. Ni doesn't exactly believe in the teleological nature of the universe, but it certainly acts based on this idea of repetition and symmetry. Bruckner's beautiful chorals address this with the grandeur it deserves, from a higher dimension.

But, it's also related to another dimension of divinity. This playlist, you might have noticed, is not only about condensing Ni, but condensing Ni as the dominant function of an INFJ. This choral piece also resonates with Fe’s moral blade. Its liturgical. It evokes my inner cathedral, where I constantly voice my questions of justice, duty, and alignment.

Although the Pi type is inward-turning in nature, this function:

has little inclination to make a moral problem of perception, since a strengthening of the judging functions is required fo this, only a slight differentiation of judgment is sufficient to shift intuitive perception from the purely aesthetic into the moral sphere (...) only a slight differentiation of judgment is sufficient to shift intuitive perception from the purely aesthetic into the moral sphere

and that:

It is different with the morally oriented intuitive. He reflects on the meaning of his vision, and is less concerned with developing its aesthetic possibilities than with the moral effects which emerge from its intrinsic significance

Yes, Ni is meditative and silent and won't necessarily make a fuss out of it. But just you wait. “Os Iusti” speaks not of human justice, but of cosmic harmony.

We Have a Map of the Piano - Múm

and the piano is everything

This one is more of a metaphor. The piano is... Well, everything. We are the pianos and our human drama is the piano too. Ni, sometimes, feels like having an internal map for everything that has happened under the sun. An hermetic, deeply confusing map. More often than not, the map of the piano will be much more important than the piano itself. The image will impose over reality and instead of grasping the deeper truth, I'll be chasing my own shadow.

In these archetypes, therefore, all experiences are represented which have happened on this planet since primeval times. The more frequent and the more intense they were, the more clearly focused they become in the archetype. The archetype would thus be, to borrow from Kant, the noumenon of the image which intuition perceives and, in perceiving, creates.

The map is, however, fucking alive. Do you know what cell membranes are made of? Oil and coloidal substances suspended in water: meaning, their very own structure is a fluid mosaic. Always changing, always different. The map is the same.

The collective unconscious doesn't work for the Ni-dom, we just glimpse at it with uncanny precision sometimes. Still its prisoners tho. Remember what I said about a map of absolutes, at the beginning? I am talking about one of its downsides: what happens when we fix in the wrong absolute? I will tell you what happens: nihilism and despair.

This song is about the use of the internal map to move around. The crystalline structures my mind creates without agency may not be entire useful, but they provide me with an unshakable sense of direction.

Soul Alphabet - Colleen

on the interpretation of shadows

If the former song was about the maps of everything, this one is specific to us Ni-Fe's. The map here turns on how we process emotions, how we process the world of people, the social economy. It's a soul alphabet because, yeah sure, we will read an entire room and pick out the weirdos, the nice, the disgusting and the arseholes in less than 15 minutes... But, then? Knowing and perceiving are absolutely nothing without their corresponding real object being affected.

A soul Alphabet means to know the exact words needed to open a door... Or it should, if the alphabet was not composed of archetypes and their implications. Yes, yes, they're useful, but seeing my boss as "The Emperor" and predicting his behaviour based on it can only take me so far.

You might have caught the problem a few songs back. Ni gives a lot on how to navigate relationships, but it also picks you apart. The belief that you already know what will happen is, very often, an obstacle to feel involved with your loved ones. With the world. And to accurately understand what is already going.

What happens when the image of the object is as heavy in your psyche as the object itself? Which one is more beautiful? Whom did I say had a fixation with beauty? Starting to get it? It, introverted intuition,

perceives all the background processes of consciousness with almost the same distinctness as extraverted sensation registers external objects. For intuition, therefore, unconscious images acquire the dignity of things (Jung, 1921)

As I have tried to convey during this entire verborrhea: Introverted intuition is both a joy AND A PAIN IN THE ASS. More often than not I will feel utterly overwhelmed by the information I'm perceiving (shadow Se much?) and will need time to understand what, in the first place, this all means for me. Yeah, sure, I know Frederick's got a crush in this german girl because of the way he looks at her. Because I get his butterflies while he smiles. I won't necessarily care, since it's an aesthetic problem first, until I have had time to judge... And it will take a while.

It's a beautiful song, tho. Having a soul alphabet in perpetual growth IS beautiful. I find human emotions so utterly beautiful in their primal savagery, and yet, I will feel removed from them. Alienated.

