#and all my journals say over and over and over

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

[burrowkit]

Ah, on phone so this’ll have to be ugly and quick. I’ve got a jealous cat.

Over the last year or so, I’ve finally done it. I’ve grown in power. My ability to heal has extended to all life and souls.

I have raised my armies.

They kicked me out. They told me I wasn’t needed. That they could survive on fast potions thrown together by idiots.

They have no idea how much time and effort it takes to make each potion! I had crafted each healing effort, carefully tailoring them for each member of our party.

Like Carl. Thanks to me, his eyes were fully restored, and then some.

And Sean. Sean, Sean, Sean, Sean, Sean. His wheelchair fell apart, and he was a captured by our enemy. Their enemy.

When we recaptured him, they’d mangled his ears badly enough to never hear again.

Or so they thought.

I’d carefully healed his ears, enabling him to hear from great lengths.

And the leader. Rick. Real rich if him. A potion doesn’t cure a pile through the brain!

But you know who could? Who already did it once for him?

Yeah, that’s right. I did.

He was on the brink of death. By all common sense, none of them should have survived.

But they did.

Over the last year, I’ve been consumed with enacting my perfect revenge.

I head out, the world seemingly to twist and twirl to make travelling that much quicker. My power weaves into the world around me. Into my very being.

I know where they’ll be.

It seemingly takes me no time to reach them.

I prepare my attack, watching their cabin.

I wait until it’s dark, summoning all the predators of the woods. All the ones I helped bring back from the brink of death.

At least THEY know loyalty.

We approach the cabin. It’s surrounded.

I open the door, my loud argument prepared.

The words die in my throat.

They weren’t hiding in this cabin to scout out their next mission.

Around them, I see marks of a dead parasite. One incapable of being destroyed by a healer. Only by the death of all those around it.

I move forward, careful not to touch the parasite itself. Its magic is dark, so I shouldn’t be able to heal it. Still, I dare not chance it.

Rick, the gun in his hand, his face frozen, eternally unable to decompose due to the toxins in the parasite, in an expression of complete grief.

Sean, slumped into his wheelchair, as if he… collapsed. As if he were once a doll held by strings which were now… cut.

I look for Carl, finding him just by the kitchen door, a gunshot there.

The temptations to bring them back are there. Despite my hatred. My plans…

Of maybe because of my plans. I want to bring them back just for that.

I turn back to the table, and find a single journal. One written my Rick.

I skim it quickly, terrified of lingering.

I find the note for the week before I was ‘dismissed’.

Carl could see the enemy in the distance, attempting to watch us. Sean said he could get closer to listen in.

I read the next note.

Sean brings troubling news, their latest attempts to thwart us involve a parasite. I’ve perused Jane’s books. I’m so sorry, Jane for touching them. Forgive me, I had to know what to look for.

Next page.

Carl says he sees what Jane’s books have described. But worse. Sean fears for our safety. This parasite… it loves to prey on those that run from it.

We cannot leave. We can only prepare. It’ll hunt our group until it kills us all.

Another page…

Lying to Jane is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. She’s the only one who can defeat The King. She does not yet know of the parasite. She can run from it. She won’t know she’s leaving it behind, nor that the rest of our fates are tied.

And the final one…

If you’re reading this, Jane. I am deeply sorry. You were like our little sister. You have gifted us each a gift we were unworthy to receive. And yet, we used these gifts to ensure your safety.

We lured the parasite here, trapping it with us.

I will do what I must to prevent it from chasing after you. It needs a host. It cannot survive long outside of a living host.

Please forgive us.

It’s dated for a month after I left.

After I was thrown away… no. Not thrown away like trash.

I was shoved into a life boat and told that I wasn’t needed to keep the ship running and here… now I’m back with my armada…

The ship I was on has sunk. Destroyed. A leak in the hull no one shared with me.

They kept the burden to themselves.

They traded their lives for mine.

Tears roll down my cheeks, and I leave the cottage, willing flame to lick it clean. To wipe away the remains of a fierce parasite.

Fire. A simple trick I learned as a child to cauterize a wound. Now?

Now, I’m ready to burn the world down.

To take my newfound abilities to destroy those that wish me and my loved ones to perish in terrifying ways.

“Let’s kill us a king,” I inform my army, walking past them.

They howl and cheer in the way they can. One of them nudges me, encouraging me to ride on it.

I take the offer.

After all, it always looks more terrifying when the villains arrives on a wolf.

And me?

I’ll be the villain to the tyrannical king who was once the hero of these lands.

I just hope that when all is said and done…

I can be seen as a hero to his villain.

As I ride, I let my magic nudge around the destroyed cabin, encouraging the forest to swallow it in plant life.

What better way to guard their deaths than by wrapping them in one last bubble of my healing magic?

“To slay the king!” I shout.

My army returns my shout in the way they can. I grin, relaxing slightly.

No one should ever have to lose what I lost. Not at the cost of trying to do right in this world.

Your a healer and was kicked out of the hero’s party because “Healers aren’t needed, just use potions”. You become powerful using your hate and distain for the hero’s party as a driving force. Only to learn, they kicked you out to protect you

[milkoomi]

the basics of health & wellness. ᥫ᭡

a lot of us strive to be that health & wellness icon, but unfortunately we might stumble upon the struggle of trying to figure out where to start. we come across so many health & wellness accounts, creators, videos, books, etc. that might quickly become overwhelming and we just end up lost on where to begin. so let this little guide on the basics be your starting position!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — physical basics

a lot of the time when we think of “health and wellness”, we think about our physical body. we look for workout routines, we might subscribe to a gym membership, we might try and follow workout youtube videos— but, we always somehow end up losing track of keeping up with that kind of physical activity, especially when we jump right into it.

start small! when i say we’re going to talk about the basics, i mean the very bare minimum basics.

make sure you’re getting enough sleep!

that 7-8 hours of sleep is absolutely vital for your physical health. i made this guide on how to get better sleep that i recommend for those who might struggle with getting a good amount of rest at night!

your body needs to rest and recharge. it needs to go into that sleep mode so that the next day you feel energized!

getting a good amount of sleep each night is an overall basic health and wellness tip! sleep doesn’t have just physical benefits, but it also benefits your mental and emotional well-being too!

drink water daily!

