#learn perl

[daggersandarrows]

god, dog training is so much more brain-intensive than everything i was doing before. i mean maybe it'll get less so as i go on, but before this i was basically making tasks for myself to keep my mind active. when i was a grooming apprentice and the dog was moderately difficult to well behaved, so like. literally anything short of very difficult and requiring me to be very vigilant, i was writing podcasts in my head. ESPECIALLY when blowdrying. checking for stress signals and adjusting away from nippy dogs and changing posture was something my body just did automatically. if i had any downtime i went up front and Organized even though it wasn't my job. if an invoice came in i was like gimme that i need something to Do.

working at a kennel required a bit more strategy but it eventually became automatic. arranging run assignments when we were near capacity and had multiple dogs that were dog aggressive, could only be next to certain dogs, fence jumpers, or needed to be quarantined was like playing tetris for a few minutes but that got to be second nature fast as well.

but this!!! this is like. i have to pay so much attention all the time to one dog till they Get It. then we do the next thing. and again. and again. then i switch dogs. all day. it's so nice.

ps open play daycare was very brain intensive in the sense that it was Actively Melting Constantly; i would not work in an open play facility again for love or money unless it was extremely low volume at scheduled intervals, like. five dogs for half an hour then they get housed separately

[lillys-shadow]

tehe I wrote an article

[vidma-kazhe]

A friendly reminder that if Pearl Harbor never happened, the USA would be happily selling "Jew Incinerator 3000" to Nazi Germany. The proud and loud anti-nazi narrative popped up only after their own ass caught fire.

I'm so tired of the Western media publishing an article after an article on the ongoing protests in Georgia where they basically just retell Russian propaganda.

Dear journalists here are some pointers:

- stop calling the despots in power "Georgian government". Their power is ILLEGITIMATE because they RIGGED the elections.

By calling them "Georgian government" you give them legitimacy and make it sound like people protesting in the streets are doing something antidemocratic when in reality people who stole our votes staying in power is what's antidemocratic.

- talking about how protesters are shooting fireworks at riot police without mentioning that this started because riot police is mercilessly beating people up, spraying them from water cannons with cold water mixed with pepper spray (this is forbidden btw) in the height of winter.

A 14 year old boy was stolen from protests last night and beaten up. A 22 year old man is still in coma following the beatings. Not including these points means you are implying that protesters are the violent side here when the very opposite is true.

- stop only covering the "Georgians are protesting because their "government" has put the EU negotiations on hold" angle. The main demand of protesters is that there should be new fair elections so the government will change democratically.

- stop singling out Putin like he's the only evil in Russia. The entirety of Russia is evil, imperialistic and bloodthirsty. Say that.

Honestly, I read articles by the economist, bbc and cnn and just get sadder and sadder because the way these articles are written makes me think that Russian propaganda has truly infiltrated everything and everyone.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[komaedalovemail]

komaedas have you tried straw.page?

(i hope you don't mind if i make a big ollllle webdev post off this!)

i have never tried straw.page but it looks similar to carrd and other WYSIWYG editors (which is unappealing to me, since i know html/css/js and want full control of the code. and can't hide secrets in code comments.....)

my 2 cents as a web designer is if you're looking to learn web design or host long-term web projects, WYSIWYG editors suck doodooass. you don't learn the basics of coding, someone else does it for you! however, if you're just looking to quickly host images, links to your other social medias, write text entries/blogposts, WYSIWYG can be nice.

toyhouse, tumblr, deviantart, a lot of sites implement WYSIWYG for their post editors as well, but then you can run into issues relying on their main site features for things like the search system, user profiles, comments, etc. but it can be nice to just login to your account and host your information in one place, especially on a platform that's geared towards that specific type of information. (toyhouse is a better example of this, since you have a lot of control of how your profile/character pages look, even without a premium account) carrd can be nice if you just want to say "here's where to find me on other sites," for example. but sometimes you want a full website!

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neocities hosting

currently, i host my website on neocities, but i would say the web2.0sphere has sucked some doodooass right now and i'm fiending for something better than it. it's a static web host, e.g. you can upload text, image, audio, and client-side (mostly javascript and css) files, and html pages. for the past few years, neocities' servers have gotten slower and slower and had total blackouts with no notices about why it's happening... and i'm realizing they host a lot of crypto sites that have crypto miners that eat up a ton of server resources. i don't think they're doing anything to limit bot or crypto mining activity and regular users are taking a hit.

↑ page 1 on neocitie's most viewed sites we find this site. this site has a crypto miner on it, just so i'm not making up claims without proof here. there is also a very populated #crypto tag on neocities (has porn in it tho so be warned...).

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dynamic/server-side web hosting

$5/mo for neocities premium seems cheap until you realize... The Beautiful World of Server-side Web Hosting!

client-side AKA static web hosting (neocities, geocities) means you can upload images, audio, video, and other files that do not interact with the server where the website is hosted, like html, css, and javascript. the user reading your webpage does not send any information to the server like a username, password, their favourite colour, etc. - any variables handled by scripts like javascript will be forgotten when the page is reloaded, since there's no way to save it to the web server. server-side AKA dynamic web hosting can utilize any script like php, ruby, python, or perl, and has an SQL database to store variables like the aforementioned that would have previously had nowhere to be stored.

there are many places in 2024 you can host a website for free, including: infinityfree (i use this for my test websites :B has tons of subdomains to choose from) [unlimited sites, 5gb/unlimited storage], googiehost [1 site, 1gb/1mb storage], freehostia [5 sites/1 database, 250mb storage], freehosting [1 site, 10gb/unlimited storage]

if you want more features like extra websites, more storage, a dedicated e-mail, PHP configuration, etc, you can look into paying a lil shmoney for web hosting: there's hostinger (this is my promocode so i get. shmoney. if you. um. 🗿🗿🗿) [$2.40-3.99+/mo, 100 sites/300 databases, 100gb storage, 25k visits/mo], a2hosting [$1.75-12.99+/mo, 1 site/5 databases, 10gb/1gb storage], and cloudways [$10-11+/mo, 25gb/1gb]. i'm seeing people say to stay away from godaddy and hostgator. before you purchase a plan, look up coupons, too! (i usually renew my plan ahead of time when hostinger runs good sales/coupons LOL)

here's a big webhost comparison chart from r/HostingHostel circa jan 2024.

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domain names

most of the free website hosts will give you a subdomain like yoursite.has-a-cool-website-69.org, and usually paid hosts expect you to bring your own domain name. i got my domain on namecheap (enticing registration prices, mid renewal prices), there's also porkbun, cloudflare, namesilo, and amazon route 53. don't use godaddy or squarespace. make sure you double check the promo price vs. the actual renewal price and don't get charged $120/mo when you thought it was $4/mo during a promo, certain TLDs (endings like .com, .org, .cool, etc) cost more and have a base price (.car costs $2,300?!?). look up coupons before you purchase these as well!

namecheap and porkbun offer something called "handshake domains," DO NOT BUY THESE. 🤣🤣🤣 they're usually cheaper and offer more appealing, hyper-specific endings like .iloveu, .8888, .catgirl, .dookie, .gethigh, .♥, .❣, and .✟. I WISH WE COULD HAVE THEM but they're literally unusable. in order to access a page using a handshake domain, you need to download a handshake resolver. every time the user connects to the site, they have to provide proof of work. aside from it being incredibly wasteful, you LITERALLY cannot just type in the URL and go to your own website, you need to download a handshake resolver, meaning everyday internet users cannot access your site.

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hosting a static site on a dynamic webhost

you can host a static (html/css/js only) website on a dynamic web server without having to learn PHP and SQL! if you're coming from somewhere like neocities, the only thing you need to do is configure your website's properties. your hosting service will probably have tutorials to follow for this, and possibly already did some steps for you. you need to point the nameserver to your domain, install an SSL certificate, and connect to your site using FTP for future uploads. FTP is a faster, alternative way to upload files to your website instead of your webhost's file upload system; programs like WinSCP or FileZilla can upload using FTP for you.

if you wanna learn PHP and SQL and really get into webdev, i wrote a forum post at Mysidia Adoptables here, tho it's sorted geared at the mysidia script library itself (Mysidia Adoptables is a free virtual pet site script, tiny community. go check it out!)

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file storage & backups

a problem i have run into a lot in my past like, 20 years of internet usage (/OLD) is that a site that is free, has a small community, and maybe sounds too good/cheap to be true, has a higher chance of going under. sometimes this happens to bigger sites like tinypic, photobucket, and imageshack, but for every site like that, there's like a million of baby sites that died with people's files. host your files/websites on a well-known site, or at least back it up and expect it to go under!

i used to host my images on something called "imgjoe" during the tinypic/imageshack era, it lasted about 3 years, and i lost everything hosted on there. more recently, komaedalovemail had its webpages hosted here on tumblr, and tumblr changed its UI so custom pages don't allow javascript, which prevented any new pages from being edited/added. another test site i made a couple years ago on hostinger's site called 000webhost went under/became a part of hostinger's paid-only plans, so i had to look very quickly for a new host or i'd lose my test site.

if you're broke like me, looking into physical file storage can be expensive. anything related to computers has gone through baaaaad inflation due to crypto, which again, I Freaquing Hate, and is killing mother nature. STOP MINING CRYPTO this is gonna be you in 1 year

...um i digress. ANYWAYS, you can archive your websites, which'll save your static assets on The Internet Archive (which could use your lovely donations right now btw), and/or archive.today (also taking donations). having a webhost service with lots of storage and automatic backups can be nice if you're worried about file loss or corruption, or just don't have enough storage on your computer at home!

if you're buying physical storage, be it hard drive, solid state drive, USB stick, whatever... get an actual brand like Western Digital or Seagate and don't fall for those cheap ones on Amazon that claim to have 8,000GB for $40 or you're going to spend 13 days in windows command prompt trying to repair the disk and thenthe power is gong to go out in your shit ass neighvborhood and you have to run it tagain and then Windows 10 tryes to update and itresets the /chkdsk agin while you're awayfrom town nad you're goig to start crytypting and kts just hnot going tot br the same aever agai nikt jus not ggiog to be the saeme

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further webhosting options

there are other Advanced options when it comes to web hosting. for example, you can physically own and run your own webserver, e.g. with a computer or a raspberry pi. r/selfhosted might be a good place if you're looking into that!

if you know or are learning PHP, SQL, and other server-side languages, you can host a webserver on your computer using something like XAMPP (Apache, MariaDB, PHP, & Perl) with minimal storage space (the latest version takes up a little under 1gb on my computer rn). then, you can test your website without needing an internet connection or worrying about finding a hosting plan that can support your project until you've set everything up!

there's also many PHP frameworks which can be useful for beginners and wizards of the web alike. WordPress is one which you're no doubt familiar with for creating blog posts, and Bluehost is a decent hosting service tailored to WordPress specifically. there's full frameworks like Laravel, CakePHP, and Slim, which will usually handle security, user authentication, web routing, and database interactions that you can build off of. Laravel in particular is noob-friendly imo, and is used by a large populace, and it has many tutorials, example sites built with it, and specific app frameworks.

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addendum: storing sensitive data

if you decide to host a server-side website, you'll most likely have a login/out functionality (user authentication), and have to store things like usernames, passwords, and e-mails. PLEASE don't launch your website until you're sure your site security is up to snuff!

when trying to check if your data is hackable... It's time to get into the Mind of a Hacker. OWASP has some good cheat sheets that list some of the bigger security concerns and how to mitigate them as a site owner, and you can look up filtered security issues on the Exploit Database.

this is kind of its own topic if you're coding a PHP website from scratch; most frameworks securely store sensitive data for you already. if you're writing your own PHP framework, refer to php.net's security articles and this guide on writing an .htaccess file.

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but. i be on that phone... :(

ok one thing i see about straw.page that seems nice is that it advertises the ability to make webpages from your phone. WYSIWYG editors in general are more capable of this. i only started looking into this yesterday, but there ARE source code editor apps for mobile devices! if you have a webhosting plan, you can download/upload assets/code from your phone and whatnot and code on the go. i downloaded Runecode for iphone. it might suck ass to keep typing those brackets.... we'll see..... but sometimes you're stuck in the car and you're like damn i wanna code my site GRRRR I WANNA CODE MY SITE!!!