I know the end - Phoebe Bridgers

do you?

Yes, of course I already saw it coming. Do I care enough? Do I want to experience it anyway? The paradox of anticipating the inevitable while wrestling with an unspoken melancholy. This is one of the many dilemmas I’ve hinted at throughout this. From here on, I’m peeling back more of the darker layers of Ni.

What does it mean to know the end? Well, for the Ni user it implies both the constant sensation that the world can't really be a surprise, and an unspoken melancholy. However, do I really, really know the end? No, I don't. Ni isn’t omniscient—it’s a trickster. It feeds you archetypes and calls them truths, maps that blur the contours of reality. This song is both about sadness and stubbornness.

I've already said Ni takes archetypes too seriously. It takes its images as real objects and not machinations of the unconscious. What if the perceived end is one of these delusions? What if it's an apocalyptic vision breed by stress and insecurities? Ni craves the grand design but struggles with nuance. It clings to archetypes—its own self-made gods. Despair isn’t in not knowing. It’s in thinking you do, it’s being so sure you’re right that you refuse to look at the details.

Just like before, the illusion of knowing is a constant danger for these types. Bridgers captures this tension. The song’s crescendo mirrors this: a widening lens that swallows the world in its entirety—hopes, fears, and all—before collapsing into the emptiness of knowing.

You see, the thing is the map will definitely loose sight of the trees.

God, turn me into a flower - Weyes Blood

aren't magnolias pretty?

Ni doesn’t scream. It doesn’t need to. Ni is forceful in its own way. It demands attention—not through volume, but through gravity. This song is about surrendering to that gravity—a dissolution of self into something purer, quieter, beyond language.

“God, turn me into a flower.” A delicate, fleeting bloom, enduring for as long as it’s meant to. Let me be found by those whom are looking for the same divinity as me. Are we not flowers already, tho? Yes, God, tune me out the horror of reality.

But this isn’t a prayer for peace. It’s also a cautionary tale. The myth of Narcissus looms large here, twisted through the lens of modernity. In an age of reflections—be they digital or mental—we often mistake the image for the thing itself. As Weyes Blood laments:

You see the reflection and you want it more than the truth You yearn to be that dream you could never get to 'Cause the person on the other side has always just been you

Ni’s greatest strength is its ability to craft those reflections—shimmering visions of what could be. But therein lies its deepest flaw: the tendency to elevate these constructs above reality, turning them into prisons. We, like Narcissus, chase the reflections we’ve gazed at: the archetypes, the futures, the images of ourselves we wish were real.

What Weyes Blood offers is a counterweight. A call to soften. To stop chasing reflections and instead bloom where we are. Flowers don’t pursue their own beauty; they simply are. Maybe that’s the secret Ni longs to uncover: divinity isn’t in the vision—it’s in the act of blooming.

Suspirium - Tom Yorke

eureka!

It’s not fear, not really. It’s more like standing at the edge of something vast and unknown, staring into it, and wondering, is this mine? Can I claim this abyss? Or does it claim me? It’s a question we’re never ready for, but that’s exactly why it sticks. The light, the heat—it’s all there. But they’re inseparable from the shadow. That’s the thing about Ni, right? We see the whole thing, the light and the dark, and we can’t look away.

Sure. Just keep moving, right? Pretend you’re not aware that you’re stuck in the same dizzying cycle. Keep dancing in the waltz, behind the wall, pretending the laughter and the old songs are enough. Pretend you’re not aching to stop, to sit in the silence and ask yourself, what’s on the other side? The truth is, it’s not the spinning that keeps us going. It’s the hope that when we stop, we’ll still be okay. That we won’t unravel. That we’ll find something whole

Then there’s the final plea: “When I arrive, will you come and find me?” The search for something or someone—answers, resolution, a sense of belonging. But Yorke wraps that in a veil of uncertainty. Will we find each other, or will we just get lost in the crowd? It feels inevitable, and yet entirely unknown. There’s a mother, pulling us back. No tomorrows, no next steps—just a final moment of peace. But is that peace something we’re even allowed to feel?

In a way, it’s a beautiful mess. The waltz, the repetition, the dance between light and dark, the questions we keep asking and never quite answering. Suspirium is a swirl, a cry, a whisper, a pull—a glimpse at something both unknowable and familiar. And maybe that's the whole point.

This song doesn’t just ask you to feel—it asks you to exist. To sit with the weight of being, of moving through cycles you might not even understand, of carrying the light and the dark and everything in between. Ni doesn’t scream, it murmurs, and Suspirium is its hymn. Quiet, unrelenting, heavy with beauty and questions.