2-3 liters is that sweet spot for water intake, so let that be a daily goal for yourself! even if it’s one glass of water every morning, make sure you’re staying hydrated.

what helped me increase my water intake was by getting myself a super cute water bottle! i have this pastel colored owala water bottle and i’m absolutely obsessed with it and since i love it so much i’ve just been more inclined to drink more water!

stay away from the late night snacks!

i’ve been making it a goal for myself to not eat after, at the latest, 7:30pm. with that, i also try to refrain from getting myself a late night snack.

your stomach needs time to digest all the food you’ve eaten at dinner, and doctors/nutritionists always say not to eat 2-3 hours before going to sleep! going to bed with a full stomach can cause digestive problems, and we’re trying to promote health and wellness for ourselves! not make it worse for us!

get your body moving!

even if it’s going for a short walk or getting up from the couch to stretch or dancing around in your room, you need to start moving your body! get it used to physical activity before you start trying workout routines or going to the gym or following a youtube workout video.

if you’re already a little experienced with physical activity, keep your workout routines simple and short! find beginner level youtube workout videos! again, start small. don’t try to force yourself by diving in head first into something intense!

୨ৎ — mental/emotional basics

health and wellness also means making sure your mental and emotional health & well-being are in check. you can’t do physical activities if your mind isn’t in the right place!

journal, journal, journal!

i talk about journaling A LOT, and i’m going to keep reiterating it over and over again because it works! writing down your thoughts/feelings, brain dumping, creating gratitude lists, writing down daily affirmations; it all truly helps to get yourself into a better headspace!

digital detox

sometimes, it really is that damn phone! social media can be so toxic and draining, so spend some time away from it! i’m going to hold your hand when i say this: doomscrolling on tiktok or instagram reels isn’t going to make you feel better. log out and go do something else!

read a book, journal (told you i’d bring it up again), go for a walk, chat/hangout with a friend/loved one, clean your room, take an everything shower, dance around in your room; just do something that doesn’t involve your phone!

if you want to be on your phone, maybe create a vision board on pinterest or go into your notes app and journal that way! you can also go on youtube and watch inspirational videos/podcasts or any content creators that motivate you or make you feel good.

୨ৎ — spiritual basics

this may or may not apply to you, and if it doesn’t you can go ahead and skip this part! but if it does apply to you, then stay tuned!

your spirituality can be compromised when your health and wellness needs aren’t being met. if you’re a believer in God or you believe in another higher being or the universe, try to get yourself reconnected with your spirituality!

write down prayers/affirmations/manifestations

here i am with the journaling bit again, but seriously, write it down! get into the habit of writing these things down for yourself. you can start your day with writing this stuff down or you can end your day doing so!

consume media that inspires you

youtube videos, podcasts, books, articles, essays, whatever it is just find something that you feel helps you connect with your spiritual side and immerse yourself in it!

it could be content about manifesting, content about God, content about tarot cards/readings; anything that brings you closer with your spirituality.

୨ৎ — final notes

i want to give you guys a little bit of an assignment: write and reflect on your current health and wellness. what are some aspects of it that are going really well? what are some things that still need some work? how are you going to implement healthier habits into your routine?

living healthier and promoting your personal wellness for yourself doesn’t have to be complicated. it’s okay to start off with smaller goals! the health and wellness content creators you see have all started off with the basics and the basics have helped them grow! just because it’s a small act or a tiny change, it doesn’t mean you aren’t going to see big improvements!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[welcome-to-green-hills]

In light of you getting snow mystery. I think that you should make some headcanons of the boys (and Shadow) enjoying the snow

ASDFGHJKL! I am more than happy to share some Snow Day headcanons with you hon (I grew up in Florida and this is really my first Snow Day up north, so I’m learning how to snow 👉🥹👈):

Maddie would definitely be the type of mom to bundle her boys up in five layers of jackets, snow pants, scarves, and hats to the point that they can’t move. It’s all worth it in the end because she ends the bundle with a kiss on the nose.

As soon as it starts getting cold, Maddie and Tom drag their sons to the malls in Spring Valley to try on different winter clothes to wear. They’re growing boys and their warmies are always too small by the time the weather breaks.

Sonic is a UGG girly. ‘Nuff said.

Knuckles is a novelty sock girly. He needs socs with fluff and cartoon characters on it.

Tails is a fun hat girly. He likes wearing beanies with Chao heads on it or something comical.

The boys go nuts for snow cream. But they ONLY like it if it’s got sprinkles on it. It has to be a specific color or they won’t eat it.

Each of the boys like to make snow Puppers in the forms of their family. Unless Uncle Wade gets involved, then it’s an army that they make and pretend to have a snow fight with snowballs projected to one another.

The first time Shadow experienced snow was a shock to him. He was wrapped in some of the finest jackets that Maria stole from the scientists—along with a scarf that she made him—and took him on a stroll in the mountains. He fell over multiple times due to not understanding how to balance in the snow.

Shadow also tried to sneak a snowball into the bunker to show to a Young Director Walters, but got upset when it melted. Maria replaced it when Shadow wasn’t looking just to see him smile.

Tails documents every type of snow flake in Montana, photographs them, and keeps a journal of all of the shapes that he’s seen. He’s shared all of his photos with the family to enjoy.

Sonic and Knuckles are competitive snow sleds riders. They’ve tried once to build their own sled to go faster than the kids in town, but it accidentally caught on fire. Don’t ask. Just know that the fire was cool and they toasted marshmallows over it.

None of the boys can ice skate to save their lives. Whenever Shadow comes to visit he has to coach the boys on how to glide over ice.

Tom tried once to take his sons ice fishing. They didn’t last ten minutes on the ice.

Maddie crochet each of her sons a pair of mittens to wear. Since Shadow visits, she made him some as well to assure him that they do care about him. Shadow always wears his purple gloves whenever he comes to visit.

It’s become a tradition where the Wachowski family will get breakfast pizza (it HAS to be a pie cut evenly into five slices with specific toppings accordingly) downtown and take it to the farmers market to buy holiday goodies.

On very, very cold nights, Tom builds a fire downstairs and Maddie throws bedding on the floor to build a nest. Pillows and blankets cover the floor for all five of them (maybe six or seven if Wade and/or Shadow come) to bundle in while watching black and white films.

The boys go apeshit for frozen bubbles. It doesn’t matter how old Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are, but they love seeing the bubbles freeze over and leave pretty flakes on it.

If Shadow comes to visit, Sonic likes to wake him up early in the morning to watch the sun rise on the rooftops before everyone wakes up. Neither of them say anything, but they do enjoy a hot chocolate on the rooftop and the sunrise.

[dfortrafalgar]

Gentle

Law doesn't like his hands, but a little bird on his shoulder says otherwise.

