#beyond the pendulum

[fyeahygocardart]

Beyond the Pendulum

[yugiohtournaments]

Best Level Two Spellcaster - Round 1 Match 25

[blastthechaos]

Has anyone drawn Zarcray with Zarc and Ray having Performapal Celestial Magician and Beyond The Pendulum Magician costumes respectively?

I know it's not the exact same but come on...

Don't tell me you don't see it

[bloomboxygo]

I still remember when the new Supreme King support which included Arcray Dragon and Exceed the Pendulum focused on kinda having, in terms of references, Ray being an anchor for Yuya, previously Z-ARC, with how her link cards work well with the redeemed Supreme Kings.

And now, the Melodious Pendulums work very well with RAY!

The Melodious Cards are steadily being used as a LIGHT Pendulum engine to easily make Beyond and go further, leading into great combos that support the redeemed Supreme King cards this way.

And a Pendulum variation also got a 2nd place in the OCG, of all things! (small tourney but still)

It's hard to see from here, but it's the top right build and it also includes Solfachords!

Heh... First Ray being Yuya's companion in-game, and now Yuzu joined in...

This became... Right all of a sudden.

[80shorrorfan]

I have a playlist of all the Jeffrey Combs movies for free on youtube. I am continually updating and would appreciate if anyone has recommendations for it.

[space-nightmare]

He actually got kicked out of Miskatonic bc he's illiterate

[dilfoez]

more teehee

[letmereadherbertwestfics]

I like imagine a world where all of the Jeffrey Combs characters are coworkers at a retail store, like a dollar tree or something small like that. like one is the store manager, one is an assistant manager, some key holders, and of course some sales associates. Maybe a few that don't work there but are regulars, fuck it

[harmonyhealinghub]

Harnessing the Power of the Pendulum for Divination

Shaina Tranquilino

August 28, 2023

Throughout history, humans have sought ways to connect with the spiritual realm and gain insight into the future. One such method is pendulum divination, a practice that has been used by various cultures across time. The pendulum, a simple tool consisting of a weight suspended on a string or chain, can serve as a powerful instrument for accessing intuitive guidance and uncovering hidden truths. In this blog post, we will explore the art of using a pendulum for divination and delve into its potential benefits.

Understanding Pendulum Divination:

Pendulum divination is based on the principle that our subconscious mind holds knowledge beyond our conscious awareness. By tapping into this inner wisdom and connecting with higher realms or spirits, we can seek answers to questions or gain clarity on specific situations.

The Mechanics of Pendulum Divination:

To begin your journey with pendulum divination, you first need to select or create your pendulum. It can be made from various materials like crystal, wood, metal, or even something as simple as a key attached to a string. Choose one that resonates with you and feels comfortable to hold.

Once you have your pendulum ready, find a quiet space where you can concentrate without distractions. Sit comfortably and hold the top end of the string or chain between your thumb and forefinger, allowing the weighted end to hang freely.

Establishing Communication:

Before diving into any specific questions or inquiries, it is crucial to establish communication with your pendulum. Begin by asking it to show you what "yes" looks like and then observe how it swings or moves in response. Similarly, ask it to demonstrate what "no" looks like. This process helps set up an agreed-upon language between you and the pendulum.

Asking Questions:

With communication established, you are now ready to ask questions. Start with straightforward queries that have a clear "yes" or "no" response. Hold the pendulum still and mentally state your question, allowing the pendulum to swing or move in response. Remember to remain open-minded and receptive during this process.

Interpreting the Pendulum's Responses:

The pendulum's movements can vary between swinging back and forth, side to side, circular motions, or even remaining still. It is essential to develop an understanding of what these different patterns mean for you personally. For example, a clockwise circle may signify affirmation, while a counterclockwise motion could indicate hesitation or negativity. Trust your intuition and observe patterns over time to decipher the meanings accurately.

Benefits of Pendulum Divination:

1. Insightful Guidance: The pendulum acts as a bridge between conscious and subconscious realms, offering valuable insights into various aspects of life, including relationships, career decisions, health concerns, and personal growth.