Is the darkness ours to take? I don’t know. But I do know that I will have to watch it.

Le Miroir - Alcest

toolkit for indirect knowledge

If Ni was a movie, Alcest would write the whole damn soudntrack. Their shimmering post-rock isn’t just music—it’s a vessel, an immersion into the space where reality blurs and meaning sharpens. Le Miroir is exactly what it claims to be: a mirror, but not the kind you glance into before heading out the door. It’s the kind that shows you and the world. The tool for looking in the corners.

This one is a mirror image in the shadow. Always slightly removed, a step back from reality, gazing at the world itself and at the veiled truths behind it. The shimmer of something more. But here’s the catch: is it a revelation, or just your own shadow staring back? Ni-users know this tension all too well—this need to decode the archetypes, to give form to the formless, to pull the unseen into sharp relief. But at what cost?

“C'est pourquoi je réfléchis.” The clever double meaning: Reflect light, reflect thoughts, reflect existence itself. Mirrors, they reveal, but only indirectly. There’s danger in that constant reflection. You can get lost in it, in the labyrinth of your own interpretations, mistaking the shimmering surface for the depths.

Alcest doesn’t give you answers. It doesn’t hold your hand. It hands you the mirror and asks, “What do you see?”

Je suis une image dans l'ombre un lieu vaguement ébloui (...) c'est pourquoi je réfléchis (...) tout ce qui passe tout ce qui change

Typewriter Lesson - Cornelius

collapse of meaning

Does Ni ever drown in its own depths? Oh, absolutely. Does Ni's ability to see patterns collapse under the weight of over-analysis? It does. If Ni is the all-seeing oracle of the psyche, then Typewriter Lesson is the moment the oracle stares so long into the abyss that it accidentally starts narrating the phone book. This track isn’t just music; it’s a chaotic exercise in over-interpretation.

Let’s get one thing straight: Typewriter Lesson isn’t “about” anything. And yet, that’s precisely why it feels so perfectly Ni. It’s a looping, rhythmic mechanism—clinical yet oddly hypnotic, a melody as sterile as it is strangely evocative. The problem is, Ni can’t leave it alone. It’s like a dog chasing its own tail, hearing the clacking keys and spinning them into grand metaphors: cycles of life! Patterns of communication! The machinery of the human mind!

But then you step back, and what’s left? A glorified typing exercise. Instructions, abbreviations, nonsense syllables. It’s like Cornelius handed you an IKEA manual and said, “Figure it out,” knowing full well you’d end up philosophizing about the meaning of furniture instead of actually assembling it.

And that’s the trap of Ni—this unbearable need to turn everything into a symbol, even when the thing itself is aggressively, stubbornly meaningless. If archetypes are Ni’s favorite playthings, then Typewriter Lesson is the moment it realizes it’s been playing with a piece of Ikea cardboard the whole time.

The beauty, of course, is in the collapse. The sheer absurdity of assigning meaning to something that refuses to hold it. Cornelius serves up a mirror here, reflecting back Ni’s own self-indulgence. You hear the keys, the repetitions, the structured chaos, and you think, Surely, this must mean something.

But does it? Really?

Staircase - Radiohead

tragically trapped

How much control does Ni really have over its webs of meaning? Is it weaving them out of choice, or is it compelled, trapped in a Sisyphean task of interpretation and reinterpretation? Staircase is about the Ni-dominated psyche staring into infinity, endlessly pulling threads, only to realize the whole thing is unraveling faster than it can be spun.

This song is a descent into chaos, into existential horror. Your mind is the delicate spider always spinning it's beautiful web. Non stop. Never-ending. The cyclical rhythm, the disjointed beats—they echo the way Ni perceives patterns in everything, yet never fully pins them down. Each step down this staircase only reveals more steps, more questions, more webs tangled into chaos.

But here’s the twist: if Ni assumes there’s a grand design, why doesn’t it ever reach the architect? Why the hesitation, the half-commitment? Because it, we, know there is no architect. This is also the saving grace; Ni is used to chaos. To nothingness. To provide the structure itself. See, this is my favorite, the collapse, or descent, is but an opportunity. Remember Little Finger?

Chaos is a lader

Radiohead’s layered production mirrors the Ni-user’s internal experience: dense, abstract, and vibrating with tension. The synths and fragmented percussion create a space where agency and inevitability blur. Is the staircase moving you, or are you moving the staircase? The song doesn’t answer—because Ni doesn’t answer. It just keeps spinning.