↑ code written in Runecode, then uploaded to Hostinger. Runecode didn't tell me i forgot a semicolon but Hostinger did... i guess you can code from your webhost's file uploader on mobile but i don't trust them since they tend not to autosave or prompt you before closing, and if the wifi dies idk what happens to your code.

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ANYWAYS! HAPPY WEBSITE BUILDING~! HOPE THIS HELPS~!~!~!

-Mod 12 @eeyes

[mirqmarq428]

And it's done! Well, done enough.

Hyprchan

Put your normal wallpapers in ~/.local/share/backgrounds and your transparent waifu PNGs in ~/.local/share/waifus. Make sure you have powershell installed and in $PATH. Then add something like this to your hyprland.conf:

exec = pwsh -noprofile /path/to/hyprchan.ps1 && swaybg -i ~/.config/hypr/hyprchan.jpg

It takes a random wallpaper then adds

The hyprland logo, scaled and positioned

A random waifu, scaled and positioned

The splash text that hyprland generates

Intermediate images are written to ~/.cache/hyprchan; these will be re-used when available.

EDIT 20231020: fixed link to point to standalone repo

EDIT 20240125: fixed link again for new domain name

Spent all afternoon making a wallpaper generator for hyprland (in powershell ofc) that emulates their style but with custom waifu images.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Blood brother

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I kind of hate it. It's so long since I wrote something and it feels like first time again. I have wanted to write it for a while already but never got to it. It's a wonderful idea planted into my head by the lovely @thenameswinter99 in one of our chats but I know I made it different, so I hope you'll not be angry with me.

Warnings: actually none. Some description of violence but nothing very graphical

Word Count: 8,7 K (sorry 😅)

Summary: having lost everything and thinking she's been abandoned by everybody, even her best friend Sihtric, reader on her quest for revenge founds out that life can be full of surprises and that there is always space for hope

The night was dark, the feeble, pale light of the new moon barely illuminating your path through the woods. You shuddered as if trying to shake off the cold, the chill air biting your cheeks and each exhale leaving a shimmering, silvery fog in the air. Yet you didn’t stop, didn’t turn back. Just the opposite. 

Your small feet quickened their pace, finding the path beneath them with the assuredness of a cat on the hunt, and with each step you took your eyes adjusted further to the darkness and to the eerie shadows and flickering shapes the moonlight made dancing around you.  

You should have been scared, a small girl alone in the middle of the forest, the familiar and warm lights of your home far behind. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You pressed on, ducking under the bony, outstretched arms of thorn bushes and leaping over moss covered, fallen trunks. Yes, there had been fear, but that was before. Before this forest had become your home, your secret ally, the protector of your dreams. Before you had learned to become one with it, to listen to its whispers, to feel its heartbeat in the quiet rustling of the leaves.

Before you had met him. 

—----------------------------------------------------

The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon, making the shadows grow longer, and a distant crack of a twig sent your heart racing. You had never been so scared before in your whole life. 

You had been picking berries, one step leading to another, each shiny little red perl hidden in the green tapestry of shrubs inviting you further and further from the familiar path until there was no path at all, only an impenetrable thicket of trees and bushes all looking alike.

You clutched the small basket you had been carrying as if it could shield you.

That was when you heard that low, unmistakable growl behind you.

You spun around and froze, your legs refusing to obey your desperate need to run. A wobbly step back sent you tumbling to the ground, a loud shriek escaping your lungs. 

Wolf, as if stepped out of the fairy tales your grandma told you before sleep. You had never seen one before but there was no doubt, your grandma had always been a vivid teller of stories. 

Eyes wide open you stared at the majestic animal before you and waited. Waited for the end to come. 

“Don’t move,” a soft and strangely calm voice reached you as a small silhouette of a boy probably the same age as yourself suddenly stepped between you and the wolf. “It can feel your fear.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered, as tears started to stream down your face.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

The wolf snarled, shifting its weight as though preparing to pounce but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, meeting the animal’s gaze head-on. A strange, low sound rumbled from his throat—a growl, so very similar to the one the wolf had made just a moment ago that you couldn't help but shudder.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a while they just stood there staring at each other. A soft whine escaped you from the burning feeling in your lungs as you realised you’d been holding your breath, and you felt wolf's gaze shifting between you and the boy as if considering his chances.

The boy leaned forward slightly, his thin frame taut like a drawn bowstring. The wolf snarled, its hackles raised, but there was a slight uncertainty in its posture now. The boy didn’t waver, his eyes locked with the creature as he bared his teeth.

The wolf hesitated, its tail giving a flick of irritation, and then with a final growl, it broke eye contact, lowered its head and started to step backward. Its movements were slow, reluctant, as if it hated admitting defeat, but after a few steps it turned and with a few leaps disappeared into the shadows.

The boy straightened, his small chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, and for the first time, he turned to you, “It’s gone,” he said simply but you just continued to stare at him, your ability to speak stolen from you both by fear and awe plainly written on your face.

The boy was thin and malnourished, with bruises on his arms and legs, clothes hanging off his bony frame and the dirt smudged on his face, his bare foot rustling against the soft forest ground. 

He looked fragile, even breakable, but it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that struck you most, it was his eyes. One was a piercing blue, while the other earthy brown, shining with an inexplicable mixture of defiance and warmth.

“You shouldn’t wander this far into the woods alone,” he added, tilting his head and observing you with open curiosity, and you noticed how melodic and soft his voice actually was. “It’s not safe.”

It felt like a dream. He extended a hand to help you up, and you took it, your fingers trembling against his. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he led you back to the path, your hand safely in his.

You both reached the edge of the forest in silence where he released your hand reluctantly, his fingers slipping away so slowly as though they didn’t want to let go. The boy's large, expressive eyes followed you as you stepped into the meadow, and it suddenly struck you that you had not the slightest idea who your mysterious saviour was. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, turning around and finally finding your voice even if it still sounded shaky.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting back toward the trees, as if unsure whether to answer or rather retreat. “Sihtric,” he said at last, his tone strangely wary, eyes darting to the ground. “Sihtric Kjartansson.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked.

His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. “Maybe,” he finally said, but the faint glimmer in his mismatched gaze told you he would.

The next day, you returned with fresh bread and a small portion of ham tucked neatly into your linen shoulder bag. You weren’t sure if he would really come, but you hoped, and as you crossed the meadow, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, leaning casually against the trunk of the great oak.

“I brought you something,” you said as you stretched out your hand to offer the loaf of fresh bread. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between your face and the bread, his beautiful eyes mirroring a quiet surprise. It seemed as if he wasn’t used to kindness.

“You saved my life,” you added. “Please, let me thank you.”

Sihtric’s fingers slightly brushed against yours as he took the bread, and the brief contact sent a surprising rush of warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to look away, as you suddenly became aware of the heat rising in your face.

“Thank you,” he said at last as he held the loaf carefully, almost reverently, as though it was something precious. 

—---------------------------------------------------

You stopped, listening to a call of an owl echoing through the stillness of the night, before resuming your run. It was the signal and you were late.

“And I already thought you’d chickened out and wouldn’t come,” a familiar voice greeted you as you stumbled into the small clearing, a faint taunt lacing the words. 

“Mom stayed up late with her sewing,” you replied, breathless from your relentless sprint through the woods. “I couldn’t sneak out before she went to bed.”

A small figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby trees. Without hesitation you grabbed the hand outstretched towards you and let it guide you to the center of the clearing with a makeshift arch formed by a strip of turf propped up by three spears.

“Sihtric, where did you get these?” you asked, your eyes widening as you admired the haphazard construction.

“Everyone’s busy packing and fussing around,” Sihtric replied almost nonchalantly. “It was easy to grab a few things and sneak away. But I’ve got to bring them back before dawn, or I’ll get the shit beaten out of me.”

You shuddered, turning to look at the boy beside you. Sihtric’s voice was steady, but there was that subtle set of his jaw and the faint quiver in his grip.

“Stay,” you said. You wanted to sound confident, resolute but the way the word trembled on your lips, that sudden crack in your voice, it all betrayed your desperation. “Hide in the woods, and when they’ll be gone, come to my house. My father won’t turn you away if I ask him to take you in.”

But you already knew the answer.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his response almost a whisper. “I can’t leave my mom. She needs me. I have to take care of her.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, wishing there was something else you could do, something else you could say to make him change his mind. You knew there wasn’t. Your small world was falling apart, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, withdrawing your hand and reaching into the small linen bag slung over your shoulder. “I brought fresh bread. Mom baked it just yesterday.”

Sihtric smiled faintly, just a shadow of his usual mischievous grin, but his gaze returned to the arch.

“Let’s do it first, if you are still sure about it,” he tugged you gently toward the arch. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You wanted to smile, but your lips trembled. “Of course I am. ” 

“Alright.” Sihtric let out a shaky breath, and crouched down to retrieve a small knife he’d hidden in the grass beneath the arch, its blade a bit dull but still usable.

Without any further hesitation he drew the blade lightly across his forearm. The cut was clean and straight, a thin red line beading quickly with blood. He hissed softly at the sting but held steady, extending his arm to you.

“Your turn.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you took the knife, not that you were afraid of the pain. It was the significance of the moment that made your heart hammer in your chest. Sihtric watched you carefully, something like concern flickering across his face.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared,” he said quietly.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed at Sihtric, tightening your grip on the handle and pressing the blade to your forearm, but your hand slipped slightly, and the cut ended up uneven and jagged. You gasped at the sharp pain, your free hand instinctively reaching out to press against the cut.

“You alright?” Sihtric asked, alarm evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “It’s fine. It’s just... shit, it’s so crooked.”

He gave you a small, encouraging smile. “Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

Sihtric held out his arm, his bloodied cut facing yours. You looked up, trying to read the expression on his face before pressing your wounds together. Sihtric wrapped a strip of fabric around your joined arms, and you helped him to tie it tighter.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Now we have to say it.”

You both spoke at the same time, voices barely above whispers but full of determination. 

“Our blood is one,

joined under the moon and stars.

Brother and sister for life and beyond.

Your pain is my pain; your joy – my joy.

Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone.”

The world around suddenly felt still, as though even the forest was holding its breath because you both surely were. 

You looked down at your bound arms, a small but proud smile touching your lips.

“Remember the wolf?” you suddenly asked, breaking the quiet.

Sihtric glanced at you, a small, knowing smile brightening up his eyes. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Liar,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. But deep down, you knew it was true.

He reached out to ruffle your hair with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but lough. “Come on, sister,” he said. “Let’s eat that bread before the night gets colder.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The door closed with a quiet thud behind you as you slumped your back against it, fighting to steady your frantic breathing, to silence the voice in your head, screaming that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Raising your trembling hand, you let your fingers hover over your burning lips. Your very first kiss. Light like a feather, hot like a fire. You hadn’t planned this. You didn’t even fully understand how it had happened. 

It was just that strange feeling as Sihtric’s fingers had hesitated to let go of your hand just like that first time you had met, that haunting look of regret and sadness in his beautiful, mismatched eyes and the heaviness in your own chest. It all had been too much to bear for your small, fragile heart, so you just did it. The only thing you could think of. 

You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

And then you ran. 

You ran as if your life depended on this, as if a hundred wild beasts were chasing you down, the touch of Sihtric’s soft but slightly chapped lips against yours burning in your mind. 

Your very first kiss. A good by. A farewell. A promise. 

You’ll not walk your path alone.

___________________________________________

You shifted carefully, stretching your numb legs one at a time. The night was cool but thanks gods – dry, a welcome change after an endless week of steady mizzling. That annoying faint drizzle was capable of seeping through every seam of your leather armour, soaking through all layers down to your undergarments and drenching it until there was not a single dry thread left. 

The Danish camp lay just beyond the treeline, its fires casting flickering shadows across the ground. You had been following them for weeks – them and other groups travelling from and to Dunholm. 

Your breath was slow and even. This was far from being new to you. Nights spent on the hard earth under the beautiful blanket of stars had long become your way of life. You didn’t complain, you had learned to endure, to let the numbness creep into your body without letting it dull your mind.

You shifted again, crouching closer, trying to get a better view on the fireplaces and to be able to catch glimpses of conversations. The underbrush rustled softly, and you froze, waiting for any sign that you’d been heard. Nothing. The camp remained busy but apparently oblivious of your presence.