2. Enhanced Intuition: Regular practice with a pendulum can help sharpen your intuitive abilities by strengthening your connection to your higher self and spiritual guidance.

3. Decision-Making Tool: When faced with difficult choices or uncertainty, using a pendulum can provide clarity and assist in making informed decisions aligned with your deepest desires.

Pendulum divination is an ancient art that allows us to tap into our inner wisdom and connect with subtle energies beyond our immediate perception. By learning how to use a pendulum effectively and interpreting its responses intuitively, we gain access to valuable guidance for various aspects of life. Remember that practicing pendulum divination requires patience, trust in yourself, and respect for the energy you are harnessing. So why not give it a try? You may be pleasantly surprised by the profound insights awaiting you through this simple yet powerful tool.

[yugiohtournaments]

Best Level Two Spellcaster - Round 5 Match 3

[blastthechaos]

Melodious mixing well with Supreme King and Beyond/Exceed the Pendulum mixing well with Performapal/Odd-Eyes/Pendulum Magician (even if just by necessity over being pendulums and needing that monster) just supports my theory that Yuya and Yuzu are Zarc and Ray blatant favorites, even when talking about the others fragments.

[mimihagis]

tag drop.

[colouredbyd]

You're Too Sweet For Me

Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: He told you you were too sweet for him, but he always found his way back—aching, tired, and full of love for the only person who ever felt like home

warnings: emotional vulnerability, soft intimacy, mentions of injuries, blood, physical exhaustion. Hint of a dangerous lifestyle, suggestive comments. hurt/comfort slight angst

word count: 1.6k

authors note: inspired by the song too sweet by hozier 🌷

masterlist

You stir awake at the faint creak of the door closing downstairs, and by the time the quiet padding of footsteps reaches the washroom just beyond the corridor, you’re fully pulled from sleep. Once, you were the kind of person who could sleep through anything—storms, chatter, even Peeves wreaking havoc in the castle halls. But that changed the moment Regulus Black entered your world.

You suppose you always knew what loving him would mean. Whispers of the things he was tangled in—dark paths, cold choices—echoed through every common room and corridor.

He was a name you were taught to avoid. And for a while, you did. You, all sunlight and softness, and him, all sharp edges and shadows. But it only took one glance across a room—one stolen moment at a Slytherin party—for your worlds to collide, for your careful life to twist around his.

He was the storm they warned you about. And yet somehow, you became the calm he never thought he’d deserve.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t just you resisting the inevitable pull. In those early days, Regulus fought it too—perhaps even harder than you did. You remember the way he tried to draw a line between you both, always stiff and distant, as if convincing himself you were just another fleeting curiosity. You still recall one night in particular, when you found him at the edge of Hogsmeade in a shadowy corner of the Hog’s Head, meeting him there even though your instincts screamed not to.

“I take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You’re way too sweet for me, baby.”

It didn’t feel like he was warning you—it felt like he was warning himself. His usually steely grey eyes were darker that night, stormy as they hovered over your lips, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to lean in or walk away forever. His words sounded like a promise to keep his distance, but instead, he only drifted closer.

Life with Regulus is a constant pendulum swing between chaos and calm. When it’s good—when he lets you in—it’s everything. He softens in ways no one else ever sees, and you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were meant to be the person who brings him peace. His presence quiets the noise in your head, and his rare smile feels like a secret meant only for you.

But when it’s bad… the darkness he carries is suffocating. It’s heavy, inescapable, and when it settles between you, it’s easy to forget what it felt like when he made you bloom.

You never asked Regulus to abandon the life he was raised into. You knew from the beginning—he was tangled in things far older, far darker than either of you could ever name out loud. You never asked him to step away from the quiet alliances sealed in shadows, the cursed promises spoken behind pureblood curtains. You understood it wasn’t that simple. But that doesn’t make it easier.