[sysig]

Deflections (Patreon)

Bonus:

Why not lead with that!

[jattendschaton]

Some people are very good at talking to a group and creating an environment where all of them feel very welcome and proactively making sure people are included in all aspects of the conversation and then some people talk to a group as if they are trying to keep everyone divided? Like they are using inside jokes that only one person understands or talk in a guarded way that suggests they are everyone's closest confidant but no one else is allowed to know each other. No real point, I'm just thinking about how much I would rather be the first type of person but how much more common I think the second is

[counterspellthisyoucasual]

So who was gonna tell me hanging out with people is fucking addictive????

Am I exhausted? Yes. Am I in a terrible mood? The worst. Do I have stuff I need to do? So fucking much.

Will I be tending to any of that?

Absolutely not my friend just asked me to hang out I’m not getting home till 10pm sucker

[bugwitch31]

Me on a normal day: do not fucking look at me. I do not wish to be perceived. I will fuckin end you.

Me on a night out; dolled up af: I’m the hottest person here and you better fuckin check me out. Look, don’t talk. Don’t touch. If you disagree…I’ll end you.

Either way…men…don’t fuckin talk to me.

[donnies-low-empathy]

Unpopular opinion but Donnie’s an extrovert and I will die on this hill

[1introvertedsage]

It’s crazy how intense this particular Mercury retrograde, pre and post shadow was for me. The learning and insight was unmatched.

[gender-euphowrya]

psychoanalyzing myself to understand why i don't like gale all that much

[savingwords]

I take a photo with the old camera out of my mum’s drawer

A quick shot of life

One short silent depiction of how I view the world

I like the old films

Colours not too bright

I’m not good at photography either

Smudged pictures on 15mm

Too orange, too yellow, too bright

I like looking at people, like capturing how life is for them

I don’t like being near them

I like myself on black and white film

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

oc

Danger♢Zone

Pronouns: She/it

Title: The Unearthed

"Insect": Spider. Specifically based on the purple-gold jumping spider and brush-legged wolf spider in terms of appearance. Her behavior is akin to the behavior of wolf spiders in general (i.e. solitary, burrows, doesn't make webs, opportunist)

Dominion: Cruel

Perception: Introverted

Steals: Sentimentality. Starts with but a single closely held memory and has every connecting memory become infected and corrode until the victim is completely rendered without the metaphysical concept of sentimentality.

Targets: Those who can't let the past lie. Those trying to dig up dirt on others. Those with malignant/petty grudges. Those who seek her services to obtain damning information about someone or to enact their ire upon their target of choosing. Blackmail. The cost of doing so is more than what they'd possibly gain by enacting their vengeance/justice/righteousness/pettiness, which is exactly what can happen in real life.

Basically causes people already simmering in bitterness, spite, vitriol, to become even worse. They already dug themselves a hole, ignorant to the fact it was actually their grave. Makes worse people worse and leads to them ultimately shutting down or self-destructing.

Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

Appearance: The coloration of the purple-gold jumping spider only applies to the abdomen, everything else is the coloration of the brush-legged wolf spider. The anatomy is mostly like the former despite the coloration predominantly being like the latter. This includes the iridescent coloration of the legs.

The body is the same as the former, but the legs in terms of thinness, fuzziness (and lack of), and length are the same as the latter's. This causes Danger to look very uncanny. Spider equivalent of a Maned Wolf.

One doesn't realize how long her legs are since she folds them under herself when at rest. Then, when it stands, you are met with the reality of just how disproportionately long its legs are to its body.

The legs are a double-helix ribbon shape that tapers to a point. Looks evocative of if one put two prions together.

Danger is a male spider when it comes to how both species of spider look in terms of sexual dimorphism and is thus "trans".

The abdomen of a purple-gold jumping spider is stated to look as such:

“The unique purple pattern on males' abdomens best described as "a snow angel wearing a tophat" surrounded by gold coloration tends to remain the same.”

Due to how the pattern looks from the back, it looks like a nuclear warning symbol [☢️]. This is what the pattern looks like on Danger with the rest of it being disconnected from the hazard symbol and instead being smaller and looking like blotches that happen to be evocative of the purple-gold jumping spider.