Your fingers instinctively checked for the hilt of the dagger at your hip. All you wanted was to sneak through the bushes right into that nest of wasps, taking one life after another, quiet and deadly. But it was not yet the right time for that. 

You had dreamt of it for years. Of being here. Of finding your way into that damned fortress. Of wiping the name of the man that had taken everything from you from this world and any other worlds that possibly existed whether they called them Valhalla or Heaven. 

There hadn't been a single night that you haven’t woken up covered in sweat from the scattered images of the smoldering ruins of your home dancing before your closed eyes as clearly as the stars above you now. It was as if you could still smell the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh. 

Every fiber of your being longed to storm through Dunholm’s gates, to plunge your blade into Kjartan’s heart and to burn it all down to the ground as they had done to you. But you knew too well that this was not possible, that this would only lead to your own doom and not theirs. You had to wait and lurk in the dark, searching for a way that would ensure their ruin. You had waited years for this. You could wait a little longer. 

“Distracted, are we?” a soft voice murmured near your ear, calm and quiet as in the same moment you felt a cold steel pressing against your throat. Your body tensed up and your fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, readying for the strike. 

“Move, and you’ll lose your head,” the voice continued, the blade pressing just a fraction closer and a hand landed on your shoulder, keeping you in place.  

You cursed yourself silently, the threat was as calm as it was deadly.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

You hesitated, your mind weighing the odds.

“Now,” he snapped, his tone sharpening.

“Fine,” you said, slowly pulling out the dagger and then you felt it – a shift in his grip, the tiniest slackening of pressure. It was all you needed.

You twisted sharply, pulling away from the blade while driving your elbow backward into his ribs. His grunt of surprise was satisfying, but you didn’t stop. Spinning on your heel, you unsheathed your dagger completely and brought it up between you.

The two of you stood frozen, knives pointed at each other’s throats. It was too dark to see the man clearly. The firelight from the camp didn’t reach your hideaway, and the moon was new, just a small slice in the dark sky, casting only fleeting, shifting shadows over his face. 

All you could tell was that he was young, well built and lean, unmistakably a Dane and a warrior. You were pretty sure he didn’t belong to the camp you were spying on as you  knew by now all the men there – an observation that did nothing to calm you as he still could be an enemy. 

His grip on his own blade was steady and his breathing even. If he was surprised by your sudden move, he didn’t show it, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that kept you on edge.

“Who are you?” He was the first to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your dagger: “That depends on what your intentions are.”

“That depends on what you’re doing here,” he shot back, and for a split second you thought there was something strangely familiar in his slightly mocking tone.

You hesitated, your mind racing for some plausible reply as there was no way of revealing your true purpose. “I’m just passing through,” you said finally, knowing that the simple answer will not satisfy, but you needed some time to decide on your next move.

“Passing through?” the young warrior snorted. “Near a Danish camp, armed, and skulking in the shadows? Whom are you trying to fool?”

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to mask your nerves with defiance. “What are you doing here?”

But before you could continue the exciting conversation a distant shout shattered the stillness.

“Someone’s out there!”

Your breath hitched. The sound of boots hurriedly stumping against the ground grew louder, accompanied by the glint of torchlight weaving through the trees. The young Dane glanced toward the noise and then back to you as if weighing his options.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, pulling his blade back. “We can’t be found here.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep your guard up but the sound of the approaching Danes left little choice, and you carefully lowered your own weapon.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “But if you try anything—”

“Save the threats,” he snapped, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist, and before you could protest, he was leading you through the dense forest. You stumbled after him, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter with every step. He moved like a shadow, his pace quick but deliberate, his grip firm enough to keep you close without hurting you.

When you finally stopped, your chest was heaving, and your lungs burned from the frantic run. It seemed that you had shaken off the pursuers at least for now. 

“Now,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath, “who are you really? And why were you watching the camp?”

He didn’t seem like a raider nor one from Kjartan’s men but he was clearly dangerous, and trusting him was a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

“I’m no one,” you said softly. “Just someone trying to survive. I’m no threat to you. You were not keen to be discovered by the Danes in the camp, nor am I. Let’s just part in peace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Survivors don’t spy on camps full of Danes. And they certainly don’t carry daggers like yours.”

You glared at him, your fingers itching to draw the weapon again. “And what about you? You’re not exactly a farmer out for a midnight stroll.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

“Then maybe we should leave it at that,” you said with a sly smile.

He tilted his head, studying you in the dim light. “For now,” he said slowly. “But don’t think I trust you.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, even as a small part of you couldn’t ignore the strange pull you felt toward him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his voice, that spoke to you, that reminded you of something, making shivers run down your spine but before you could give it another thought a distant shout broke the moment.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone all serious again. “They won’t stop searching until they’re sure the woods are clear.”

You nodded reluctantly as the distant shouts grew louder and suddenly the torchlight started weaving through the trees like restless fireflies. Both of you tensed, instinctively drawing your blades and exchanging a sharp glance. An unspoken agreement passed between you: survival first, questions later.

Then the Danes burst through the trees.

“Over here!” one of them roared, his axe glinting in the firelight, and more followed.

The man beside you—lean, quick, and deadly—moved before you could think. His blade flashed in the dim light, cutting down the first attacker. You followed, blocking a strike aimed at your side and countering with a swift slash to your opponent’s arm. The Dane howled in pain, but there was no time to celebrate your small victory as another man charged at you, forcing you to dodge and roll, barely escaping his axe as it came down.

You fought together as if you had had years of practice behind. You couldn’t help but admire the way the young warrior moved, his movements fluid and practiced, filled with wild ferocity. The two of you were a perfect balance as if this were a dance where each movement needs to be attuned to the other, seamlessly covering each other as the Danes closed in.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp blow caught you off guard, knocking the dagger from your hand and making you stumble. You groaned in pain as a Dane’s boot sank into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. Before you could recover a blade was pressed against your neck.

“Drop your weapon!” the man yelled, jerking you to your feet and wrenching your arm behind your back. 

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies,” the Dane repeated, his eyes narrowing at your companion.

You snorted loudly, the sound sharp and defiant, despite the blade pressed against your throat. “You think that’s a threat?” you spat. “He doesn’t even know me.” 

You looked over to the young warrior, frozen for a moment, his knife and axe still in his hands, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something flickered across his face – annoyance, or was it concern as he turned, his eyes fixed on you for a brief moment before shifting to the man holding you. 

You could clearly see the hesitation in the young warrior, his jaw tightening, his movements deliberately slow as he scanned the Danes around all ready to resume the fight. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He raised his hands slowly, letting the weapons fall from his fingers.

“I surrender,” he said with a steady voice. “Let her go.”

The words hit you almost like a blow. Why would he do this? He could have fought his way out and fled. You were a complete stranger to him. 

The Danes exchanged glances and one of them stepped forward, pointing his axe at the stranger. “You’ll come with us, both of you.”

Before either of you could respond, rough hands shoved you forward, the blade leaving your neck but replaced by the iron grip of two men dragging you away. Your companion was similarly manhandled and brought to walk next to you.

You risked a hidden glance at the young warrior beside you, as you still couldn’t grasp why he had done this. What was his plan?

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“Saving your neck,” he replied quietly, meeting your surprised gaze for a brief moment.

And that was when you saw them – his eyes. The light from the torches caught him just enough for you to see the young man’s face clearly for the very first time of your hectic encounter. But you didn’t pay attention to anything else apart from the eyes. They were of different colour. One blue, one hazel brown. 

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t possible. It simply couldn’t be. 

You turned away as quickly as you could, stumbling over a tree root. The grip on your arm twisted behind your back painfully tightened but you almost didn’t notice it, your mind too busy trying to reconcile the image before you with another one. 

The mismatched gaze of a boy you had trusted, the boy who had stood beside you beneath a makeshift arch, who had held your hand as your blood mingled. The son of the man who had destroyed everything – your life, your family, your dreams. Your entire world, reduced to ash and bitter memories, and he had been part of it, whether by blood or by silence. 

You shook your head in a silent dialogue with yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. It can’t be him, you told yourself. It isn’t him. But even as you repeated the thought, a part of you still whispered that it might be. And if it was, you didn’t know whether to feel relief, rage, or something else entirely.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The coarse rope bit into your wrists with each futile struggle trying to loosen it. You sat with your back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree. The Danes had done a thorough job, binding the two of you on opposite sides of the same tree so tight to make even the smallest movement uncomfortable. 

Your companion on the other side of the tree, if one could call him that, had been absolutely silent all this time. Being a bit uncooperative when it came to letting himself be tied, he had earned several heavy blows to his abdomen and a split lip.

You shifted slightly, testing again the ropes that bound you both, and hissed as the fibers just dug deeper into your skin. It all just made no sense. It just couldn’t be him. The Kjartan’s men, you’d been spying on, were out to kill him and had tied him up without hesitation. They hadn’t recognized him as one of their own, as Kjartan’s blood.

You bit your lip, trying to coax both your body and mind to relax. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Sihtric leaned his head back against the tree. The sharp ache that radiated from his ribs almost made him groan. The blows he’d taken were nothing new; the pain being a constant companion in his life had long ceased to bother him. But this - being tied up, unable to move freel - this clawed at something deep inside him, making his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists against the rope, hoping that the sharp pain in his wrists would stop his mind from wandering back to the dark days under Kjartan’s roof, where being bound wasn’t just punishment but a lesson in submission, a lesson in unworthiness of his life to his own father. 

He had vowed to himself long ago never to let anyone have that power over him again. Yet here he was, beaten and bound like a dog because he had been foolish enough to be distracted.  

He cursed himself for his carelessness. He had seen the torches, heard the shouts, he knew the risk, he should have just left and run, yet he had lingered, drawn to you like a moth to flame. Why on earth had he decided to draw you with him?

There was something about the woman who now sat on the other side of the tree, that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. 

Sihtric closed his eyes, trying to force the thought away, but it lingered. With a loud scoff he hit his nape against the bark of the tree in frustration just to wince in the pain.  It had been stupid, yet he knew he would do exactly the same all over again.

He felt you shifting, straining against the ropes, testing their strength over and over again. It must be painful, he thought, yet you didn’t give up, you must have been scared.

“Hey, survivor, are you afraid?” he suddenly found himself asking, somewhat surprised by the hoarse sound of his own voice. “Spare your strength. You’ll need it. You’ll see, I’m getting us out of here.” 

The silence around the both of you stretched, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Danes, sitting at the fire. You just snorted at the stranger's question. 

Afraid? You couldn’t even remember the last time you were afraid. 

People are afraid if they have something to lose, something they care about. You had nothing. The last faint hope had left you as the rumors reached you that your brother Ragnar – the only one from your family who was not there on the night of fire – had suffered a shipwreck at the coasts of Ireland. 

You were alone in this world, you had nobody to care for, nothing to lose. You had nothing to live for apart from revenge and that was not a reason enough to fear death, to fear anything. 

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “Why surrender yourself to spare me? You don’t even know me.”

Sihtric tilted his head, staring at the dark canopy above. Here it was. He had wanted to calm you, to reassure you, to give you something to hold on to and you came back with questions. Questions he had no real answer to. 

“Are you complaining that I saved your life?” he said, his voice almost hollow. 

There was a pause, and he could feel you shift against the ropes again. 

“No,” you whispered back. “I … I just don’t understand.”

Sihtric closed his eyes briefly, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Sometimes it’s just like that. It just… felt like the right thing to do.”

“You risked your life because it felt right?”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You make it sound foolish.”

“It is foolish,” you exclaimed, unable to hide the bewilderment in your voice.

“Then you owe your life to a fool,” he countered quietly. 

You opened your mouth to reply but found no words and before you could think of something more coherent to reply you were interrupted by the crunch of boots nearing the both of you.

“Get up,” the Dane barked, crouching down to slice through the ropes binding you to the tree. The sudden release sent a jolt through your stiff limbs, but you barely had a moment to process it before his hand clamped around your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Sihtric’s voice was sharp and there was an edge of worry beneath his tone, impossible to miss, as he struggled fiercely against his own bindings. His movements were desperate but ultimately futile, the ropes biting into his skin.