It doesn’t silence the dread that twists your stomach every time an owl doesn’t come when it should. It doesn’t soothe the hours you spend imagining the worst when he misses your planned meeting in the Astronomy Tower or doesn’t answer your enchanted notes. And then there are nights like this, when he shows up at your door past curfew, bleeding, bruised, haunted. Never for comfort—only because he has nowhere else left to go.

The first time he appeared like this—well past midnight, cloak ripped, eyes too wild to meet yours, with blood trailing down from his temple—you didn’t think. You just ran to him. You remember how your knees buckled when you saw the gash on his jaw, how your hands trembled so violently he had to hold them steady. He was the one hurt, and still, he whispered, “It’s alright. I’m here amour,” as if you were the one falling apart. And maybe you were.

Since then, you’ve learned to keep yourself steady. You can gather salves, mix potions, and whisper healing incantations with a calm voice and trained hands. But no amount of practice has made it easier to see him broken and bruised, to hold him when he’s barely holding himself together.

You sit up in bed at the sound of the bathroom door shutting gently down the hall. The taps creak on, and water begins to flow. You check the enchanted clock on your bedside table—it’s just past three in the morning. The room is dim, lit only by the gentle glow of moonlight spilling in through the arched window. Despite the hour, despite the ache in your chest, your little dorm room still feels warm. Safe. You created this space to be yours—a soft place untouched by the madness beyond the castle walls. And yet, despite everything, Regulus fits here. Somehow.

You throw on a cardigan, fingers trembling as they fumble with the sleeves. When you finally reach the bathroom door, you don’t knock. You simply turn the knob and step inside.

The scene breaks your heart.

Regulus is hunched forward in the tub, water rising around him, his wet curls pushed back from his pale face. His shoulders, back, and ribs are mottled with bruises. A long cut slices across his jaw. His bottom lip is split. But it’s his eyes—dark and glassy, rimmed red—that shatter you. He doesn’t say a word, but the apology sits heavy in the space between you.

“I’m sorry,” you imagine him whispering. “I’m trying soleil. I swear I’m trying to be better—for you. But I don’t know how.”

You kneel beside the tub, reaching to cup his face. Your touch is feather-light, and he leans into it without hesitation, like he’s been waiting for it all night.

“I’m alright mon chéri”  he rasps, but his wince when your hand brushes a particularly deep bruise betrays him.

You’d do anything—anything—to free him from the world that’s caging him, from the name he never chose, from the expectations that weigh him down like chains. But you know how the Black family works. You know that escaping their grasp comes at a cost. And your greatest fear is that one day, that price will be too high—that it’ll take him from you forever. Every bruise is a reminder. Every scar a countdown.

“I’ll get you some potion for the pain,” you whisper and begin to rise, but his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t go. Please. Just—stay.” The words are barely a breath, raw and desperate. You fold instantly, lowering yourself back beside him as he clutches your arm like something sacred, like if he lets go, the world might collapse.

But even that closeness isn’t enough.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

Until that day"

Eventually, you rise again. His eyes flash with panic, but you hush him gently. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

He lets you go this time. You slip out of your clothes and slide into the tub behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Your chest presses to his back, and slowly, gradually, he softens into you. Your lips press gentle kisses along his shoulders. Your fingers map out his ribcage, slow and reverent.

“You’re too sweet for me.”

You exhale a soft laugh, brushing a damp curl away from his temple. “We’ve had this argument, haven’t we?”

He shifts just enough to look at you, and there’s something fragile in his expression. “I feel like I’m ruining you.”

Your chest tightens. “Regulus, my love, stop. I chose this. I chose you. That wasn’t a mistake.”

He doesn’t answer, not with words. But the look on his face—shame and longing tangled together—speaks louder than anything. You pull him into a kiss, gentle but certain, grounding him. “You’re not a mistake,” you whisper against his lips.

The bathwater grows cold before either of you moves. When you finally coax him out, you help him dress in a shirt and boxers he left at your dorm weeks ago. He tries to fiddle with a squeaky drawer like he always does—his silly way of pretending things are normal—but you shoo him away.

“Get in bed. That’s an order.”