Warnings: None <3 just a short fluffy drabble

A/N: Going through my google drive means uncovering all of the unfinished request fics... and general unposted fics, of which there are many oopsies ;w; Every time I come back to this blog I forget how to format my posts. But im back on my one piece brainrot bullshit so you'll be seeing more from me again!

Law’s hands were littered with deep scars and rough calluses.  The pads of his lean fingers were hardened, barely there fingerprints left on the pages of his books.  His palms were cold, thick skin keeping the warmth out.  His tattoos only seemed to heighten the poor image of his hands, the black-inked word of “DEATH” spread out on his fingers.  The cold man had no positive feelings regarding his hands.  While they could give life, they also took it away.  His hands caused loss more than they granted the privilege of a heart beat.  Cold as ice and hard as stone.

But you nestled your cheek into his hand like a warm, downy blanket.

You entwined your fingers with his, stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, filling his chest with a tachycardia.  You would always laugh at the way blood rushed to his cheeks.

Your hands guided his own to your body, across your neck, shoulders, down to your collarbones, along your breasts, trailing fleeting patterns down your sides like electric shocks.  Your eyes closed in bliss as he embraced you, mouth parted with a content smile.

One day, Law finally thought to ask you.

“Why do you like my hands so much?”

His voice was more stern than he wanted it to be, but you showed no change in your calm demeanor as you turned your head towards him, a smile growing on your lips.  “You’re always so gentle with me.  Your hands feel so nice.”

Your simple response made Law’s brain brownout.  His eyes widened the tiniest amount, and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your laugh.

“Is it really so surprising?” you added.

Law shook his head, snapping out of it.  “No, I suppose not.”

The way his eyebrows furrowed in his ever-permanent pouting expression gave you all the answers you needed.  You stood from your seat and paced your way toward the man, putting a tender hand on his shoulder as you leaned forward to peck a sweet kiss to the side of his scruffy cheek.  

“I know you don’t feel the way I do,” you whispered, reaching your other hand downward to ghost your fingers across the tattoo on the back of his hand that rested on an open journal of notes.  “But I really do love your hands.  They bring life.  They’re warm and gentle.”  Your fingers made their way under Law’s palm, encouraging him to flip his hand over so you could trail the pads of your fingers across his calloused distal palmar.  “They’re also rough, like a fortress.  Like a shelter.  And I love that.”

Law couldn’t see your face from behind him, but he could hear the bright smile you adorned through your tone of voice.

“Never heard of them referred to as a ‘fortress,’” he responded to you, voice low and apprehensive as he watched your fingers dance across his own upturned ones.

“They’re my fortress,” you stated.  “I love when you hold me.”

He simply chuckled.  “You’re too cheesy for your own good.”

You retracted your hand from his, instead wrapping both your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head into his plush hat.  “You love it when I’m cheesy.”

A bubbly laugh finally emerged from his lungs.  “I do.”

[quailfence]

[Image description taken from alt: Image 1: Mina lunges to kiss Jonathan, who is bowled backwards with one hand outstretched as they tumble. Image 2: Irene, who is wearing a menswear jacket and tie, dips Godfrey back into a deep kiss. Image 3: Quincey yanks Jack down by his tie into a kiss, gripping the back of his head with the other hand. Arthur stands behind Jack with one arm wrapped around his middle, grinning. He holds Quincey’s cowboy hat above Jack’s head. Image 4: Mina and Jonathan sit on the floor, her half-sitting in his lap and their fingers intertwined. She presses her forehead to his with one hand cradling the back of his head, and he softly returns her gaze. Mina says, “I knew you’d do anything to come back to me…” followed by “Oh! Jonathan, shall we?” Behind them, Jack stands between Arthur and Quincey, who holds one of his hands to press a kiss to it. Arthur wraps his arms around Jack and presses his face to the side of his head with his eyes closed, knocking the cowboy hat Jack is now wearing askew. Image 5: Mina and Jonathan eagerly pull out their journals. A “knock knock” comes from offscreen. Image 6: Jekyll enters the room, holding Aronnax’s journal in his hand. Looking down at it, he begins, “Well, I finished reading through the journal, and found nothing else that seems useful—” Everyone looks up, startled by the intrusion, with deer-in-the-headlights expressions. Griffin is hovering over Jonathan and Mina, who are still on the floor. Irene is still dipping Godfrey. Jack is now sprawled in Quincey’s lap, wearing Quincey’s hat and blushing, while Arthur leans over them, embracing them both. Image 7: Jekyll looks up from the journal with an equally startled expression. He’s slightly blushing, and sweating a little. He says: “Oh—! You’re all here—” Offscreen, Quincey replies: “That we are!” Image 8: Jekyll composes himself slightly, glancing askance with the diary in his hand. He’s still slightly blushing and sweating. He says, “I cannot express enough my relief that you are all safe. We really ought to return this diary straightaway, then.” Image 9: Godfrey and Irene are now standing upright, their arms wrapped around each other and Irene leaning her head on Godfrey’s shoulder. Looking towards Jekyll, Godfrey says: “I say, that’s the journal I saw with Professor Aronnax—” Griffin interrupts, “I swiped that duplicitous professor’s journal so we could track you down!” Arthur has a hand on Quincey’s chair while holding Jack by his middle. Jack is looking aside sheepishly and blushing with a nervous smile, while Quincey smiles at them both. Arthur says to the group: “We have much to catch up on. Come, dear friends, let’s all move to the parlour.” End description.]

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Start reading Episode 1

Dialogue transcripts:

Panels 1-3

(n/a)

Panel 4

Mina:  I knew you’d do anything to come back to me… Oh!  Jonathan, shall we?

Panel 5

Sound effect (offscreen):  *knock knock*

Panel 6

Jekyll: Well, I finished reading through the journal, and found nothing else that seems useful—

Panel 7

Jekyll:  Oh—!  You’re all here—

Quincey (offscreen):  That we are!

Panel 8

Jekyll: I cannot express enough my relief that you are all safe.  We really ought to return this diary straightaway, then.

Panel 9

Godfrey: I say, that’s the journal I saw with Professor Aronnax—

Griffin: I swiped that duplicitous professor’s journal so we could track you down! 

Arthur: We have much to catch up on. Come, dear friends, let’s all move to the parlour.

[stellar-haikyuu]

in my dreams ☆ nishinoya yuu x reader

synopsis: in a world where soulmates exist, you’re not entirely sure what you’re destined for…until your dreams become reality. details: fluff | soulmates au | song fic | strangers to lovers | ~1,8k words | gn! reader | timeskip! nishinoya | my entry for @phantasmaebg warnings: this is my first time doing a soulmates thing and i’ve had a bit of a writing slump recently, so please bear with me!