“Not your concern,” the Dane snapped, his grip on your arm tightening as he gave you a rough shove forward.

You stumbled, barely catching your balance, his bruising grip forcing you to move forward. The Dane dragged you toward one of the larger tents near the camp’s center, and your heart pounded against your ribs as you sensed your chance of escape nearing. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the sting of it forcing you to regain focus.

Behind you could hear the young warrior’s voice, louder this time, laced with barely restrained fury, but it only made your captor laugh - a low, cruel sound that twisted your stomach in disgust.

—----------------------------------------------------

The Dane’s body hit the fur laden ground with a soft thud. You crouched down as you listened, fingers wrapping tighter around the hilt of the dagger you had snatched from the sheath strapped to his back.

“Men,” you muttered under your breath. “Cocksure arselings.”

You froze ready to leap, the faint rustle of the tent flaps catching your attention as a figure burst into the tent. You were ready to strike just to stop at the last moment as you recognised it. 

“Shit,” you hissed. “I could have killed you.” But the wide-eyed completely dumbfounded expression on the young warrior's face caught you off guard and made you let out a soft laugh. 

You always preferred a fair battle over the stealthy death in the shadows, but this time you had no choice. The majority in the camp were too drunk to notice anything at first and when they did it was already too late. 

You met the young warrior at the fireplace, both slightly panting, the blood covered hands and the eerie silence around you the only signs of what had happened. 

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, his large eyes flickering with the same resentment that churned in your stomach. 

“I’m fine,” you returned, only now noticing the raw and bloody red lines around his wrists where the ropes had dug into his skin, betraying his earlier struggle.

“You want me to clean them?” you asked, your tone more calm as the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away.

He blinked, seeming surprised by your offer, then nodded slowly. “If you can spare the time,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“Hey, you saved my life. Please, let me thank you,” you murmured, reaching into the pouch at your belt and pulling out a strip of cloth, a small flask of water and a tin of salve, and you didn’t even notice the warrior's eyes widening at your words.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to clogs at the fireplace. He hesitated before lowering himself, casting a few more surprised glances at your side.

Gently, you poured water over his wrists, watching the dirt and blood wash away. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing, his eyes following your every move.

“You shouldn’t have struggled so hard,” you chided lightly, trying to focus on the task but being constantly distracted by the sight of his muscular arms highlighted by the sleeveless cut of his armour. 

He let out a quiet huff. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Didn’t expect you to be so quick to deal with him.”

You smirked, dipping your fingers into the small tin of salve and smoothing it gently over the raw, red marks on his wrists. “Guess you’ll think twice next time about underestimating me.”

As you reached to wrap a strip of cloth around his wrist, he pulled his hands back slightly. “It’s enough… thank you,” he murmured, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

You raised an eyebrow, noting the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Are you embarrassed to let me help you?”

“No,” he said quickly, though the way he avoided your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck betrayed him. “I just… it will hamper me if it comes to another fight.”

You took his hands firmly yet gently, pulling them back. “Hey, don’t be foolish. It will not disturb you more than those,” you nodded toward the thick golden arm rings on his upper arms. “But it will definitely hamper you if these get infected and swell. Hold still. ”

He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, clearly unsure where to look. “I’m not used to—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Not used to what?” you prompted, glancing up as you tied the bandage securely.

“Being… taken care of,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you smirked. “Even warriors need someone to patch them up sometimes.”

“You’re good at this,” he muttered a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his voice, and you smiled, catching the faintest trace of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

You had no idea why you agreed when he suggested spending the rest of the night in the camp. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to leave it all behind  and never look back, but you just nodded and followed him to the bigger tent in the middle of the camp. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, survivor,” he smirked, showing you toward the keep of furs.

A hundred times, you wanted to ask it, to ask for his name, and a hundred times you swallowed back the question burning on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to know and you didn’t. You didn’t know what to do with the truth. You had been angry for so many years, partially blaming Sihtric for what had happened, questioning why he hadn’t warned you, why he hadn’t come for you when everything fell apart. 

You had no idea what you would do if this young, strikingly handsome, strong and deadly warrior was indeed the same wide eyed boy you had kissed on the edge of a meadow, your blood brother, the oath breaker.

You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you settled down into the softness of the furs. You wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on him but the uneven struggle ended far too quickly and your eyes fell close. 

Sihtric settled himself near the entrance, picking up the only task that made sense - sharpening his blades. Not that they really needed sharpening but he needed something to focus on – the repetitive rhythm of the movement, the sound of stone gliding over the blade, the simple feeling of purpose in what he was doing.

Not that it really helped this time as his attention kept straying, his eyes constantly drawn back to you.

He couldn’t explain it, that strange pull he felt toward you, that familiarity, that sense that he had known you for ages, that thrill and the way his heart had jumped in his chest when your fingers brushed against his skin.

You suddenly moaned in your sleep, your breathing turning shallow and uneven as you twitched and shifted. Sihtric stilled, his brow furrowing as he slowly set the blade aside.

He knew this all too well - the restlessness of the nights, the fear of closing his eyes, the helplessness of being dragged into the realm where will withdrew and dreams took over. And for all your courage, fierceness and confidence in waking life it seemed that in that realm you were hopelessly losing your battle. 

“Hey,” he whispered, slowly crouching closer and placing his hand on your shoulder. You stirred, but didn’t wake up. “You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

For a moment Sihtric just watched the shadows dancing on your face, hoping that you would calm down, but your breathing grew more ragged and another whimper rolled over your lips. 

He didn’t know whether it was a conscious decision or something else more primal, more instinctive as he carefully laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. 

You were ripped from your sleep by the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You instinctively froze, willing your breath to even out and preparing yourself to reach for the blade.

“It’s just a dream,” the soft murmur of his voice caught you by surprise. “You’re safe now.” 

The moments passed on but nothing happened, he held you just like that, his muscular chest pressed against your back, his embrace steady, firm but at the same time so gentle and protective. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had held you like that. Closing your eyes, you feigned sleep, somewhat ashamed for having expected the worse.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling your body relax and your breathing calm down, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“You could be her…,” he whispered, his voice almost too faint to hear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are her.”

You felt his frame tremble slightly and unable to pretend anymore, you shifted in his arms and turned to face him.

“I could be who?” you asked, holding your breath.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm,” Sihtric was quick to let you go, embarrassment flickering over his handsome face.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “Please… just hold me again. Can you?”

“If you want me to…” he murmured and his strong arms wrapped around you once more as you hid your face in his broad chest. 

He nuzzled softly against your hair, his arms tightened slightly around you, as if clinging to some distant memory.

“I was just a boy when I met her,” he continued and you could clearly hear a faint quiver in his voice. “She saved me. She saved me in so many ways, it’s even hard to explain. The only person who looked at me like I was something worthy, who laughed with me, who shared bread with me.” 

Your heart almost stopped beating as you listened, your nose buried in Sihtric’s chest, fighting back tears.

“But I couldn’t save her. I was there but I couldn’t save her. My father found it amusing to let me watch. He probably knew I would try to warn her, so he took me with him just to tie me up and let me watch how he burned down her house.”

“You look so much like her. The way you move, the way you speak…” Sihtric’s voice trailed off but then he suddenly continued: “Tomorrow Dunholm will fall,” he said with such certainty in his voice that you raised your head to look into his mismatched eyes.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“I thought you’d want to know. I think you are here for the same purpose I am. The same purpose my lord Uhtred and his brother Ragnar are here for.”

You kept looking at him, unable to avert your gaze. 

“I’m not a complete fool. Even if you might think otherwise. There must be a reason you’ve been watching the Danes come and go around Dunholm. I’m guessing your reason is the same as ours - Kjartan.”

You wanted to speak, to ask more, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Your whole world had just turned upside down. Uhtred and Ragnar were alive. It was impossible. Sihtric was here, there couldn't be any doubts about that anymore, holding you in his arms. That was even more impossible. 

This must be a dream, you thought, shifting closer to the muscular frame of your long lost friend, and if it was so, you certainly didn’t want to wake up from it, not now at least.

You waited and waited to be awakened from this strange dream, but the longer you waited the more you realized it wasn’t a dream. You felt Sihtric’s breath eventually evening out as his grip on you loosened and sleep finally claimed him, though his arms still rested around you. 

It was when the dawn finally broke that you slipped out of his grasp, careful not to wake him, and left the tent quietly.

Sihtric woke not long after, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He had slept surprisingly peacefully but the drowsy smile on his lips faded the moment he realised the space beside him was deserted. He sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the tent for you, but it was empty.

—----------------------------------------------------

You adjusted the helmet you had taken from one of the dead Danes in the camp, your face carefully smeared with mud. Just in case. You didn’t want to be recognised, at least not yet, not before you had found out what was happening, before you knew that Sihtric’s words were not just some cruel game, as you still couldn’t make yourself believe they were true. 

It wasn’t hard to find Ragnar’s forces and slip between the warriors just a few moments before the assault started. 

Eyes wide open you watched the massive frame of your brother, leading the suicide attack on Dunholm’s gates. What was he doing? Had the whole world gone mad? Had the Norns chosen you to entertain themselves, letting you find your brother only to see him heading into certain death?

Your surprise grew even bigger when the impenetrable gates of Dunholm suddenly cracked open, leaving the fortress to the mercy of the attacking Danes. 

From that moment on nothing else existed apart from the deafening roar of war cries, the clang of weapons and the frenzy of battle. You fought like a demon, too immersed in the intoxicating feeling of being invincible, unstoppable, the harbinger of death and justice. You had never felt like this before.

You were reckless, drunk on the bloodlust and adrenaline, and it would have cost you your life if a pair of steady and strong arms hadn’t yanked you aside, burying an axe in the chest of a hulking, red faced Dane.

“Trying to survive, huh? Try harder!” Sihtric shouted, sinking his foot in the gut of another Dane about to swing his blade at you. 

It was all over far too quickly, your head spun and you had to steady yourself against a pillar as you watched Ragnar butchering Kjartan, as you saw Uhtred pulling him away from the mutilated corpse and Thyra emerging from the back of the yard.

And then among all the chaos there was Sihtric, standing in the front line and watching the death of his father, triumph and satisfaction in his face fading into disgust and resentment. 

—----------------------------------------------------

“Here you are,” you exclaimed as you found Sihtric sitting motionless on a hillock outside the fortress. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn your way, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead on a small pile of stones.

You hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the right time, maybe he needed space, and yet you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t leave him like this. 

“I was looking for you all over the place,” you said as you reached him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Sihtric flinched at your touch, a faint shudder coursing through him, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“You found me,” he said at last.

You lowered yourself beside him, your hand still on his shoulder. “Hey…” you began, but he didn’t let you continue.

“They’re all gone,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to you. “Every single one of them. They’re all dead.” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the dirt beside him.

“I’ve had my revenge. And what? It didn’t bring them back. It didn’t make it easier.” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally turned to face you. “There’s nothing left for me. No family, no purpose, nothing.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your trembling fingers squeezing his shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” Sihtric interrupted you angrily. “I couldn’t save them. Not her, nor my mom. The only two people to ever care about me, and both ripped from this life by the man whose blood runs in my veins. And nothing I do - nothing - will ever bring them back.” Sihtric’s gaze shifted back to the pile of stones in the distance.

“Sihtric, please listen to me,” your voice quivered as you reached for his hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. He didn’t even seem to register that you’d called him by his name—something he hadn’t shared with you.

“I … I have to tell you something… I thought I’d lost everything too. My family, my home, even the sense of who I am…,” you swallowed hard, feeling the tears welling in the corners of your eyes but you didn’t fight them back, you let them flow freely, you didn’t even wipe them away. “But I was wrong. There’s always something to hold on to. There’s always someone.”

“Not for me,” Sihtric murmured, pulling his hand from yours.

“Sihtric, you did save her. You saved her so many times and you kept saving her without even knowing it. I let grief cloud my mind, cloud my judgement. I blamed you for what happened, blamed you for being Kjartan’s son, for not coming to warn me, for abandoning me, for breaking your oath. But the truth… The truth is, it was me. I was the oath breaker. In my grief and self righteousness, I never even thought to look for you. I never realised that you might have needed me. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sihtric turned to you and the confusion and disbelief written plainly across his face made you laugh bitterly.