(In other words, the only part of the "snow angel wearing a top hat" that is connected are the parts that make the trefoil and circle. The parts that are connected to the bottom of the trefoil as seen in the above image instead aren't connected and are instead solitary blotches that, if they were connected, would make Danger look exactly like a purple-gold jumping spider.)

Danger's body is made of bismuth which is a mineral that is weakly radioactive. She is moreso made of bismuth crystals than the raw form of bismuth, but raw crystals are what make up the parts of her that have the brush-legged wolf spider's coloration.

While its coloration is predominantly that of the purple-gold jumping spider, some areas such as the legs, are more rainbowy than others. It also has a kind of rainbow sheen to it over the areas that are the purple-gold jumping spider in coloration but lacks this on areas with brush-legged wolf spider coloration with those areas having a metallic luster. The rainbow sheen becomes more pronounced depending on angle and lighting (almost like a form of dazzle camouflage?) (think similar to holographic cards for reference)

“Bismuth is a brittle metal with a dark, silver-pink hue, often with an iridescent oxide tarnish showing many colors from yellow to blue. The spiral, stair-stepped structure of bismuth crystals is the result of a higher growth rate around the outside edges than on the inside edges. The variations in the thickness of the oxide layer that forms on the surface of the crystal cause different wavelengths of light to interfere upon reflection, thus displaying a rainbow of colors. When burned in oxygen, bismuth burns with a blue flame and its oxide forms yellow fumes. Its toxicity is much lower than that of its neighbors in the periodic table, such as lead and antimony.”

“The only primordial isotope of bismuth, bismuth-209, was traditionally regarded as the heaviest stable isotope, but it had long been suspected to be unstable on theoretical grounds. This was finally demonstrated in 2003, when researchers at the Institut d'Astrophysique Spatiale in Orsay, France, measured the alpha emission half-life of ²⁰⁹ Bi to be 2.01×10¹⁹ years (3 Bq/Mg), over a billion times longer than the current estimated age of the universe. Owing to its extraordinarily long half-life, for all presently known medical and industrial applications, bismuth can be treated as if it is stable and nonradioactive. The radioactivity is of academic interest because bismuth is one of a few elements whose radioactivity was suspected and theoretically predicted before being detected in the laboratory Bismuth has the longest known alpha decay half-life, although tellurium-128 has a double beta decay half-life of over 2.2×10²⁴ years. Bismuth's extremely long half-life means that less than approximately one-billionth of the bismuth present at the formation of the planet Earth would have decayed into thallium since then.”

“Bismuth was long considered the element with the highest atomic mass whose nuclei do not spontaneously decay. However, in 2003 it was discovered to be extremely weakly radioactive. The metal's only primordial isotope, bismuth-209, undergoes alpha decay with a half-life about a billion times the estimated age of the universe.”

Danger♢Zone takes inspiration from prion diseases and radiation.

"The PrPCWD protein is insoluble in all but the strongest solvents, and highly resistant to digestion by proteases."

"Once in the environment, CWD prions may remain infectious for many years. Thus, decomposition of diseased carcasses, infected "gut piles" from hunters who field dress their cervid harvests, and the urine, saliva, feces, and antler velvet of infected individuals that are deposited in the environment, all have the potential to create infectious environmental reservoirs of CWD."

"CWD prions adhere so tightly to soil surface particles that the ground becomes a source of infection and may be a major route of transmission due to frequent ground contact when animals in the deer family graze."

"It is possible for CWD prions to survive sterilization procedures involving an autoclave."

"All known prion diseases in mammals affect the structure of the brain or other neural tissue; all are progressive, have no known effective treatment, and are always fatal."

"In general, prions are quite resistant to proteases, heat, ionizing radiation, and formaldehyde treatments, although their infectivity can be reduced by such treatments."

"Overwhelming evidence shows that prions resist degradation and persist in the environment for years, and proteases do not degrade them. Experimental evidence shows that unbound prions degrade over time, while soil-bound prions remain at stable or increasing levels, suggesting that prions likely accumulate in the environment."

"Incineration of prion-contaminated material is considered the most effective method of disposal. Combustion at 1,000°C can destroy prion infectivity, however, low infectivity remains after treatment at 600°C. Despite its effectiveness, incineration may not be a practical solution, such as during a large outbreak of BSE, scrapie or CWD requiring a mass culling. Incineration of contaminated soil, vegetation and farm infrastructure (paddocks, fences) to eliminate CWD or scrapie environmental infectivity is also not practical."