He chuckles, his voice hoarse. “Yes, docteur .”

You’re about to crawl into bed after him when you notice the smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?”

“You take such good care of me,” he says with a drawl. “Y’know, there is one more thing I think I need to recover.”

He tugs teasingly at the collar of your sleep shirt.

“Oh, really?” you arch a brow.

“Absolutely.”

Instead of indulging him, you press a firm finger into a bruise on his shoulder, making him hiss.

“Ow—bloody hell, that wasn’t sweet at all!”

You grin. “Doctor’s orders: no physical activity.”

“Merlin, you’re evil,” he grumbles, still chuckling as he pulls you into his arms.

“But you love it,” you mumble into his chest.

His hold tightens, grounding and real. “Only from you,” he murmurs. “Always from you.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Blink, Gone.

Inspired by this artwork; follows the lore of my idol AU. I also wanted to challenge myself to write a “performing a song on stage” scene. I do NOT intend on doing the same for all the other characters in the idol AU setting, so please do not request it of me.

I want y’all to know that I listened to Hebi to Mabataki several times to get a feel for how to write a description of the music… AND THEN I NOTICED MY (nonspecific) PET WAS BOPPING ALONG TO THE BEAT OF THE SONG. THEY GOT SNAKE WHISPERED BY JAMIL… OTL

Imagine this...

The concert hall is electric.

It’s dark, but the venue opens to a sea of glowing lights–wands in the hands of fans, moving rhythmically, pulsating like a heart under a velvet cover. A murmur diffuses through the crowd, the same name on everyone’s lips. The air is charged with tension, barely contained energy waiting to be released in a shower of sparks.

Fog seeps out from the corners of the stage. The world is dyed a deep red.

The music hits, subtle and creeping, as if on tip-toes. A soft guitar rift, the gentle stroke of piano keys.

A snake’s rattle reverberates through the venue. The signal–his.

The fans erupt into a perfect rhythm. Voices, lightsticks. His name, louder than ever before. “Ja-mil! Ja-mil!!”

A lone figure emerges from the fog, still as stone. The silhouette is as sharp as a diamond cleaving the earth in half, gold found in a stretch of sand.

The cries intensify. “JA-MIL!! JA-MIL!!!”

He strides into the light, each step slow and precise. His ponytail sways, the braids set in it and the golden accessories that adorn him, like pendulums. Snaking over his shoulder, the ponytail can easily be mistaken for a serpent itself, drawn in by his bejeweled jacket, the gemstones scarlet as forbidden fruit stitched into his lapels.

He extends an arm to the audience, as if beckoning to them.

And he sings, seizing the moment as his.

Fans scream, shriek.

His voice matches the music: low and sultry, the whisper of a lover in the shell of one’s ear. Riches beyond one’s wildest dreams, magic power that defies the cosmos—these and more, he laments. Desires sweetly constricting him.

His movements are mesmerizing. Limbs twisting and coiling together, snapping sharply at the end of each line. The star’s sinuous body splays on the stage like a feast for the eyes. Everything about him flows, beginning and ending in all the right places.

“Light that never fades, anger that doesn’t exhaust. If only I could expose it all… Ah—ah—ah—”

A lull in the music. The song gasps, taking in a breath and holding onto it.

Time slows. The grains of sand in an hourglass halt.

Jamil looks back out at the audience. Each fan is wreathed in a halo of hypnotic red, rising and falling in a haunting sway. Their hearts and minds, captured.

One falls out of line.

A single light stick moves too fast to be considered one of the group. It’s not a mindless motion, but a hand waving excitedly at him. His attention snags on it, pulse quickening.

That’s…

A familiar face rises from the crowd. Warm eyes, an encouraging smile.

Jamil feels himself slipping back in time. Two children, their peals of laughter in the sunny meadow. Flowers plucked of petals, grass woven into knots, leaves used as whistles.

It was a simpler era. No ornate costumes or grand stage. There was only him and them, holding hands and spinning round and round and round, until they, at last, collapsed into the posies in a fit of giggles.