Soulmates have long been a point of contention in your world.

Every pair is destined to share a unique “power.” Some people can share emotions or senses, read each others’ minds, have similar words written somewhere on their bodies, and whatever else you can imagine. 

The only definitive confirmation is what most call a zing—a short-lived, electrifying feeling when partners hold hands for the first time.

In theory, the idea of having a “forever partner” was lovely. Your parents are a prime example of the lifelong bond most people dream of having.

On the flip side? Some relationships have crashed and burned, despite being confirmed matches. Others have thrown out the idea entirely, choosing their hearts over fate.

Where do you fit in all of this? You don’t know. You’ve spent most of your life being pulled in both directions.

Your family is hopeful—eager, even—that you’ll continue their successful story. It’s pressuring, to say the least, not to mention terrifying.

What if your destined partner doesn’t believe in soulmates? 

What if the person you grow to love is hell-bent on looking for their soulmate?

What if you never meet your soulmate in your whole lifetime?

What if…

You don’t even want to think about it; nothing is certain and that exhausts you.

The only comfort you have is your dreams, where you feel free to exist. 

Ever since you were a child, you never understood how people could forget their dreams. Yours were incredibly vivid; the images lingered long enough for you to draw them in detail.

You easily recalled the way sunlight dances on crystal-clear waters, the soft whisper of wind through leaves, the fineness of the sand beneath your feet, the kaleidoscope of colors in the night sky, and how grand architectural feats towered over you.

You longed to see all of it with your own eyes.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. Traveling was a luxury for your family, and they weren’t the adventurous type either. The only thing you could do was create a bucket list of places you hoped to visit as an adult.

While most people desire to traverse the globe, there was something about yours that felt…different. You’ve dreamed of places and people that you’ve never seen before.

At first, you assumed they must have come from random glimpses of magazines lying around the house, or pictures your teachers had shown in class.

Then things got even weirder.

At some point in high school, new locations started appearing in your dreams. Gyms, volleyball courts, and stadiums. The exact same ones, over and over again.

A particularly beautiful girl started appearing more too. Slowly, more people joined her—at least thirteen more, if your count was accurate. You didn’t recognize any of them, but their unique voices stayed with you. 

While they were mostly pleasant dreams, it was still unsettling. You ended up asking your parents about it, but they quickly leaped to conclusions. "It’s probably connected to your soulmate!" they said, excitement lighting their faces.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction you expected, but thankfully, it pushed them to be more supportive of your dreams to travel. 

Eventually, the volleyball dreams faded, just as you started pursuing a degree in journalism. At last, you were carving a path to the life you’d always wanted—one where your curiosity could take you beyond the limits of your hometown.

You were one step closer to finally exploring the world.

A few years after graduating, you’ve been lucky enough to land a job with a well-known travel magazine. 

Apparently, you had an exceptional portfolio; your words alone were capable of painting the clearest pictures in the readers’ minds. It felt surreal to hear this praise, but more than that, it felt right. 

You felt like you were finally where you belonged.

Though you don’t get to choose the destinations for your assignments, it hardly matters. You’ve fallen in love with each place you’ve visited.

Whether exploring the whitewashed buildings of Santorini, cycling through the charming canals of Amsterdam, or basking in the turquoise waters of Boracay, every experience has broadened your horizons. 

Best of all, the company covers most of your travel expenses, so how could you complain?

Yet, one dream continues to elude you—the lantern festival.

For years, you’ve been enamored by its magic, picturing the moment hundreds of glowing lanterns fill the night sky. 

It’s been at the top of your bucket list since childhood. You’ve researched every detail: the best time to visit, the most stunning viewpoints, even the perfect wish to write on delicate paper. You’ve imagined the feeling of releasing your lantern so many times that it’s become second nature to dream about it, over and over.

Perhaps that’s why, as much as you’ve traveled, there’s a lingering ache in your chest. A small part of you feels incomplete, as if something is waiting for you there.

And then, one night, something in your dreams begins to shift.

You find yourself in the familiar scene of the festival, surrounded by the warm glow of lanterns. As always, you write your wish on the translucent paper: achieve my dreams and live a fulfilling life with no regrets.

But this time, something is different.

Beside your neatly written wish, there’s something new. Foreign characters—delicate strokes of Japanese script—appear as if they were always meant to be there. The ink feels familiar, though you don’t recall writing it.

Confused but curious, you prepare to lift the lantern. That’s when you notice you’re not alone.

Someone is with you. Their presence is so natural that it doesn’t feel strange, even though you can’t see their face. Together, you hold the lantern between you, your hands brushing as you gently release it into the air. The glow reflects in their silhouette, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. 

When you wake, the dream lingers. The feeling of their hand against yours stays etched in your mind, warm and tangible in a way none of your dreams have ever been.

You can’t shake the feeling that these fragments are leading you somewhere, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to fall into place.

You really hate delayed flights; you wouldn’t be running and panting now if things had gone as planned.

To be fair, the situation wasn’t anyone’s fault. A coworker unexpectedly fell sick, so you were asked to fill in and cover the annual Yi Peng Lantern Festival in Thailand at the last minute. 

Despite the frantic circumstances, you suppose it was a blessing in disguise.

Lungs burning, you finally arrive at the festival venue. The paper lanterns have already started to float into the night sky like glowing stars. You hope you’re not too late.

At the registration booth, you show the ticket your coworker had purchased in advance, only to encounter a new problem.

“We are very sorry, but there has been a shortage of lanterns,” the stationed employee explains. “There were a lot of walk-ins this evening. Would you be willing to wait? We are still looking for available vendors.”

You hum to yourself, thinking about what to do. Though it would have been nice, you suppose you didn’t need to release a lantern to write the article.

“Okay-”

“Share?” 

The sudden voice beside you makes you jolt.

Turning, you see a man with a bright, toothy grin. He points to his lantern, which looks a little big for him. It’s kind of adorable, now that you think about it.

“Me?” You point to yourself. “You want to share your lantern with me?”

“Yeah. So you happy. Uh, sorry, my English is not that good,” he says sheepishly.

You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, I understand you.”

“Great. Let’s go!” He gestures toward the crowd.

You bow to the event employee and thank him before following the stranger to a quieter spot.

“This is okay?” He looks back at you.

“Yup,” you reply. “Thank you so much.”

“Welcome. Here, write the wish.” He hands you a black marker.

Taking it, you select a blank area and write your wish down without a second thought. You’ve done this a hundred times in your dreams.