“This place is a message... and part of a system of messages... pay attention to it! Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture. This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here. What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger. The danger is in a particular location... it increases towards a center... the center of danger is here... of a particular size and shape, and below us. The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours. The danger is to the body, and it can kill. The form of the danger is an emanation of energy. The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”

The hairs on its body isn't actual fur— much like how fur on bees and moths are actually scales— but are very fine clusters of mineral that structurally look like mesolite.

In other words, since it is still very much crystal, and crystal that is literally needle thin and ends in points, it is not remotely soft and will lacerate you.

And yes, she does hide in wait and remains inactive until she is called upon.

The text corresponding to the life of bismuth as well as how long prions can remain infectious and how long radioactive materials can remain even after centuries is indicative of the fact Danger♢Zone has existed for a long time. It is an old devil but still nowhere near as old as Stone♜Cold. (Something something, history is doomed to repeat and living beings that are even separated by a long gap, be it time and/or space, always have the chance to evolve similar characteristics despite little to no genetic similarity. Something something spiderman-point (hostile))

She being as brightly colored as she is is perfectly indicative of her being borderline lethal. She may not have venom like spiders, but her method of soul stealing parallels how prion diseases remain dormant for a long time in an infected and then become active after several months or 1–2 years. It also parallels how radiation poisoning doesn't cause those who have it to instantly feels the effects, but instead the extent of the damage only becomes prevalent after the fact.

This is how her soul stealing works. A bite from a bat. Unnoticeable, but once symptoms show, you're a dead man walking. There is nothing you can do.

You serve as a warning message to others:

“The danger is in a particular location… it increases towards a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.

The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.

The danger is to the body, and it can kill.

The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.

The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”

The very sight of you says as much. Your very being says as much.

The Elephant's Foot if it were a living, sentient, being but with a longevity that far surpasses the real thing.

She can bring to the surface what you want, but it comes at a very very heavy price.

You cannot burn down the danger zone.

[leafy-dragon]

fuck life i wanne be a crow

[deidreraven-things]

The Odd One Out

Tell us about a time when you felt out of place. Many times… I was in theatre for a few years during high school. I got lucky and snagged a lead role for my first play, Willy Wonka- I played Frau Gloop, Augustus’ mother. My fellow cast members were rather awesome- the lead roles were older than I was, many were seniors. And yet they were kind to me and welcoming. It was sophomore year that I…

[affableramen]

Big spoon | Small spoon | Genshin Impact men | Wriothesley | Capitano | Neuvillette | Alhaitham | Dottore | Pantalone

Big spoon: Wriothesley, Capitano, Dottore

Little spoon: Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Pantalone

Wriothesley, Dottore and Capitano contain spicy parts.

Wriothesley

Big spoon. This man is anything but submissive. He is the one to start touching you at the intimate moment.

Wriothesley loves a good amount of physical touch. Be it a cold autumn evening or snowy winter night he’d very much like to have you pressed close. His muscular chest is so hot, it almost burns your skin, and you find yourself craving still more of his warmth.

You like the smell of bitter coffee mixed with leather coming from him. The rough, but passionate touches of his calloused from the fights hands.

Wriothesley has a habit of sleeping naked, and every inch of his hot burning skin is felt by you.

“Come here”, the duke doesn’t ask, he orders. You climb into the sheet and pull the blanket while staring at him expectantly. “Turn around.” When exposing your back to him, you feel hot breath blow against your hair. “You smell delicious.” He is not a beast, he doesn’t want you scared, so Wriothesley gently, gingerly snakes his hands around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest.

“You like that?”

“You certainly are very warm, my duke”, you respond playfully.

“Then we should cuddle more often.”

Capitano

Capitano is a big (in all ways) man, with big hands that are surprisingly very gentle to the touch. It is his bed routine to climb into the sheets and hold you close until the both of you drift away to sleep. His long obsidian hair tickles the sensitive skin of your back.

If Pantalone is a tsundere, trust me this man is even more tsundere. Cap is strict, reserved and collected, and it is usually an accident, a word slipped from his mouth that you hear a compliment. He is more a man of action. You know that he needs you because of his body language. He is very perceptive, he is wary of the world around him, and he is very good at physical touch. And that being said, the cuddles Capitano gives you are just perfect. They are full of heat, passion and affection, of course.

He has a habit of sleeping naked, so you are aware of every part of his body touching you even if this was not his intention in the slightest.

“Hmph…” he grunts. “Don’t move too much.”

You giggle to yourself, knowing damn well that he is already flustered. And you are flustered too.