He had taken to a tree stump and climbed onto it, had clumsily spun, pretending a daisy was his microphone. They had sat and clapped along, terrible as he must have sounded then.

His first performance for his first fan.

The corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You came to see me.

Squeals ring out. Each person in the venue is convinced that the smoulder is meant for them, and them alone.

But his gaze lingers on his one, his only. Their shared secret.

Jamil, the snake, blinks.

The mystical moment, a scene set in a decorative bottle, is over.

Grains of sand fall. The lamp is opened, the magic releasing. The song resumes, and so does he.

He thrusts an arm up, seeking a star to grab hold of. His voice climbs in volume. Higher and higher, until he hits a fever pitch.

“To the farthest reaches, flyyy~yy~y—”

Shadows elongate, becoming the cold iron bars that form his cage. A curse upon his lips, even as he sings of a longing for freedom.

The music swells with the audience’s excitement.

He realizes, and his heart stops.

“Ah-ah, it’s still not enough…”

And it will never be.

Darkness swaddles Jamil in its comforting embrace as he dips backstage. The walls and floors are lined with wires, cords, and buttons—blood vessels which keep the concert alive. The props and people that are never seen by anyone are buzzing behind the curtains.

He is automatically swarmed by a small army of stagehands. One deftly undoes his headset microphone, another wipes his forehead with a moist towel, then dusts his face with translucent powder. A third offers a water bottle (which he turns down), while a fourth, clipboard in hand, flashes him a thumbs-up.

“Great job out there, Jamil!” the stagehands babble like drones. “You killed it tonight.”

“My performance wouldn’t have been possible without your support.” He lowers into a bow. “Please pat yourselves on the back as well.”

“So respectful,” the stagehand with the powder puff gushes.

“Is there anything we can get for you, sir?” asks the one with the water bottle.

“No thank you. I’d like to be on my own to decompress, so I’ll be retiring to the green room for the time being.”

“Of course. We’ll leave you to it!”

The stagehands disperse, peeling off in different directions to tend to other tasks. From the corner of his eye, Jamil spots the next performers—a merman trio in suits that shimmer like fish scales. Twin brothers huddle around a shorter man in glasses, tittering as if in on a funny joke.

The group song, Jamil knows, is first in the line-up, followed by a new number from a member in each group. From observing them the past few weeks, he has deduced that their soloist is the one with a wave of silver hair. Azul, named for the blue of the ocean.

Jamil has made the mistake of sustaining eye contact with him once, which led to weeks’ worth of simpering smiles and calling out to him mid-dance practice. He shivers at the unpleasant memory.

Again, his eyes staying fixed for too long, glances away too late. Azul pauses in his conversation and smirks. The snake is trapped in his tightly woven net.

Please listen carefully, Jamil-san, he mouths.

Blaring trumpets sound, calling the mermen to the stage. Azul turns his attention to it, and, together, they plunge into the waiting spotlight.

Hah, Jamil scoffs to himself. Good luck trying to top my performance.

He turns on his heel and makes for the exit. Staff members mill about in the dim area, and expertly weaves between them. To Jamil, it is no different than the dance he just performed minutes ago. He has done this a million times, and likely will a million more.

Something firm and hefty suddenly collides with his shoulder, jostling Jamil.

He regains his balance by pivoting on one foot. Glancing back, he begins an apology.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t looking where I was… Ah.” Jamil stops short.

Standing before him is a lion beastman with a luxurious mane, flanked by a lanky hyena and a well-built wolf. His is a noble face, jawline cut sharp and paired with a full mouth. Long, dark lashes fall over eyes so verdant, they seem to glow, illuminating the thin scar that threads the left.

He carries himself with a lazy, feline grace, hands slid into the pockets of his slacks and head held high. The man hasn’t bothered to fully button his dress shirt, which provides a generous window of his collarbone and bronze cleavage. Every inch of him oozes confidence, commanding not just his cronies, but the entire room.