As you return the marker, you catch a glimpse of his wish. They’re written in Japanese script—the same characters you’ve seen in your dreams.

Wait.

Wait.

Your heart skips a beat as the realization hits.

The man notices your sudden silence and looks at your wish. He freezes, his expression unreadable.

“Uh,” you look at all the people around you, hoping to break the silence. “So, let’s get our lantern flying?”

“Yeah!” He positions himself at one end of the lantern. “Ready?”

Grabbing the other end, you nod.

“Three, two, one, up!”

Together, you release the lantern. It floats gently into the sky, joining the sea of glowing lights.

It’s breathtaking—something you’ll never forget.

“Thank you, uh, what’s your name?”

“My name?” He points to himself. “Nishinoya Yuu. Nickname is Noya.”

“Noya?” 

He enthusiastically gives you a thumbs-up. “Yes, Noya! And you are?”

You share your name, and he repeats it. You don’t know why, but you love the way it sounds on his tongue. He seems happy to have gotten your name right on the first try too.

“I feel like I just got déjà vu,” you comment, gazing at the sky.

“Decha what?”

“Déjà vu,” you explain. “Uh, it feels like I saw this happen before. In a dream.”

At your admission, something shifts in the atmosphere.

“Dream?” He furrows his eyebrows. “Dream, like sleeping?”

You nod at him, gesturing to everything going on around you. “I dreamed of this many times.”

Noya’s gaze remains fixed on you as he responds. “Me too. I dream of this. Many times.”

You glance at his bag, noticing a volleyball hanging from it. You’re immediately reminded of your high school dreams.

Were your parents right all along? 

Could it be?

“How about last night?” Your voice lowers. “Did you dream of fireworks?”

He gasps, eyes widening. “Yes. Beach fireworks.”

It can’t be a coincidence anymore.

“It’s you.” You can’t wipe the grin off of your face. “You’re the one.”

“The one?” Noya tilts his head.

You pause, wondering how he’ll react to your suggestion. “Soulmate?” 

For a moment, he stares at you, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far. You hope he doesn’t think you’re crazy.

However, before you can take your words back, he steps forward and takes both your hands in his.

Almost immediately, something surges through your body, like some sort of warm, vitalizing energy.

The zing.

You can’t tear your eyes away from each other, and you can see the same astonishment reflected in his.

“Soulmate,” Noya whispers. “Dream soulmate.”

And for once in your life, things start to make sense.

“Yeah, it’s you. You’re the one in my dreams.”

masterlist

[scoutofmymind]

Mama scout mi Reina! Would you be open to writing an AU of Luigi? A little supernatural ish perhaps 👀

Saw You in a Dream — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI dream-kissing lol, yearning, some pining I suppose, reader is an uninspired artist, Luigi is a figment of her imagination.

Wc: 4,153

Notes: ONEIRIX™ is a dream enhancement supplement designed to intensify and prolong REM sleep experiences.

AN: I DO plan on continuing this if requests for it are abundant. I have many, many ideas for how this story could go, but I will tell you, it’s a lil…. Twisted hehe. Also, my darling anon, I know this isn’t really “supernatural” but in hopes of not writing 10k again and learning when to stop, I must note that more supernatural elements will be tied in if this is requested enough for a continuation. Love you xox

"What's wrong with old-fashioned, regular dreams?" You stare across the table at Bailey, who leans forward with an almost evangelical intensity, her blue eyes gleaming with the same fervor as when she pitched her start-up ideas or insisted everyone try CrossFit. "Is nothing sacred anymore? Do we have to optimize and upgrade every last human experience?"

"No," Bailey says, drumming her fingers against the table, her half-eaten omelette growing cold. She keeps shaking her head as if your resistance personally offends her. "These are revolutionary — they're going to change the way we think, bitch." The words come out with practiced casualness, like everything else about her these days.

She flicks a small pink baggie across the table, four obsidian-black pills rattling inside like tiny meteorites hurtling straight toward your earth.

"No." You slide the baggie back with a single finger, as if even touching it too long might leave a stain. "I don't need another vice."

"It's non-addictive." Bailey leans in, her voice dropping to that silky-smooth pitch she used to use selling timeshares in Miami. Despite her earlier promise that she wasn't working for them, you catch that familiar gleam in her eye — the one that surfaced with every pyramid scheme and side hustle she'd dragged you into. "I just need you to experience it. Just once."

The baggie sits between you like a dare, its pink sheen catching the diner's fluorescent lights, making the black pills inside gleam like wet ink.

"It could really inspire your art." She slides a journal across the table — black, unmarked, expensive-looking. "I've filled this thing with ideas already. It’s only been a week.”

She's found your weak spot now.

Those late-night calls, the wine-soaked confessions about your creative drought, the mounting pressure from your agent — it's all ammunition. "This could be your saving grace," she adds, and the words sink their hooks in deep. Your fingers twitch toward the baggie, career desperation beginning to outweigh your better judgment. “I’m dead serious.”

"Fine." You snatch the baggie and shove it deep into your purse, somewhere between old receipts and forgotten lipliner, secretly hoping it'll vanish into that void where hair ties and spare change go to die. "Give me the pamphlet. You clearly don't need it." You thrust out your hand, and Bailey practically glows as she slides over the sleek Oneirix packet, its metallic lettering catching the light like a sign you're choosing to ignore.

The pills had disappeared into your purse's black hole until Bailey's FaceTime lit up your phone the next afternoon. There she was, sleep mask pushed up like a crown, her face dewy with her latest hundred-dollar moisturizer. "So, did you try it?" Her grin was expectant, eager — the same look she'd worn pushing juice cleanses and crystal healing.

You glance at your desk, where half-finished canvases gather dust and untouched notebooks mock your creative drought.

Last night had been your usual routine; an hour-long shower where you'd solved all of life's problems and remembered none of them, three episodes of that show you're still trying to convince yourself you enjoy, and quality time with your artistic inadequacy.

"Not yet." You mumble around a spoonful of ice cream, your attention split between Bailey's glowing face and whatever's playing on Netflix — neither getting your full focus.

"Girl," she clicks her tongue, and you can hear the judgment dripping through your phone speaker. "Go get them — are you scared?" The question hangs there, pointed and precise, like she's daring you.

You hate how well she knows you, how easily she can press that particular button.

Being called scared has always been your kryptonite, ever since she first met you at that high school gallery opening where you'd been too anxious to mingle.

"No." Your face twists into a scowl at her accusation. "I just forgot." You hit pause, abandoning both your show and melting ice cream to dig through your purse.