“By the gods, Sihtric… Do you really not recognise me?” Hot tears pouring down your cheeks, you rolled up your sleeve, stretching your arm toward Sihtric.  

Sihtric’s gaze dropped to your forearm. Carefully his hand reached for your arm and  his fingers brushed over the uneven, jagged scar, running along your skin, tracing it as if trying to prove it was real.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at you, his gaze fixed on your arm and as the silence stretched fear slowly crept under your skin, fear that he would be angry, that he would hate you for not revealing yourself sooner. 

Sihtric exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze to the ground, and your heart sank into your gut, expecting the worst, but then his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them almost painfully.

“Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone,” he whispered, raising your palm to his lips. 

You cupped his jaw, letting your thumb hesitantly hover over his lips, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes falling shut, the dampness on his cheeks telling you more than any words ever could.

"I knew it. Deep down I knew it," he whispered.

Sihtric’s arms hesitantly encircled your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace and you melted against his muscular torso. You both just sat there for what felt like a lifetime, in silence, savouring the moment and each other's presence. 

You were no kids anymore. Sihtric’s broad chest heaved in the rhythm of his breath and you pressed your ear tighter against him, listening to the beating of his heart.

It was against all odds but you both were alive and here and that was enough. You didn’t even dare to think about something else. You were content in this moment, and you wanted it to last forever.

“Do you remember that last dawn? In the meadow?” Sihtric’s voice brought you back to reality after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve thought about it,” he said, “wishing I had been braver.”

“Braver?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met, Sihtric.”

“But I wasn’t brave enough for this,” he smiled and with a soft exhale, he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, his lips brushing against yours in silent reverence, almost as if he were afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it got more demanding with each passing moment, melting away all hesitation, all doubts, all fears and leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other and in the salty taste of tears on your lips.

[paperometria]

Madoooooo non venivo più taggato in un giochino da una vita, pensavo ormai di essere stato abbandonato, grazie @pianetatschai!

to post 5 songs that people might be surprised to learn that I like (i.e. 'Guilty Pleasures' as we used to call them) and then to tag 10 music loving mutuals!!!

Eh, sarebbe stato facile rispondere a questa roba 20 anni fa, adesso ... vediamo che ne esce. E' da una vita che non sento più questi pezzi, e di attuali non ne ho, però il mio punto del Guilty Pleasure è che, se li mettete, io vi giro tutta la manopola del volume e po' so' cassi vostri.

Un bel viaggio nei ricordi, ne avrei voluti mettere un'altra ventina, ma la memoria non mi aiuta più.

Vediamo chi mi può dare soddisfazione tra i mutuals :)

@madreorchessa (mi aspetto delle perle, eh!) @mafedericascusami (non lo voglio manco sapere quanti coreani tirerai fuori) @sottileincanto (vediamo se hai passato i miei stessi tunnel) @ross-nekochan (puoi citare Liberato, più guilty di così, ce vuless 'a galer) @le0noraddio (eh, pure qua dovrei vederne delle belle) @noncecrisinelmercatodellebugie (vediamo se ce ne è nella musica) e per finire, come da tradizione, i miei recenti @diclofenak @labalenottera @chiamamiely @casoecose (ma solo se avete genio).

[flaminandgooo]

Wip wednesthursday

(ft. Sam coming home black and blue from his fight with Ross and Bucky's there with soup.)

"Who knew you were such mother hen?"

It got a huff out of Bucky and Sam reveled in it, the familiarity of there banter a soothing balm after the last few days' events.

"Three younger sisters, Sam," Bucky reminded him, undeterred and unperturbed in his quest to find whatever he was looking for in Sam's kitchen cabinet. "And do I need to remind you how many health problems Steve had before the serum?"

"Touché."

“Yeah. Now go take a shower-”

“Way to make a guy feel welcomed, Buck. Just say I reek.”

But Bucky just ignored him and carried on, his back turned to Sam as he reached for the cabinet above the sink where he kept his mugs.

“I'll warm up the soup and make some tea while you're in there.”

Sam's ears perked up. As much as he still wanted to bicker with Bucky, the mention of soup overrode it and he finally noticed the pot on his stovetop.

Shuffling towards it while the other man was still busy rummaging around his kitchen like it was his own, Sam leaned over the pot and peeked at what was inside, aromas hitting his nose, familiar and comforting. It brought him back to his childhood and Delacroix, the ghost of his mother’s hand running gently over his head.

“Did you make this?” he asked, peering to the side to see Bucky had stopped his fussing in favor of watching him apprehensively.

“Yeah? It's the recipe Sarah gave me.”

Huh, Sam thought. It did smell suspiciously like the chicken noodle soup his Mama used to make for him and Sarah when they were children and their stomach wouldn't settle because of sickness. She had a peculiar way of making it, using chicken thighs slowly cooked in the broth with the vegetables instead of adding shredded meat from an already cooked rotisserie chicken. ‘It's the bones that make it more delicious, mo tite perl’ she used to tell him. That was the way she’d always made it and the way both he and Sarah had learned to make it.

That soup had gotten him through colds and bad nights over the years. Something so simple yet so comforting to him.

“Does it smell bad?”

Sam blinked, the sound of Bucky’s slightly hesitant voice cutting through his reminiscing. Not harsh, just a gentle beckoning back to the present.

“No,” he said after a while, eyes meeting Bucky’s uncertain ones. “Pretty much the same as my Mama’s actually.”

The relieved sigh Bucky let out at the words would have been pretty damn hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that his friend making this specific soup made Sam feel unexpectedly warm inside.

[goblinsofdiscord]

The Enneagram Explained ⚔️ Defence Mechanisms & Self-Sabotaging Behaviors 💣🔪

By Larissa

(This is an excerpt from a workshop I taught in 2023) If you want the accompanying "Unf*ck Yourself" mini workshop + pdf workbook join the membership and get it instantly. I apologize for how dry and cringe the names/descriptions are.

To watch/listen instead:

One of the main ways you can stop operating out of autopilot, quit the shit patterns and actually get what you want is by:

Being with the discomfort of not operating out of your personality trap + shadow (being conscious, making different choices, regulating your nervous system in the moment with breath, tapping, affirmations).

Integrating the opposite of your personality's "belief" (the shadow).

This sounds simple but it actually requires a considerable amount of bravery and determination. Which is why most people who learn the Enneagram don’t actually use it for self-growth. Because it’s more fun to chit chat about and study than to actually apply to our own lives.

The personality’s belief structure creates behaviors and defense mechanisms. These beliefs and behaviors create the shadow. 

The defense mechanisms come from Freud's psychoanalytic theories and have been correlated to Enneagram theory by multiple sources and evolved over time with other people's ideas (Fritz Perls, Oscar Ichazo, Helen Palmer, Naranjo, etc). I won’t be getting into any of that, I’m just going to apply them in how I see them as useful. I’ve also added behaviors that I notice in each of the types.

I’m not sharing these to shame anyone or be judgmental, because we’re ALL doing at least one, if not three or more of these patterns. I’m using the Enneagram as a framework to show you how to spot patterns, unuseful beliefs and shadow at a much quicker pace than if you’re just doing it from just generic journaling prompts or waiting for something to “happen” before you address it. This way you have a pathway to start looking at the problems before your life goes to total shit. 

Each type’s flawed belief (“If I am not ___ I don’t exist /I am not me/I am not safe”) manifests itself through behaviors and actions. 

This process is unconscious. Even if you were aware that you were doing some of this stuff, it’s not your fault. It’s what we were programmed to do. But by integrating our shadow and coming into acceptance and wholeness we get to make better choices, think supportive thoughts, feel better, more useful and aligned feelings. And you can also catch yourself in the act and check yourself before you wreck yourself.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 1 - “DADDY”

1’s prefer to see themselves as being conscientious and above the degenerate riff raff. They’re proper, correct and in integrity, therefore they cannot see themselves as lazy, foolish, wrong, messy or "bad.” Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

1’s avoid outwardly expressing anger to remain “objective” and in control. Because expressing “anger” is “bad.” To be imperfect, incompetent, wrong or out-of-control is death to the 1. This mechanism reinforces the 1's ego because it assures them that they are right, proper, perfect, and correct. Therefore, their survival and identity continues. However, because the 1 is an anger/gut type, they’re constantly churning irritation factories.

If the 1 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 1 utilizes “anger” they are unlikely to allow themselves to see themselves as incorrect, in the wrong, imperfect. 

How this manifests:

Reaction Formation: 1’s can express the opposite of their actual feelings and desires. They do this to reinforce their ego as “not being angry” (being perfect, right, correct, proper, good). Expressing anger is “bad” or what people who have no self-control do. 

Channeling unexpressed anger into physical activities - going hog wild on cleaning, obsessively exercising, restricting food/hedonistic delights, perfectionism fixations, taking a red pen to their life.

Criticality + judgmental concerns projected onto people around them, for their “own good.” To the 1 they’re being responsible, doing the right thing. 

Splitting: Seeing things in black and white under stress (this is good, this is evil). In super low health this can lead to extreme behaviors, like witch-hunting, finger-pointing, being the ‘voice of God’ / judge, jury and executioner.

Rationalization: 1's can rationalize to justify their self-righteousness. “This is the most correct, right, or efficient way to do the thing, therefore I am right and you are wrong.” If you don’t do what I say, it will be to your own detriment.

Hypocrisy: Projecting their own denied desires, feelings and even private behaviors by condemning the same desires, feelings and behaviors in others. They know the right way to be, and you are not being it. They can become preachy about whatever they take issue with, in order to unconsciously overcompensate for their secret bad behavior or naughty thoughts. This ties directly to Shadow Work, because 1's and 1-fixers can have a pungent Shadow full of all kinds of misdeeds and “dark” desires, but be totally blind to them while criticizing others for the same things.

Example: The anti-gay politician who is having an affair with a man, or the barbiturate-poppin' mom who wages a neighborhood campaign against drugs. 

OCD: Obsessively creating more order and rightness in their physical environment, relationships, or self. They can go into “perfecting” mode in order to feel in control of something they cannot control, where they exert order onto their surroundings and right wrongs (like becoming obsessed with cleanliness in their home or laying out ‘rules’ that others must follow). 

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 2 - “MOMMY”

2’s prefer to see themselves as being loving, nurturing, selfless, self-sacrificing, caring towards others, concerned and kind-hearted. Therefore they cannot see themselves as selfish, self-centered, giving to get, cold, heartless or "bad”. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

2’s avoid feeling selfish or needy, by refusing to directly ask to get their needs met or receive what they truly wish from others. 2's unconsciously repress these needs and desires to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are self-sacrificing, needed, good and loving. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 2 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 2 utilizes “pride” they are unlikely to allow themselves to wallow or even acknowledge any wrongdoing or selfishness on their part. It’s the other person’s fault, the 2 is blameless.

How this manifests:

Repression: 2’s hide their needs and "selfish" desires from themselves in order to maintain their caring and indispensable self-image. They use Repression to AVOID feeling needy, unnecessary or rejected. Because of their type structure, they can't see how they are in need of anyone else's help or how they are anything other than self-sacrificing. They cover up these feelings with flattery, offers of help, being intrusive and overly nice. 

2’s prioritize others’ needs in the hopes someone will prioritize theirs. But then when that happens, the 2 goes into rejection mode and wants to get back into position as ‘the helper’ as that’s where their identity is invested.

The 2 projects their needs onto those around them by being overly helpful or intrusive. If they feel like they're not being appreciated or getting their needs met, they can move into covertly "punishing" behaviors to the person they keep giving to or subconsciously create situations in which the person might be forced to give back to them.

Example: The 2 wants help cleaning from their spouse, so over-cleans to the point where they become ill so that their partner is forced to pick up the slack or show them care for all of their self-sacrificing. This can also manifest in ways like them offering to do something and then making the other person wait to receive if they are feeling secretly resentful or not shown adequate appreciation or having their self-image adequately validated.

In low health, 2’s can use “Identification” to take on the needs and worries of those around them as if it’s theirs. They become fretful over other people’s problems. Anything that hurts their loved one hurts them. And it becomes covertly narcissistic, wherein they can make someone else’s suffering about themselves, but also their wins. “If it wasn’t for my help, they wouldn’t have accomplished that.” They can secretly (or not secretly) want undue credit for “help” they’ve provided (whether solicited or not).