Jamil has seen him on countless magazine covers and television screens. “Sexiest Man Alive”, “DIADEM goes from Gold to Platinum!”, and “Atop the Throne: where will the King lead his Pride next?” immediately come to mind.

He clears his throat and adopts his most polite tone. “Pardon, but... You’re Leona-senpai from K///ngdom, aren’t you? That makes you my senior at Night Raven Records. It’s an honor to finally meet you in person. I deeply admire your work.”

Leona’s placid expression morphs into mild annoyance. “… That all you have to say after your little stunt?”

“I… What?” Jamil frowns. Far ruder than I was anticipating. “I’m afraid I do not understand what you‘re speaking of.”

“Like hell you don’t. You really take us all for fools, don’t you?” He gives a curt laugh. “Or maybe you think too highly of yourself.”

The hyena on his right snickers, joining him. The wolf shifts uncomfortably. “Leona-senpai, you shouldn’t—”

“Tch.” He sends his member a glare. ”Pipe down, pup. The adults in the room are talkin’.”

“Adults? As in, plural?” Jamil folds his arms. Given your attitude just now, it is hardly an apt descriptor.

“You’re right. I’m being generous calling you an ‘adult’ after what you pulled out there.”

“Hoo, boy,” the hyena whistles, tugging on the wolf’s beefy arm. “Best stay outta this, Jack-kun. Looks like the big boys are beefin’.”

Jack releases a sound akin to a cross between a dog’s whine and a growl. Still, he allows himself to be hauled off to a quiet corner. Music filters in from the front-facing part of the stage as Jamil and Leona are left to stare each other down.

[ “Now, won't you spill your deepest desire?” ]

The lion strikes.

“… You think no one notices? I saw it written all over your face. You were searching in the audience for someone—someone special to you. You looked their way during your performance. Smiled, too.”

“Giving fanservice is not a foreign concept in our line of work.”

“Save the lies for someone who’ll buy them. I know what I saw.” Leona bares his teeth and leans closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Keep this up, and not even your own fans will believe what you say in your defense.”

He prods Jamil hard, square in the chest. “You’d better watch yourself, fresh meat. This is a scandal waiting to happen. The tabloids will be all over it like a pack of starved animals. It’d be curtains for your career, the company’s rep… and their safety.”

[ “The future dissolves and disappears into sea foam.” ]

Jamil’s blood runs ice cold. “I assure you, that won’t happen.”

“Then make a better effort to conceal it,” Leona snarls, “instead of flaunting it out in the open during a live performance. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do, but I won’t have your mistakes jeopardizing my pack.”

He claps a hand on Jamil’s shoulder. His fingers dig in like claws finding their mark. “If you know what’s smart for you—and them—you’ll let’m go, nice ‘n easy.”

Jazz swims in Jamil’s ears. The deafening screech of an imaginary angry mob threatens its calm.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

[ “The pathetic heart swings left and right.” ]

Jamil shakes free, untangling himself from his senior’s grip. “… I am grateful for your advice, but you needn’t concern yourself with me. I am capable of maintaining my own image.”

“Hmph. Suit yourself then.” Leona languidly draws himself back. “Don’t say your benevolent senpai didn’t warn you.”

Jamil pushes past him. He barely registers the siren song drawing to an end, its final, ominous line hanging in the air.

[ “How it all ends is at your discretion.” ]

Blink, and a decade passes in an instant.

Blink, and he’s already debuting.

Blink, and he’s at a place where they can no longer be with him.

Their hand slips out of his, smile waning. The crowd surges forward, shoving them aside. Further and further back they fall, fading into the void.

The faceless fans touch him, grab him, tear away pieces of himself. The jewels on his lapels, the beading on his sleeves. His makeup is smeared, his hair yanked.

And all he can do is stand there and look pretty. Endure it all.

Blink, and he is left in rags.

Blink, and he has lost sight of them.

Jamil slams a fist into the wall. The painful impact surges through his bones.

… Damn it.

Blink, and they’re gone.