You find the baggie too easily, the pamphlet's glossy surface catching the light as you unfold it, its clinical text stark against the dark background.

ONEIRIX

DREAM ENHANCEMENT SUPPLEMENT

FOR INTENSIFIED & PROLONGED REM SLEEP EXPERIENCES

The instructions read like any over-the-counter medication.

One tablet, 30 minutes before bed, standard warnings about machinery and other medications.

"Okay." The pamphlet lands on your counter, its unread warnings fanning out like discarded playing cards. "Will it make me tired, or do I already have to be—"

"Oh, it knocks your ass out." Bailey's voice drifts from your abandoned phone, tinny and distant. You wrestle with the baggie's seal, the plastic refusing to cooperate until it suddenly gives, spilling one glossy black pill into your palm. "It works a hell of a lot faster than thirty minutes, too," she adds through a yawn.

You swallow the pill, and before you can even contemplate moving from the kitchen to your bed, a heaviness seeps into your limbs like honey dripping down glass.

Bailey's already drifted off on FaceTime, her gentle snores creating a strange duet with your own as consciousness slips away once you make it to the couch faster than falling.

The transition is jarring — not the usual soft fade into nonsensical dreams, but a sharp snap into awareness. You know you're dreaming, the way you know your own name, the way you know the sky is blue. It's like someone's turned up the saturation on reality, made everything clearer and brighter than it has any right to be.

This isn't the usual dream-fog where your brain accepts that your childhood home has suddenly sprouted wings or that your teeth are falling out at a gallery show.

This is different.

This is aware.

You wiggle your toes in the grass — actual, individual blades tickling your feet, not the vague suggestion of grass that usually populates dreams. Your manicure catches the sunlight, that specific shade of dusty rose you picked last Tuesday, tiny chips and all.

The rings on your fingers still catch when you twist them, that familiar nervous habit following you even here. Everything about you is preserved with photograph precision, dropped into this impossible elsewhere.

"Jesus," escapes your lips, the word carried away by a breeze that feels too perfectly warm to be real. The butterflies dance overhead like confetti caught in reverse, their wings painted in colors that might not exist in the waking world. You watch one land on a nearby flower, and you can see every detail of its wings, every tiny pattern — the kind of detail your sleeping mind has never bothered with before. "This is fucking-"

“Hey.”

The voice cuts through your wonder, and you spin, heart somehow racing in this dream-that's-not-quite-a-dream.

He's there, solid as the ground beneath your feet — no dream-logic shimmer or fade around the edges. Tall, with shoulders that could carry atlas's burden, and features that seem carved rather than grown. His smile plays at the corners of his mouth like he knows a secret you don't, but it's not threatening. If anything, it pulls at something in your chest, a curiosity that feels dangerous in its intensity.

"Hey," you echo, the word coming out softer than intended. Your eyes sweep the meadow, searching for other dreamers or figures or whatever they might be called here. But it's just him, just you, just this perfect pocket of perpetual summer afternoon stretching out in all directions.

"S'just me." His hand extends between you like a bridge, and you notice how the sunlight catches on his knuckles, creating shadows you could count. No name follows, just that smile deepening into dimples.

"Your name?” You tilt your chin down, adopting the pose of someone who's seen too many crime documentaries to trust a nameless stranger, even in a dream. Your eyebrows arch high enough to feel the stretch — another impossible sensation that feels too real.

"Seems you haven't decided yet."

"I haven't decided?"

He shrugs, the gesture rippling across those shoulders like a wave, and something flickers in his expression - like a TV losing signal for just a moment. "Yeah." He blinks, and you can see him searching his own mind, coming up empty. "Haven't decided yet."

Your eyes travel his form like you're memorizing a sculpture. The elegant taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, the careful strength in his forearms, the way he holds himself — somehow both completely at ease and coiled with potential energy. His eyes meet yours with that puppy-dog hopefulness that seems at odds with his imposing frame, that half-smile still playing on his lips.

"Lu—ee-" The sound stretches between you, and you can taste the wrongness of it. Your head tilts, and suddenly it clicks. "Luigi."

Luigi nods, a slow, knowing motion, and reaches behind him. The wallet arcs through the air, and when you catch it, the leather feels warm, like it's been sitting in summer sunshine. It falls open in your hands, and there it is — Luigi Mangione, printed in stark bureaucratic certainty. "I thought you'd say that."

The urge to gasp, to stumble back in shock, rises and falls like a wave. Reality — or whatever version of it this is — reasserts itself with the gentle persistence of tide coming in. Of course you knew his name. Of course you did. Just like you knew the exact shade of his eyes, the precise angle of his jaw, the way his right dimple is slightly deeper than his left.

There’s a reason he feels familiar.

You made him.

"Well, Luigi," The name feels like syrup on your tongue as you pivot, bare feet finding their path through grass as the sun drapes over your shoulders like a tailored shawl, warming without burning, perfect in that way only dreams can manage. "I'm sure you know who I am."

Luigi falls into step beside you, a flag leaf dancing between his lips as he walks.

His presence feels as natural as your shadow, a complement to your movement rather than an intrusion. "Of course," he says, and his voice carries the same gentle warmth as the sunlight, the same easy invitation as the wind that plays with your hair.

The grass gives way to reveal a pond that looks like liquid mercury in the sunlight. "I've been waiting awhile for you — seemed to have run out of ways to pass the time."

You stand at the water's edge, watching swans carve elegant paths across the surface, their reflections perfect mirrors in the still water, and in the distance, ducks conduct their quiet conversations. "Are you saying you're bored of everything here?"

"No," Luigi's fingers brush your sleeve, gentle but insistent, like a breeze that knows where it's going. As he steps forward, wildflowers burst into existence beneath his feet — first violets, then daisies, then flowers you've never seen before, in colors that shouldn't exist. "I'm saying it gets lonely doing the same thing everyday on your own."

Luigi continues forward, leaving his galaxy of flowers behind, but you find yourself frozen, watching the way the light catches his silhouette.

"How many times?" The question escapes before you can catch it. "How many times have I been here and left?"

He pauses mid-step, and for a moment, the whole dreamscape seems to hold its breath — the swans pause their gliding, the breeze stills, even the wildflowers stop their eager blooming. When he turns to face you, his smile carries a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

"It’s been so long, but — " he pauses, and somehow the words don't sound like an accusation. "Sometimes for seconds, sometimes for hours. Sometimes you remember me, sometimes you don't. But you always come back eventually. And I'm always here."

You swallow, “How long has it been?"