2’s use “Reframing” in collaboration with “Repression.” They can reframe their intentions (to maintain a pride in their pure and loving intentions) and reframe others intentions too, lest it burst the sugar-coated bubble they’re desiring to live in or reflect back to them that they’re unwanted.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 3 - “SHAPESHIFTER”

3’s like to see themselves as impressive, competent, successful and admired or valued for what they do or are. Therefore they cannot see themselves as losers, failures, or less than others. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

3’s avoid feeling like a failure or worthless by adapting to external ideals, competing, and striving. 3's unconsciously use “Identification” to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are valuable, worthy, admired and successful. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 3 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 3 utilizes “deceit” they are unlikely to allow themselves to own their failings or true feelings if it interferes with the image they’re projecting.

How this manifests:

3's use "Identification" as a defense mechanism, by unconsciously assimilating with the "other." They use this to avoid feeling like a failure. How this shows up is that they take on the traits, characteristics, attributes, aesthetics, preferences, values and mannerisms of important people in their life, groups, people they see as valuable and those they admire or envy. They do this to create an image of success (to themselves and/or others).

Denial/Projection: 3’s can blame others for their failures or what isn’t working for them, offloading image fails onto others to distance themselves from shame. Just like they can take on others traits/behaviors/stories, they can offload those same things onto others as well. 

Deception: This collection of traits is their "self image" and where their ego and self-worth resides, and because their external sources and what is valued may change, it can give 3's a shapeshifter quality depending on who or what they're surrounded by, what they value, what they do. Underneath this layer of shiny baubles is still a 'shame type' and so without this sometimes fragile self-image being upheld they are but a raw, shameful nerve. Because of this, they can lose contact with their own internal compass, needs, desires and their authentic self. They prioritize what gets them those positive hits and bolsters their ego/self-image. They can be totally asleep to this inner incongruence, and be deceiving themselves, especially in lower levels of health.

Numbing/Workaholism: 3’s can use numbing so they don’t get stuck in the emotional swamp and become unproductive. They can power down the “I’m a failure, I’m upset, I’m emotional” aspect and power up the drive to override emotional slop that might get in their way. They might override this with going hard into working around the clock, substances, shopping/spending a lot or doing something flashy to bolster their self-image. 

Competition: 3’s can get caught up in competition, using others as a stepping stone or a way to boost their own image by comparison (“see how much better of a job I’m doing than Ted.”) They might do this to the point where they end up chasing someone else’s dreams and totally shooting themselves in the foot.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 4 - “DISDAINFUL DEPRESSIVE”

4’s like to see themselves as separate, uniquely flawed, deep, and the special exception. Therefore they cannot see themselves as mundane, relatable, ordinary, adaptable, or even for many 4’s functional. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

4’s avoid feeling mundane, ordinary, relatable, shallow, functional or happy. 4's unconsciously self-sabotage and focus on the negative and what’s frustrating, to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are deep, different, uniquely flawed and unlike anyone else. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 4 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 4 utilizes envy (what is missing) they are unlikely to allow themselves to see where they are functional, relatable, understandable or even happy. They subconsciously craft a self-image that rejects any "positive" information about themselves that comes into conflict with this existing "negative" image.

How this manifests:

Introjection: Introjection is presented as absorbing another person's identity or feelings (like a parent) and transferring it to themselves. However, it's more nuanced and specific than that for 4’s. 4's aren't just taking in any old information, they're unconsciously taking in evidence that they are broken, estranged, alien, fucked up and damaged - and this is great news to them. While the external world may be giving the 4 fuel, their experience has almost nothing to do with the outside world. The outside world is just serving to fuel the 4's internal narrative. The 4 weaves these evidentiary mementos into a story. They identify with specific negative traits that reinforce that they are separate, rare, deeply flawed so as to never quite be understood or capable of being happy and functional.

They do this unconsciously as a way to cope with the pain of feeling broken, unwanted, dysfunctional and different. They weave the negative narratives into their identity and shape it into a way that makes them feel in control of it, to project depth and meaning onto it vs someone or something outside of themselves creating their story and making it shallow. The more they associate into this negative state, the more dysfunctional they can become and the more it supports their type's ego structure. Without these narratives they feel naked and non-existant. Because their self-image is inherently negative, they are “positively” associated with being in a negative, frustrated, unsatisfied state.

Idealization: Idealizing people or situations as a way to generate feelings to pull the 4 away from the mundane reality/experience. This idealization is a frustration pattern designed to keep them in a loop of disappointment and longing because nothing will ever live up to what they hope, something will always be missing and the 4 can never truly actualize or be happy as a result. And if it is everything they’ve ever wanted, the 4 is likely to find something wrong anyway or create a problem where there is none.

As a result, the 4 might self-sabotage opportunities that would actually aid them in being functional, capable, happy, or get them what they claim they want. They may discard things, people, ideas, pursuits if they feel too easy, cheap, relatable, mundane. Or keep churning up issues and provocations that will lead to them being able to say, “see, I never get to have what I want.” Or “I knew no one would understand.”

Splitting: 4’s reject what’s “not me” and often find what’s not to their tastes or “not me” disgusting. Everything that’s not in the frustrated realm that the 4 approves of is superficial, shallow, ugly, vapid, horrible, etc. For the faceless masses, not the 4. Being at odds with reality helps reinforce their self-identity. I’m not like that, therefore I’m deep.

Because 4’s are usually creative or self-identify with the idea of being an artist/writer/creative, their tragically romantic, broken and disdainful views can be expressed through their art. They may overdo it in making it unpalatable or abstract. Or if they become popular they may self-sabotage their own success or self-image by being provocative, turning on their fans/the public, becoming moody, self-destructive or unpredictable. They’ll likely move away from what is expected or desired by their fanbase, even if they secretly desire an audience. Or maybe they’ll over-specify how they present themselves and shroud themselves in mystery in a way that others cannot easily relate to, they can only *bear witness.*

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 5 - “BRUNDLEFLY”

5’s like to see themselves as insightful, competent, self-sufficient, independent and objective. Therefore they cannot see themselves as emotional, human, helpless or dependent on others. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

5’s avoid feeling dependent on others, helpless, depleted, or engulfed in the messy world. 5's unconsciously retreat inwards and withhold energy and information, detach, and compartmentalize to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are competent, objective, smarter than everyone else and above the mortal coil. 

Because the 5 utilizes avarice (hoarding inner resources) they are unlikely to allow themselves to allow themselves to be put in a position where they are “needed” for anything outside of the scope of their specific interest/competency focus, or entangle themselves with hot messes (people or situations). Of all the types, this is maybe the one that is least likely to give a shit if they have a shadow, tbh.

How this manifests:

Isolation: 5’s retreat and protect their inner sanctum from being invaded or picked clean by the outside world. They use isolation to avoid dependence on others or having to be interlaced with their chaotic whims and needs which may disrupt what the 5 would rather be doing with their time (some kind of mind pursuit). They may design their entire lives to protect themselves against intrusion.

Detachment: 5’s use detachment as a means to cope when they feel overwhelmed. They disconnect from and retreat from their own and others’ unstable feelings. In order to feel competent and safe and conserve their mental resources, they can cut all contact or need for the outside world.

They use ‘rejection’ methods of cutting off and compartmentalizing to ensure they’re not swallowed up in the messy ass human bullshit of this humdrum existence. This may show up as minimizing their needs (physical, relational, financial, emotional). They’re the most likely to live in some secret, off-grid tiny home. Not the one with all the gardens and crops and goats, but the one that has the bare minimum to survive where they can focus on their studies or whatever their mental obsession is, far away from other people. 

They can have totally hidden worlds within worlds that others know nothing about. Each world dangerously close to being lopped off at a moment’s notice if the 5 sees no use for it anymore. They dump all of their energy into their main pursuit because it’s where they feel “safe” and valuable, and so the outside world interfering with that feels like an attack on their very existence. By overdoing this one area of “competency” they can actually make themselves unable to actually be independent or functional. So to them they may seem overly competent, but to the outside world they may seem bizarre and dysfunctional.

5’s use compartmentalization of emotions, energy, and relationships. Separating their thoughts from feelings, and putting people into boxes to be dealt with or utilized instead of truly connected to. This can have a dehumanizing effect on the people around them who don’t want to only interact with the 5 when they have the inner resources or only interact with them on narrow and specific terms. By doing this, the 5 effectively shuts out having to deal with whatever they don’t want to but also hacks off pieces of their own heart, spirit, and humanity which is the only true place to create and mine for the insights and independence they seek.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 6 - “CITIZEN EMO”

6’s like to see themselves as loyal, hardworking, just a regular person, authentic, responsible, fair and connected to the family/community/tribe, etc. Therefore they cannot see themselves as bad, traitorous, pompous or “too good.” Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

6’s avoid feeling unsafe, uncertain or abandoned in their attachments and support systems (physical, group, partner). 6's unconsciously seek security/safety (and dangers), truth (and lies) and support systems they can trust and rely on to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are accepted, part of the tribe, safe, secure, supported and prepared. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 6 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 6 utilizes “fear” (and anxiety) they are unlikely to allow themselves to relax, ease up, stop hunting for discrepancies or what could go wrong.

How this manifests:

Projection: 6’s project their worst fears and worst case intentions onto other people. They’re always sniffing out danger in the world and in their connections. Who’s being disloyal? Who’s up to no good? They can engage in investigative, gossipy behaviors, seeking out clues of their worst fears. Sometimes they project their own behaviors, feelings and thoughts onto others and then fear being blamed or accused (which leads to projecting).  

On the flipside, they can project idolization fantasies onto “experts”, simping people who they can put all their trust and outsource their thinking to. They do this to create certainty within themselves. 

Worst Case Scenario: Projections can also show up as “predictions” where the 6 may anticipate the worst and then by overfocusing on this negative outcome, they manifest it into reality. Their worst case scenario becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. (“See! I knew the basement was going to flood!” Or “See! I knew you’d cheat on me!”) This churning distrust has them always on the hunt, and never feeling safe. 

Splitting: Like other types they can see things in “black and white”, good or bad, you’re with me or against me. 6’s can be tribal and overly-identified to their “side” - whether that’s ideologically, politically, religiously or just in their general friend groups.

Outsourcing anxiety: They can overdose on anxiety in order to reach equilibrium. They project their internal anxieties into the outside world in the hopes that someone else will solve the problem for them. Like constantly bringing people’s attention to the negative or what could go wrong. They cannot rest until someone else validates and matches their concern. They want help to deal with the problem (real or imagined) and for someone else to assuage their fears. 

Redirect overwhelming fears from one source onto another source that they feel is easier to manage (like a loved one, peer, boss).

Rebellion: 6’s can get anti-authoritarian when their trust is broken, they’re disappointed, or they engage in “splitting.” They can be mega social justice warriors and fight for what is “right”, but in doing so they can totally lose perspective and go so hard in fighting for justice that they actually become the bad guy.

6’s can also be hypochondriacs with their anxiety. Excessive worrying, creating symptoms and scenarios out of the ether. They can circle the drain, fixating on problem after potential problem. They can literally bring forth a potential health catastrophe into reality with constant focus on it. This paranoia can manifest in many ways, but sometimes they’re right!

Self-deprecation: They also may use self-deprecation or humor, or presenting as an “underdog” as a way to deflect being targeted or being seen as too big for their britches. They can project this onto other with a ‘tall poppies’ or ‘crabs in the bucket’ mentality.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 7 - “MAD HATTER HEDONIST”

7’s like to see themselves as interesting, exciting, innovative, individualistic, creative and fun. Therefore they cannot see themselves as boring, normal, part of the grind or a downer. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

7’s avoid feeling trapped, limited, stifled, cut off and bored. 7's unconsciously seek new, interesting people/things/situations/interests to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are fascinating, buoyant, original and compelling creatures. Therefore their survival continues.

Because the 7 utilizes “gluttony” they are unlikely to allow themselves to stagnate for too long, moving onto the next thing and the next thing and the next thing.

How this manifests:

Rationalization: Which means the 7 can subconsciously (or consciously) rationalize away shitty behaviors and dodge responsibility. They are usually averse to their specific flavours of what is “painful” and will reframe reframe reframe themselves up up up and away from whatever that source of “pain” is. Whether it’s the guilt of doing something awful, or the fall-out of saying something flippantly, or the consequences of a thoughtless action. They’re especially prone to rationalizing if making the pain conscious means they’re not able to do, be or have something they desire. 