[whodoesntlovealliteration]

Chapter 119 SxF

Spoilers under

I'm a little shocked that people didn't expect Twilight's reaction to Yor reaching out to him. I am as much of a TwiYor fan as most people are, but honestly, it's a stretch to say they're anywhere near ready to try to 'make this real'.

One of the draws to me for this series was the tension between them being drawn out. I knew upon coming into this series that their relationship would be frustrating and agonizingly slow. It is and it will continue to be, by the design of the characters and narrative.

I came into the story not only anticipating that dynamic for them, but exceptionally pleased with how Endo has been portraying their inabilities to either connect with others or themselves due to their conditioning. I don't fault anyone for not giving with the pacing but in my opinion there is no other way for this to go.

Twilight has dedicated his entire being to having no desires, interests, dreams. His sense of self was burned right along with all his worldly belongings and his name. As far as he's concerned, he is a machine for The Machine.

It's been made quite clear that he is struggling with cognitive dissonance worming it's way into his mind. His body reacts to Yor without his expectation or understanding(infamous collapse to the floor), when he thinks he often has Freudian Slips around his verbiage(*I will protect Yor* instead of *We will need to be careful, to not compromise the mission*), and he outright goes against all training he has ever received regarding active combat(*kill all SSS in hot pursuit* yet he leaves Yuri alive so Yor doesn't grieve).

I don't think he's unaware of these things. He's *painfully* aware that he's already getting too close, too emotionally dependent on Yor, even if it's truly just crumbs of support. He notices it happening when it happens, and his only choice he's ever had is to bury it and move along.

*The man trusts no one by the nature of his very survival.*

He doesn't seem to understand that Yor is truly romantically interested in him, but why would he care to? It's completely irrelevant to his goals and purpose. Plenty of people have already said that he likely doesn't even entertain any thoughts of her desiring him because the last time he tried to push her boundaries, she *rocked his shit*. I have a feeling that he could tell Yor wanted to have a heartfelt conversation, but, that's simply not a risk he can take after realizing how dangerous his current attachment to her is.

His misunderstanding in their conversation was repetitive and looping. He's beyond skilled at maneuvering discussions how he sees fit, that's his whole career. I doubt he missed every signal that she cares about their arrangement and family, I think he chose to double down and ignore them.

The man isn't stupid, he's likely quite uncomfortable, even fearful of the effects her companionship has already had on him. She had asked what the plan after Anya's graduation would be and instead of asking what she meant, he avoided the question almost entirely. He can't bring himself to think that far ahead since he's certain that 'Loid Forger' would be long dead before that question required an actual answer.

Progress is not linear. People do not develop cleanly. We've watched him accidentally let his girls under his skin for the last 6 months and it's gotten bad enough that he's receding back into his shell now that he knows how dangerously close he is to *getting himself killed*. Before he can have any kind of epiphany of his feelings or interests for the future, his entire coping strategy of depersonalization has to be challenged so heavily that he has no choice but to admit he's compromised.

As people heal, they tend to swing on a pendulum of improvement and regression. He's going to desperately cling to what has kept him safe for his entire life until this point until it doesn't work anymore.

And a further point, we have no clue what was the longest time he's been in a honey trap relationship before the canon begins but it's at least well implied that he was with Karen for enough time for her to be asking about marriage and commitment. I'd go as far to say even someone as vapid as Karen(given what little thoughts Twilight seemed to have of her) wouldn't be thinking seriously about rings before 3-4 months. So let's say they were together for 6 months.

Twilight can and has kept full detachment from his Honey Marks many, many, many times before. Let's say 6 months was the longest. If Twilight left now, I'm certain it would sting him and he would use it to continue his long pattern of self-hatred, but he'd likely be able to compartmentalize it by this point.

It's only now that he's starting to slip in too deep to waters he's never tread before.

Personally? I'm excited to see him suffer inside as warmth and love burrow their unwelcome tendrils into the cold black thing he has that was once considered a heart. The only way we get a version of this man willing to share his soul with anyone else, is for him to literally have no other choice than to accept it.