His laugh drifts through the air, light and melodic. "Long enough that I've watched these trees grow from saplings." His bare feet shift in the grass, toes curling against the earth. "Long enough that I've named every swan on this pond, then named their children, and then their children's children."

The wildflowers continue once again their blooming beneath his steps — first soft pinks, then deep purples, then blues that seem to glow from within. Each petal unfolds with deliberate precision, creating a trail that marks his path across the meadow.

You notice how he holds himself, the way his shoulders stay perfectly squared, his posture too fluid, too precise for someone who's supposed to be just a figment of your dreams. "So I looked different last time?" you wonder, trailing behind him again, catching the slight nod.

"We were both younger then." Luigi turns back to you and grins, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’ve really missed you."

His voice carries the warmth of old sunlight, that rare sincerity that can't be fabricated — something in his presence that felt secure, anchoring, his nature as gentle as summer rain.

But the look in his eyes betrayed what his smile tried to hide — he knew you didn't remember him, and that knowledge lived somewhere deep and wounded inside him.

You could see it now, in the careful way he held himself back, how his initial greeting carried just enough warmth to be kind but not enough to overwhelm. Your memory of him had been burning away like lit matches with each passing year, while he'd been trapped here, holding onto every detail of who you used to be.

Luigi lead you further into the meadow, another pond materializing somewhere further into the deep but Luigi seemed far too familiar with this terrain, and you trusted each turn, “Have I given you different names?”

He shakes his head with a laugh, soft and bittersweet, almost as if he couldn't imagine wearing any other name than your Luigi. "No." He scrunches his nose, a gesture so achingly familiar it feels like déjà vu. "One time I almost thought you were going to, but — nope. Always some variation of Luigi."

The questions dance at the edges of your consciousness like autumn leaves in a wind, but somehow the answers are already there, settled in your bones like old truths. Why he lets you choose, how he knows when recognition lights your eyes and when they stay dark with forgetting — it's all written in a language your mind has forgotten but your heart still speaks fluently.

"I saw you for a minute somewhere near the streams last winter." His voice softens, eyes distant as if watching memories drift past like leaves on water. "It was only for a split moment — but I knew it was you, even though you'd changed."

Your heart twists with a horrible dread, sharp and cold as winter frost, weighed down by the certainty that he'll slip through your fingers like morning mist the moment you wake. "How do I make myself remember?" The words fall soft as prayer between you both, your knees brushing as you sit beside him.

He turns to you with that gentle patience that speaks of having heard this same desperate question from your lips a hundred times before, in a hundred different dreams.

He draws your hand into his lap with practiced ease, his fingertips ghosting over yours like butterfly wings — a gesture so deeply ingrained it speaks of countless similar moments, his soul remembering the map of your hands better than your own mind does. It doesn't feel strange to fall back into these rhythms with Luigi; everything has felt as natural as breathing since you landed here, like slipping into a dance your feet never truly forgot. "I know parts of me remember you," you whisper into the space between heartbeats, watching his fingers trace invisible patterns across your skin. "I know you feel familiar.”

Luigi nods slowly, pressing your palm to his cheek with a gentle sigh that carries the weight of a thousand forgotten moments. "We never learned how to make you remember," he murmurs, his voice wrapped in forced lightness that can't quite mask the undertow of grief beneath. "Always a toss up."

You swing your feet from the mossy ledge where Luigi sits, the ancient stone cool beneath you both.

He leans back on his palms, wearing a smile that's equal parts joy and resignation — a man who's learned to find peace in fleeting moments.

There's something heartbreaking in how he's already accepted that this too will slip through the sieve of your memory, but still treasures your presence like water in a desert, grateful just to have you here at all.

"I'll remember this time." The words spill out like a vow, fragile as spun glass but burning with conviction. Even as you speak them, you know they might shatter come morning, but something feels different here — each detail crystalline and alive, from the whisper of wind in the leaves to the warmth of his shoulder against yours.

This doesn't feel like the usual gossamer threads of dreams; it feels like stepping through a door into somewhere achingly real.

"Mm." Luigi's shoulder brushes yours, a gentle pendulum of contact, and though his hum carries years of gentle disbelief, he can't suppress the smile that softens his features. "All that matters is that you're here now, I think."

You nod slowly, watching your legs paint pendulum shadows against the water below. "Is there anyone else here?" The whisper slips out conspiratorial and soft, your eyes scanning the peaceful landscape as if its emptiness might be deceiving.

"No." Luigi shrugs, tossing a stone into the pond where it breaks the surface in perfect ripples. "You thought up a couple weird little-“ he scrunches his nose, lost in the memory of your previous creations — specifically those tiny Trojan warriors you'd accidentally willed into existence, who'd turned the peaceful fields into their own private battlefield. "It's just never worked out." He turns to you with a glimmer of fond exasperation, pressing a knuckle into your thigh. "You've got a rather dangerous imagination."

You swallow the question rising in your throat, deciding some doors are better left closed — for the sake of whatever fragments of sanity you still possess.

If there are any left to guard.

"Dangerous," you echo in a whisper, fighting back a bubble of laughter that threatens to spill over. "Well, scratch that, then.”

"It's always been you and me here." Luigi nods slowly, his voice taking on that particular texture of someone guarding something precious. "Outsiders make me nervous."

From that careful admission, you piece together a history of well-intentioned mistakes — multiple attempts at populating this sanctuary that ended in ways that left shadows in Luigi's voice. Each failure seems etched in the spaces between his words, a collection of experiments gone wrong. "That's fair," you murmur, reaching for his hand with gentle curiosity. He surrenders it without hesitation, letting you trace the lines of his palm like a map of all your shared disasters.

There's something profoundly real in the way his skin warms yours, in the faint calluses and subtle creases — too detailed, too imperfect to be mere imagination, yet too perfect in its imperfection to be anything else.

"How is the gallery stuff going?" His question floats between you, and for a heartbeat, confusion sparks — how could he know about the gallery?

But the answer settles over you like dawn breaking.

Of course he knows.

He knows the way your hands shake before each opening, the doubt that pools in your stomach when you face a blank canvas, the elation of a perfect brushstroke. He knows your fears dressed in their Sunday best and your dreams in their rawest form.

You made him.

Crafted him from stardust and loneliness, shaped him from the clay of your subconscious until he became more real than reality itself — your most perfect creation, yet the one you can never quite remember come morning.

"I haven't been inspired in — god," you trail off, turning to truly see him, and the dormant artist in you awakens with a sudden, fierce hunger. The sunlight plays architect with his features, gilding each detail you'd unconsciously perfected; those midnight curls catching light like cut obsidian, the almost-symmetrical beauty marks dotting his cheeks like carefully placed stars, the classical slope of his nose that Renaissance masters would have wept to capture.