Neuvillette

Monsieur Neuvillette is a solitary and private person. It’s rare that he gives out affection. But with you, he is ready to put some efforts into a sustainable relationship. However he is a small spoon. He is too shy, too reserved and too introverted to hug you first. And let’s be honest - he is quite used to you being the one who initiates activities.

The morning and night cuddles are very important for monsieur Neuvillette. He might even think that something is wrong between you if you do not snake your arms around him in the bed. He is very aware of your moods and reaction, and he memorises things about you quite often.

Being a little spoon Neuvillette likes the feeling of your proximity. The hands that wrap around his waist, given the height difference between you. He likes sensing your breath on him through the fabric of nightwear. You touch him incredibly gently and he responds with equal gingerly stroke over your fingers.

“It feels nice”, he says quietly, embarrassed admitting. “Would you have objections to falling asleep like this every night?”

He is very soft.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is a small spoon. But not because of submissiveness, rather of his cold, detached nature. He was grown by his grandmother and grew up surrounded by books. He knows nothing of good doze of affection. And you were the one who taught him that.

Alhaitham is not touchy-feely, he prefers his inner world and intuition above everything else. That being said, he will pull you into deep physiological conversations quite often. But you are the one who makes him grounded. You bring him back into the reality with your soft hands.

As the two of you lie in bed before sleep, you spot him reading his book as usual. You gently remove the book from his fingers, getting a surprising reaction on his face.

“Oh?”

“Let’s cuddle”, you do not let him finish the sentence. “I’m feeling lonely tonight, while you are one muscular man in my bed.”

“Don’t beat around the bush. What do you want?” He asks, his tone not rough, but irritated.

You slowly snake your arms around him, and Alhaitham lets a quiet huff of satisfaction.

“Don’t need to be so gentle, I’m not a porcelain doll. Hug me tighter.” Unlike his usual attitude, he asks you.

You do just as he says, your chest flush to his back as you wrap your hands around his chest, and your legs around his hips.

“This is not better than the book I rejected, but pleasant still.”

You playfully push him.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Fine, fine. Just tonight, I’ll be yours.”

Dottore

Big spoon. When is in love, he is a yandere. He will pull you to his chest as tight as possible and will not let you go. He will make sure you are his. Dottore will bite your ear, sucking the wounded area gently as his hands roam over your shoulders, stomach and hips. This man is entirely touch-starved and with you he wants to compensate the pleasures he denied himself in due to his tough scholar responsibilities.

The faint scent of mint is coming from him. You love it when he is close. He always smells refreshing. Though Dottore is not one to be soft with words, and his declarations of love are often blunt, the softness in his night touch when the both of you prepare to sleep, tells a different story. You love the subtly feeling of him being vulnerable when you’re in private.

“What, are you cold?” Dottore asks half-mockingly, noticing your goosebumps.

“It’s getting freezing in the evening.”

“Is this body alone not enough to heat you?” He whispers into your ear and then, what seems to be gently, takes your hand in his.

“My, you are freezing indeed. My apologies.”

Dottore grabs the edge of the duvet and pulls it up, the biggest part of it on your body.

It’s incredibly difficult for him to conduct his emotions properly, and you understand it perfectly. You do not ask for more. He genuinely wants you in comfort, otherwise his indifferent nature wouldn’t even bother.

Pantalone

This old man is a little spoon. You should never expect open attraction from him, especially the physical touch. He won’t reach out to press you close to his chest. No, no, no… He is both lazy and cold for it. A banker that is nearing menopause is expected to be nothing but an incredibly aloof and grumpy bastard. Even to his lover, his heart will melt only after considerable amount of time, that is if you’re lucky enough.

However, when he finally gives in, pushes away all his righteousness and indifference, he becomes a very soft old man. As the two of you lie in the bed prepared for sleep, he suddenly breaks the tranquil silence with his velvety, sultry voice.

“Hug me.” You find yourself dumbfounded. “I said, hug me”, Pantalone repeats. “Please”, he says quieter. You wrap your hands around his waist gently, listening to his calm, gentle breath. Judging by the movement of his body and a pleased sigh coming from his lips, he enjoys such intimate proximity with you immensely. He pulls the fuzzy blanket over the both of you, so afraid that his cold fingers might disturb you.

“Didn’t know you were the little spoon”, you say, happy with how things are. Pantalone responds with a grunt, obviously irritated or, perhaps embarrassed?

“No… Just sleep already.”

This is such a tsundere thing of him to say.