Distraction: They go into distraction seeking mode via hedonism, intellectual stimulation, adventures, extreme sports, partying, being totally manic and creating for 3 days straight, shopping, etc when they want to avoid discomfort, pain, boredom.

Repression: They use repression to bury negative emotions (in whatever flavour they despise) and push away anything that makes them feel like they’ve been victimized. 7’s can be emotional and melodramatic but it’s in the flavour they find the most interesting. They’re not here to be a boring victim or cry themselves to sleep every night over a loser.

Anticipation/Planning: They can over idealize an outcome to the point where they are more about getting the dopamine hits off anticipation than actually doing the thing or seeing whatever their harebrained scheme is through to completion.

Entitlement: 7’s can be massive brats about getting what they want. As frustration types they’re often focused on what they don’t have and what they want, but because they’re assertive they’re more likely to chase after it, expect it to be given to them, or push people out of the way to get it.

Pleasure-seeking/Hedonism: 7’s reject that which is not pleasurable because there’s nothing in it for them. When 7’s get into this “thank you, next” pattern it can become impossible for them to actualize or stick to something long enough for them to enjoy the fruits of all their initial excitement. The sparkle fades and there’s nothing tasty for the 7 to stick around and lick, so they’re likely to start looking for something else.

Rebellion: Like 6’s, 7’s can also be rebellious, but their reasons for rebelling are likely centered around freedom (literally or freedom of expression), anti-censorship, pro-individuality/individual choice. They can also just rebel for the hell of it if they’re bored, or if there are hot people associated with a cause.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 8 - “FINAL BOSS”

8’s like to see themselves as powerful, invulnerable, independent, intimidating IDGAF leaders. Therefore they cannot see themselves as weak, under someone else’s heel, being controlled, powerless or soft. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

8’s avoid feeling weak, vulnerable, powerless, small or allowing anything to threaten them. 8's unconsciously deny vulnerabilities and weaknesses to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are indeed powerful and no one can or will fuck with them. Therefore their survival continues.

Because the 8 utilizes “lust” they are unlikely to allow themselves to put themselves in a position where they could be steamrolled, deprived, slowed down or made small or powerless.

How this manifests:

Denial: 8’s use “Denial” by rejecting their own vulnerabilities or weaknesses. This can show up as denying emotions, fears, thoughts that don’t serve the 8’s ego identification of being powerful. They can also completely deny the existence of any perceived weak points that an “enemy” could use against them. If possible, they will lop off anyone or anything that causes them agitation (people, situations) or seems like a threat to their inner or outer sanctuary that they’ve created.

Rejection/Coldness: They can view softness and receptivity as death. If they weaken for a moment, they’ll get screwed over or tricked.

Reaction Formation: 8’s can express the opposite of how they feel. So they can feel really hurt but act like they’re emotionally impervious. You have no effect on the 8. You don’t matter. If you’ve wounded their steel heart, you’ll pay the price. Like the 7 they can deny victimhood, but they might personally feel quite slighted and seek revenge to get the ball back in their court, the power back in their hands, for how the person made them feel.

Aggression/assertiveness: 8’s can take up space and project an air of confidence in order to pre-defend against would-be attacks. Showing up with big bear or chaos demon energy ensures no one will fuck with them and that they’ll get what they want. Therefore they can be domineering, bossy, straight-shooters. My way or the highway.

Control/conquering: 8’s can be hyper controlling and even paranoid, depending on their position and the situation. They can take on the role of puppetmaster or dictator, to ensure things happen according to their plan and they’re not at the whims of someone else or underneath someone else’s thumb.

Justification: 8’s can be impulsive with their anger and feeling absolutely justified. The desired effect can be to crush whatever is pissing them off with their brutality and force.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 9 - “SOOTHING SQUISH”

9’s like to see themselves as chill, empathetic, caring, supportive and deep. Therefore they cannot see themselves as provocative, disruptive, thoughtless, aggressive or selfish. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

9’s avoid feeling in conflict and stressed out. 9's unconsciously seek to be in harmony and flow with those around them and their environment to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are chill, harmonious and connected.

If the 9 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 9 utilizes “sloth” they are unlikely to allow themselves to just get after it, make demands, make bold moves.

How this manifests:

Narcotization/Dissociation: 9’s use narcotization which means to numb, to ease discomfort. This can manifest in multiple ways, falling asleep at the wheel of life - outsourcing decisions, independence, physical needs, to others. It can also show up as losing yourself in mindless side-tasks instead of just dealing with problems. They can dissociate from problems by numbing their heart and mind to what’s in front of them, or to just hope it resolves itself without any involvement or disruption to the 9’s existence.

9’s repress their anger in favor of keeping peace. They can be really annoyed and not able to verbalize it until it reaches a crisis point for the 9. The other person may be totally shocked when it happens, especially if the 9 kept telling them that everything was fine.

Passive Aggression: 9’s express how they feel indirectly and hoping the person picks up on their subtle cues without them having to generate conflict. This can also just slip out subconsciously through offhand comments, looks, tone or behaviors. And when confronted with it, they’ll likely recede into a mist and say nothing’s wrong.

9’s can also use “positive reframing”, not unlike 7, but theirs is more used as a numbing agent, smoothing out a dire situation or other people’s malintent, rudeness, or shitty behavior so it doesn’t result in conflict or upset.

Outsourcing: 9’s often give their power away, instead of asking for what they want or expressing themselves without being prompted. They can become disappointed when others fail to mind-read or intuit their needs without them having to assert themselves or vocalize it.

Self-Forgetting: Because 9’s can dance around their location in order to keep the peace and not lose connection, they can forget what they want or how they really feel about something.

Merging: Like 3’s, 9’s merge with the people around them, often taking on their interests, aesthetics, values and even mannerisms. However the 9 isn’t doing it to become an ideal and compete for validation, they do it because they over-identify with the idealized other to create harmony and melt into them.

7’s and 9’s can both procrastinate and get lost in multiple fantasies of possibilities, but the difference is that the 7 is likely taking an active, assertive approach and throwing spaghetti at the wall, whereas the 9’s dreams can fade away if they don’t have another person holding them accountable or a job to show up for or something external. 

Ghosting: Instead of just saying “no,” often 9’s will be vague or give a “maybe” or “sure” if they don’t know their location in the moment or don’t want to rock the boat. And then they’ll disappear when followed up with.  

SELF-REFLECTION PROMPTS (FOR JOURNALING)

Did you cringe at any of the behaviors listed? did you recognize any of these in yourself?

write out which ones you recognized. no judgment. it's not "you", it's just behaviors Created out of your personality's false belief. Unpack them. go back to the situation. what were you feeling at the time? what was running through your mind?

What did you need to know in that moment to feel totally safe and make a different choice?

What different choice can you make next time?

What would be the worst thing someone could say about you or make you feel? 

Is there anything in your life that you can see as you trying to avoid this being said about you, control people's perceptions, or avoiding feeling?

Can you accept this behavior in yourself right now, forgive yourself, and choose to be more consciously aware?

If you want the accompanying "Unf*ck Yourself" mini workshop + pdf workbook join the membership and get it instantly. I apologize for how dry this is. Want to get typed or coached by me? Book here.

[a-regular-amount-of-spiders]

Headcannon:

So this is specifically based on shows/games/comics where Dick is shown to be technically unsavvy, which is not compatible with the frequent depictions of him being a tech wiz

As such, I propose this:

Dick is really really good with obscure technology and coding languages, almost exclusively.

The reason could be that he wanted to round out Batman (who knows all the more prevelamt stuff), or that he originates from the 80s, but personally I find this absolutely hilarious.

Like,

Tim: There’s nothing we can do, I’ve never even seen this kind of code before?

Dick: oh that’s Prolog, just gimme a second *shuts down the program with ease”

Tim: its fucking *what*

Babs: you know that and not python?

Dick: learning coding languages is time consuming :(

Other languages he could be good at include: Fortran, forth, MUMPS/Cache, Rebol, Perl, Brainfuck (or any esoteric coding language), Malbolge, APL etc etc.

Especially niche use case languages like MUMPS or purposefully difficult to use like Malbolge or Brainfuck have the potential for divine comedy

Additionally he should be good with older technology

Not just like, stuff used more in the 80s but shit like, can use a manual mass spectrometer. Stuff that’s been automated for awhile that no one can do manually cause it’s super hands on and complicated

[emacs-unofficial]

Should I learn emacs I've been coding in nano

@perl-official

I always recommend emacs. But depending on your use case you might want to learn something else first.

If you hop between different servers a lot and can't expect to have access to your favourite editor on there, I recommend learning the basics of vi/vim since that is preinstalled pretty much everywhere. Also, most bigger IDEs you might use in the future have a setting or extension to use vim-keybinds.

If you just want to program on your own machine, I recommend trying out a few different text-editors and then decide on one.

To learn emacs, I recommend using the built in tutorial. You can access it using C-h t (thats CTRL-h followed by t) while beeing in emacs.

To learn vim, you can use the vimtutor. I think it is automatically installed with vim on most distros, but may have to be installed separately on some. Also neovim/nvim is way better in term of extensibillity to regular vim

Other Editors you could try:

- VS Codium (Visual Studio Code fork that removed most Microsoft Stuff)

- helix - a Vim like Editor

- zed - way too fucused on AI features for my taste but I heard it has some other nice features

If you want some more infos on why emacs is great: here two semi serious posts I made in the past:

Pingin some people who also might have something to say:

@vim-official @helix-editor @emacs-evil-mode

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 21, 2025

Gustatory cortex neurons perform reliability-dependent integration of multisensory flavor inputs. Allar, I. B., Hua, A., Rowland, B. A., & Maier, J. X. (2025). Current Biology, 35(3), 600-611.e3.

Complex harmonics reveal low-dimensional manifolds of critical brain dynamics. Deco, G., Sanz Perl, Y., & Kringelbach, M. L. (2025). Physical Review E, 111(1), 014410.

Context-dependent decision-making in the primate hippocampal–prefrontal circuit. Elston, T. W., & Wallis, J. D. (2025). Nature Neuroscience, 28(2), 374–382.

Applied Motor Noise Affects Specific Learning Mechanisms during Short-Term Adaptation to Novel Movement Dynamics. Foray, K., Zhou, W., Fitzgerald, J., Gianferrara, P. G., & Joiner, W. M. (2025). eNeuro, 12(1), ENEURO.0100-24.2024.

Touch-evoked traveling waves establish a translaminar spacetime code. Gonzales, D. L., Khan, H. F., Keri, H. V. S., Yadav, S., Steward, C., Muller, L. E., Pluta, S. R., & Jayant, K. (2025). Science Advances, 11(5).

A distinct hypothalamus–habenula circuit governs risk preference. Groos, D., Reuss, A. M., Rupprecht, P., Stachniak, T., Lewis, C., Han, S., Roggenbach, A., Sturman, O., Sych, Y., Wieckhorst, M., Bohacek, J., Karayannis, T., Aguzzi, A., & Helmchen, F. (2025). Nature Neuroscience, 28(2), 361–373.

Sensorimotor environment but not task rule reconfigures population dynamics in rhesus monkey posterior parietal cortex. Guo, H., Kuang, S., & Gail, A. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1116.

Dendritic growth and synaptic organization from activity-independent cues and local activity-dependent plasticity. Kirchner, J. H., Euler, L., Fritz, I., Ferreira Castro, A., & Gjorgjieva, J. (2025). eLife, 12, 87527.3.

Prediction of future input explains lateral connectivity in primary visual cortex. Klavinskis-Whiting, S., Fristed, E., Singer, Y., Iacaruso, M. F., King, A. J., & Harper, N. S. (2025). Current Biology, 35(3), 530-541.e5.

Reconstructing a new hippocampal engram for systems reconsolidation and remote memory updating. Lei, B., Kang, B., Hao, Y., Yang, H., Zhong, Z., Zhai, Z., & Zhong, Y. (2025). Neuron, 113(3), 471-485.e6.