Yes, Pantalone’s definitely a small spoon.

[iknowyuu]

helloooo i was wondering if you could do a fanfic where the reader is clumsy please? like girl is so clumsy that even sieun gotta hold her mf hand so she doesnt fall like damnn... BUT YEA i hope this is a good idea 😕anyways i hope u have a good day, remember to not overwork yourself much okay? <33

kdrama! sieun x reader

// read req! around 1k words

note: shaki my fave. this ask is probably a year old LMFAOO, pero espero que disfrutas anyway !!!

daily click to help palestine and other important causes!

any outsider who happened to be looking into your life- whatever god that’s out there, whatever mysterious force that’s looking, controlling you like you were a sim had to be getting a laugh. in fact, they had to have been steadily laughing for at least a year now.

and for god’s sake, “ouch!” is not your favorite word!!

these thoughts ran through your head just as you bumped into the doorframe as you were attempting to enter your classroom. none of your classmates even looked up at the noise. they were all so used to your clumsiness that it became a daily routine. it was like a little warning that there was ten minutes left before class.

you make your way to your seat, pouting with your arms crossed. you don’t blink or move, even as the boy who sat beside you placed an ice pack on your desk. “thank you.” you mumble begrudgingly, placing it on your elbow.

sieun was like that, too— well, not the never-ending confusion in your balance as well as perception, causing you to constantly trip over invisible matter (air). it’s the consistency. every time you walked home from school together, you would trip over a pebble. every time the two of you were in the lunch line, you’d drop your money, trying to count exact change. i think you get the idea; he was like you in a sense that he expected it.

at lunch, you would constantly complain to sieun about it, telling him the amount of bruises or cuts you'd gotten that day. "sieunnnn," you'd draw out through your attractive pouty lips, sitting down at your usual table, waiting for suho and young-yi to arrive. "look at the paper cut i got. you'd think that my skin would've developed a thicker skin after the amount of times i've nearly died," you say dramatically. "it's so annoying.." you sigh, absentmindedly grabbing a hand of his, playing with his fingers. you sit next to him, placing an arm on the table, and laying your head on your arm, staring up at him.

he didn't say anything, only staring at the way you played with his fingers. he tried not to pay attention to the way you gave him butterflies, and from the way he only gets it from your touch. "it's so unfair. how come this never happens to you.." you ask dejectedly, bringing his fingers towards your lips. "or suho... or young-yi.." you mumble, kissing each of the pads of his fingers, before teasingly blowing at his pinky.

he snatched his hand from you embarrassedly, looking away with a deep blush on his face. "its your fault. you need to pay more attention where you're going."

you scoff. "my fault? are you serious? you know, i was never like this before i met you." you sat up. "it's your fault. maybe if you stopped looking at me with those eyes, stopped hanging around me, stopped looking so cute, and stopped living in my mind i'd be able to finally live my life pain-free." you say, heaving a heavy sigh just as you spotted your friends walking towards the table. the words that had just left your mouth instantly left your consciousness when you waved at them, giggling at the stupid face suho was making.

sieun, though, did not move. instead, he sat there, blushing and thinking.

yes, it's true. ever since the big-eyed introvert entered your life, you suddenly became less and less aware of your surroundings, yet more and more aware of the way sieun's hair would stick up in certain places after you ruffled it. or, even how the tip of his ears would light up red after you complimented him.

he didn't pay you (or anyone else) any mind at all when he was a school-obsessed nerd, but now that he has a social life for once, he was beginning to realize that you only treat him like this. you did not kiss the tips of suho's fingers, nor did you hold the waist of young-yi. it was only him.

these thoughts plagued his mind as the school day came and went, and as per usual, the two of you were walking home together. the sunset was just approaching, and the whole city was bathed in a golden hue, reflecting off of every surface to be found. the two of you walked side by side.

"sorry."

"what?" you turned to look at sieun with curiosity. "sorry for what?"

"for being the one who distracts you all the time. you always get hurt because of me." he says, looking down at the ground as the two of you continue walking.

"sieun.. i was just jo-" he interrupted you, "i should take responsibility for my actions." he said, boldly grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him, just narrowly saving you from bumping your shoulder into a pole.

"o-oh." you say. for once, you were the one who was embarrassed. it didn't last long though, as you giggled softly you interlaced your fingers with his. you miss the way he squeezes your hand, looking away with a faint smile on his face.

"it's about time." you whisper, looking down with a smile that was the opposite of his. noticeable and wide.