Sensorimotor adaptation reveals systematic biases in 3D perception. Lim, C., Vishwanath, D., & Domini, F. (2025). Scientific Reports, 15, 3847.

Enhanced accuracy in first-spike coding using current-based adaptive LIF neuron. Liu, S., & Dragotti, P. L. (2025). Neural Networks, 184, 107043.

Overwriting an instinct: Visual cortex instructs learning to suppress fear responses. Mederos, S., Blakely, P., Vissers, N., Clopath, C., & Hofer, S. B. (2025). Science, 387(6734), 682–688.

Neural mechanisms of relational learning and fast knowledge reassembly in plastic neural networks. Miconi, T., & Kay, K. (2025). Nature Neuroscience, 28(2), 406–414.

Dynamical constraints on neural population activity. Oby, E. R., Degenhart, A. D., Grigsby, E. M., Motiwala, A., McClain, N. T., Marino, P. J., Yu, B. M., & Batista, A. P. (2025). Nature Neuroscience, 28(2), 383–393.

Dendritic excitations govern back-propagation via a spike-rate accelerometer. Park, P., Wong-Campos, J. D., Itkis, D. G., Lee, B. H., Qi, Y., Davis, H. C., Antin, B., Pasarkar, A., Grimm, J. B., Plutkis, S. E., Holland, K. L., Paninski, L., Lavis, L. D., & Cohen, A. E. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1333.

The developmental emergence of reliable cortical representations. Trägenap, S., Whitney, D. E., Fitzpatrick, D., & Kaschube, M. (2025). Nature Neuroscience, 28(2), 394–405.

Opposite asymmetry in visual perception of humans and macaques. Tünçok, E., Kiorpes, L., & Carrasco, M. (2025). Current Biology, 35(3), 681-687.e4.

Attention modulates subjective time perception across eye movements. Yan, C., Wang, H., Jiang, X., & Wang, Z. (2025). Vision Research, 227, 108540.

Dissociating the roles of alpha oscillation sub-bands in visual working memory. Zhao, N., & Liu, Q. (2025). NeuroImage, 307, 121028.

[yesterdays-xkcd]

I wrote 20 short programs in Python yesterday. It was wonderful. Perl, I'm leaving you.

Python [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[A Friend is talking to Cueball, who is floating in the sky.] Friend: You're flying! How? Cueball: Python!

Cueball: I learned it last night! Everything is so simple! Cueball: Hello world is just print "Hello, World!"

Friend: I dunno... Dynamic typing? Whitespace? Cueball: Come join us! Programming is fun again! It's a whole new world up here! Friend: But how are you flying?

Cueball: I just typed 'import antigravity' Friend: That's it? Cueball: ...I also sampled everything in the medicine cabinet for comparison. Cueball: But I think this is the python.

[hurricane105]

I'm still learning tatting, albeit slowly. (I've gotten a cold every few weeks all winter, which has been a bit of a roadblock).

I've been focusing on keeping an even tension and trying to really learn the basics - I figured out how to handle hiding ends (a sharp needle helps). The white thread is perle cotton and it's a little thinner than the crochet cotton, and in person the result is way more even.

It's also my first time tatting split rings, which takes more concentration than I anticipated. Keeping the loop of thread really tight helps though.

I have a couple big projects I want to tat, and I feel like I'm close to having the skills to start those.

[coca-lastic]

His Beautiful Green Eyes | F. Odair

Summary: The day that all the children of Panem fear is approaching and the only way not to sink into a hole of worry is to look into his beautiful green eyes.

Tw: Young love (No relationship, just falling in love), brief mention of trauma, use of nickname "flower", no use of y/n.

A/n: First of all, my first language is not English, so if I make any spelling mistakes I would appreciate if you could help me correct them <3. And, although it is not that important, you would help me a lot by liking, following and reblogging me ^^.

Sometimes such a happy moment can have such a sad context. Something as beautiful as a hug between two young people who love each other can have so much history behind it. The tears in the girl's eyes can contain such heartbreaking fear. And the way the boy's body shakes may contain such a tragic future.

They are just two 14-year-old children scared by what can happen, by what can come towards them, by the future they do not want and by the darkness that exists in their destinies.

It's just two children holding each other before letting go and moving into the arms of the other family members.

You see, Finnick's family and your family always decide to prevent quick goodbyes. No one knows who will be called the next day, no one knows who will be called directly to death. For this reason, the two families - or even, thanks to how much they love each other despite not having the same last name, a single family - the day before the reaping meet at a small party, enjoy meals from the 4th, dances, of songs that only they understand, of happiness that only they share.

And at the moment when the party must end and everyone must face reality, the warm and strong hugs of each member of the family feel like a shield. A shield against the future.

Each hug is comforting, but his hug is simply magical. It is a hug that says more than a simple "good luck", it is a hug that shows affection, love, fear, sadness, trepidation, warmth, comfort...

"What if... What if tomorrow one of our names is called Finn?" You cried, resting your head on his shoulder. It was not the perfect time to cry, the two families were around the two little ones observing their actions with teary eyes.

"Everything is going to be fine. We've been fine the other two years and we have few papers, there are thousands of other kids here..." Finnick started rubbing his hand against your back. He remained strong, comforting you. Perl you felt his body shake against yours, his voice a little rough, trying to keep it from breaking, and his eyebrows furrowed, avoiding crying.

"Come on, tomorrow is a difficult day, you better rest" Your mother said, wiping away some tears that had slipped down her cheek.

"Rose, can I stay here?" Finnick pleaded with your mother, "I swear I won't kick her daughter out of her bed this time." That's a funny anecdote, one that you hoped was just one of many others that you two deserved to have.

"It's okay Finnick. But tomorrow you have to get up early to get ready."

"Yes ma'am" Finnick stood firm, even at a time like this he never stops doing the hardest things that come into his head.

"Finn, follow me, I'm going to show you something" you ran towards the stairs, heading towards your room. "Look what I drew."

You were a good drawer. Plus, drawing always helped you fight stress. On days like this there were few moments when you didn't have a pencil in your hand.

You showed Finnick a drawing, a beautiful drawing of the moon. The moon was so beautiful, a simple satellite that can cause such beautiful landscapes. A landscape so beautiful that even on dark nights it is there to give you a touch of light. The moon made you wish that that night would last forever and the reaping day would never come.

"It's beautiful, flower. I envy your talent." He pouted as he threw himself against your bed. "How can you draw that in such a short time?

"It's just practice and patience Finn, maybe if one day you learn to sit still without having to start moving like a small trapped dog, and just maybe, you could draw" you lay down next to him, facing each other.

"I'm not that restless"

"Yes Yes you are"

"Yes, yes I am. But you love me that way so...it doesn't matter."

You let out a small nasal rose. You couldn't keep a small smile off your face. For a few seconds the hunger games didn't matter, only him and his beautiful eyes mattered.

Those green eyes. They were so deep, if you analyzed them well they had different tones, mostly greenish, but there were also some turquoise and blue. His eyes looked at you with so much happiness, with affection and love, perhaps not the love with which you saw him, but there was love.

“Games should disappear forever,” you said, not looking away, just a simple comment that had reached your brain.

"Oh good idea, let me call the president and tell him that the games should be canceled because a girl in district 4 said so."

"You're too stupid, Finnick, you should graduate as a clown, you idiot."

"Ouch, when did we get so aggressive flower?"

"I hate you" Lie. And he knew it was a lie, everyone knew it. He knew it because at this point it is impossible for you to hate him, but he also knew it because after telling him you hugged him, as if your words were never said.

"Awwww, that's the nicest thing you've said to me in the last year" Lie. And you knew that was a lie because there wasn't a day that you weren't stuck to him like gum.

"Finn...what if we can never do this again?" You looked up a little to see his eyes again.

"What's the point of thinking about that? Maybe we're worrying about anything, flower. Let's just enjoy the moment." Of course, worrying about nothing, nothing will happen to you two.

"Enjoy the moment...nope, that's impossible when the moment is with someone like you"

"Oh shut up!" He said, turning his back and covering himself with the blanket, feigning anger. "I'm going to sleep, good night."

"You're sensitive, let's keep talking, maybe it's our last night together and we won't enjoy the moment" and once again you hugged him with a smile on your face, forcing him to turn his face and your eyes meet his eyes again. His beautiful green eyes.

"We shouldn't have stayed up all night talking, I told you," Finnick said walking next to you. They had spent the rest of the night joking and hugging. That was incredible, but it had consequences; Now they were both half asleep walking towards the reaping site, the moment was getting closer and the only thing your teenage mind thought about was how handsome your friend looked in his semi-formal clothes.

"Whatever, when we get home we can sleep. Should we go to your house or mine?"

"My mom is going to prepare the fish that my dad caught yesterday, she will probably invite your family" Finnick paused for a moment. They had already arrived at the place and the accumulation of children was enormous, their parents were a few meters behind, they were about to enter the family area.

"Ok, see you there then"

"Yeah...well, I guess we just have to have good luck."

"May the odds always be on your side Finn" You laughed at the stupid phrase from the capitol, it was time to separate from your friend, each of you should go to his area.

He just looked at you with a smile, with his eyes a little red and extended his arms towards you inviting you to say goodbye properly.

You obviously headed straight into his arms, hugging him with more affection than you could explain. "Good luck Finn. Today I want to eat fish with you, not without you" you slowly separated from the hug trying to keep the tears from your eyes.

"That's how it will be flower. See you"

"See you"

Each one went to their respective area. From your place you couldn't locate Finnick, but you knew that he would be close to you thanks to being the same age as you, only on the other side, in the men's section.

"Welcome, welcome" said the girl from the capitol, full of exaggerated makeup and once extravagant timing. "Welcome to the reaping of the 65th hunger games!" She shuts up and gets to the point.

After an introductory talk and the same video as every fucking year, the time came. It made you want to vomit and suddenly dizzy. Your body shook and your eyes began to blur. You just wanted to get out of there, meet Finnick and eat fish.

"As always, girls first," the nausea was horrible, you just wanted me to digest the name and it was that of some random girl from the district. And maybe thanks to the probabilities, or maybe thanks to the universe, that's how it was. "Adella Humbort!" Unfortunately you knew her, she was two years older than you and you bought her clothes at the town market. But you were grateful with all your soul that your name had not been called.

You moved around, looking for Finnick, you wanted to show him that you were still there and not standing on the stage. When you managed to move to the edge of the area, you saw him. He was also moving to the limit to be able to see you, he smiled at you, those smiles that if they managed to kill you would probably already be in your fourth life. His marked dimples, his illuminated eyes and his radiant teeth. You smiled back, you were still nervous but at least not as much as before. You didn't hear what the escort asked Adella, but it was probably the same thing as always, her age and some silly compliments.

"And now, for the boys..."

You looked back at the stage, your nausea had gone but your shaking body persisted. The escort took out a paper and cleared her throat. You knew everything would be okay, there was nothing to worry about. This would end and they would have a family mea-

"Finnick Odair!"

The world fell apart. It was simply unfair. Your tasting went directly towards him, Finnick did not take his eyes off the stage, in complete shock. When his head finally turned towards you you couldn't hold back your tears. No one offered as tribute. Nobody.

Watching Finnick walk towards the stage was horrible. You couldn't do anything, you wish you could but you couldn't. You saw Finnick's mother in the distance crying in your mother's arms. Your father had his arm on Finnick's father's shoulder trying to give him silent support.

That day you knew that nothing would be the same. That the odds were not on your side and that the future will not be the way you wanted it.

So it was. Finnick won the games but nothing was the same. Those beautiful green eyes that gave you so much comfort and support were now the eyes of a poor traumatized child. You noticed it as soon as you saw him win, but when he came home it was much more noticeable.

Nothing was ever the same again, Finnick tried to be strong but the nights of teasing ceased to exist, now they were just nights trying to calm him down after a nightmare. The parties before reaping day were changed by Finnick having to meet up with the other mentors. His beautiful green eyes were changed by one more eyes... empty, alone, with many thoughts and at first it seemed that none of them were positive.

The odds are never in our favor.

~~~~~~

Hey! How are you? I actually don't know what I did, but I didn't want to do the typical thing that I always imagine, I wanted to do something that is not normally a theme seen in fics. I hope you like it beautiful people <3

Finnick didn't have the odds on his side, and that makes me angry! 😀🔪