Your fingers twitch with phantom muscle memory, aching to translate him from this dream-reality to paper, to make permanent what feels so ethereal. "So long." The words fall soft and wondering, as if you've suddenly remembered how to speak a forgotten language — the language of creation, of beauty, of art itself.

Luigi hums softly, nuzzling your shoulder with a familiarity that sends your thoughts spiraling backward through time. "Well, let's get you inspired," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck, and suddenly you're wrestling with questions you've been too afraid to examine.

The intimacy of the gesture opens a door to memories of your teenage self — those raw, lonely years when you were all sharp edges and desperate yearning, underwhelmed by fumbling high school romances and overwhelmed by feelings.

You created him then, in those twilight hours between childhood and adulthood. A friend first, undoubtedly — a sanctuary in human form when the real world felt too abrasive to bear.

But now, feeling the casual tenderness of his touch, you wonder about the blurred lines in your shared history. If perhaps you'd written more than friendship into his DNA during those hormone-soaked nights, those moments when loneliness wore your resistance thin.

You melt into his warmth, drawn by a gravity as familiar as breathing, like a desperate moth to a flame you've danced with a thousand times before. "How do we do that?" The question hangs deliberately innocent, though electricity already hums beneath your skin with anticipated answers.

Luigi's response is immediate and devastating — the warm, wet slide of his tongue painting a deliberate path up your neck. Time stretches as he savors you, the gesture somehow both predatory and reverent.

"Maybe we could jog your memory, too." His voice drops to that particular octave that makes your bones liquid, left hand claiming your chin while his right arm becomes a band of heat around your waist, orchestrating your body until you're straddling his lap. "I remember exactly the things you like the most," teeth graze your pulse point as his hands span your back, fingertips pressing into your spine like he's playing music only he knows the notes to, "and the things you hate."

"How do you know those things haven't changed, Lu?" Your fingers find sanctuary in his curls, each strand impossibly soft, and the breeze carries the essence of August - sun-warmed grass, distant thunderstorms, ripening fruit. The scent of endless summer, bottled in this perfect moment.

"I guess there's only one way to find out, don't you think?" The question unfolds like a flower between you as Luigi tilts his head back, studying you through heavy-lidded eyes.

His lips part, pink and promising, an unspoken dare wrapped in velvet invitation. And you — you who have always been more poet than pragmatist — surrender to the gravitational pull of him. You lean in like a sunset chasing the horizon, drawn to the heat of his mouth, the shared breath between you becoming sacred thing.

His tongue moves against yours with practiced poetry, his lips a tender geography you're rediscovering. Every nip of teeth is precisely timed, a choreography written in muscle memory and want. Just as his hands find the warm skin beneath your shirt, reality fractures — a void tears through the dream like ink spilled across a watercolor.

The darkness swallows everything, sudden and absolute.

You jolt awake with violence, heart thundering against your ribs. The familiar couch cushions press against your cheek, mundane and mocking. The real world crashes back into focus with brutal clarity; the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the wall clock, the morning light cutting through back scatter.

Each detail feels like a betrayal, a reminder that Luigi exists only in that liminal space between sleeping and waking, where longing takes shape and wears a face you crafted from starlight and need.

"No." The word escapes as a soft, desperate plea. Your hand reaches for the sketchbook and pen with the urgency of someone grasping at smoke, at fragments of a dream determined to dissolve.

And there he is — Luigi materializing before you like a miracle answering desperate prayers, your artist's eye already translating the divine geometry of his face onto paper before memory can steal him away.

You are the faithful at the altar, he the vision you're determined to make tangible.

The alarm screams again, reality's insistent hammer against your temple. "Fuck off!" you snarl, jabbing at the screen with unnecessary force, brows knitted with the particular fury reserved for things that dare interrupt worship.

The real world can wait.

Right now, there are curves of ink to capture, beauty marks to map, and the precise angle of summer sunlight in black curls to remember.

Hey, I think you were right about the pills

You text Bailey after lunch.

Holy shit

[hihigherdi]

When I was at the Al Brooks talk, I kept thinking about how much I loved writing when I was younger, when I first got here to San Francisco. I have so many stories from the different retail places I’ve worked – Nordstrom, Microsoft, where I am now - where I climbed and then fell off the corporate ladders year after year while going to therapy to deal with all of the personal stuff that the jobs surfaced

I might drop a few entries here of that old writing stuff as I think about what could be new.

Love is the Elixir

He came well recommended though he lived in the country. My friends and I share a prejudice regarding rural America, we’re too cynical to appreciate its undiscovered charms. Sure, we like the ponies and the idea of antiquing but when you haul that stuff back to the house? All you really have is an old busted up bench that’s really uncomfortable. Where I’m from, everybody knows that the best part of small towns is the hope that you’ll come across a rogue A&W so you can drink the perfect root beer float. As with most small towns, the road turned into more roads and suddenly, I was there.

You’d think a therapist’s office in the country would at least have some kind of white picket fence. Maybe one of those Desidrata welcome mats or a winsome little sign on a wooden door that said “We’re just two chickens clucking around”.

I’m nervous even writing this.

But instead I was greeted by a pasture filled with Longhorn cattle, the kind that seems to only live in Texas or a Chuck Norris film. You know – America. But seriously, Longhorn cattle? In my therapeutic experience? That was unexpected. I parked my little city slicker car so terribly out of place, wandered up to the fence and eye-balled a big male. It was a “he” based on the size of its…hooves. It lumbered over and eye-balled me right back.

Hello cow.

I knew he probably deserved a more majestic greeting but my whispered hi there was further indictment of why I was there in the first place (I had no opening lines with males of any kind).

I tentatively opened up the little country door to the little country house. A deafening wave of classical music coming from upstairs hit me square in the face from a room somewhere upstairs. It was the music that someone who had to sit on the other side of other peoples’ crazy needs to absorb between appointments. I felt guilty that we put him through it.

I waited in the obligatory little room where people like me wait. Leather-bound books and a cozy chair that felt like it had been born there. And a poster that simply read “Love is the Elixir of the Universe.” While I sunk into the chair and silently panicked, a little Corgi waddled her way inside. I stroked her back, admired her little belly and told her so. Feeling my heart slow just a little. Would I still have need of a therapist had I invested in a dog two years ago? What about a cat? A bird would have sent me there years earlier, I knew that much.

The music stopped. A disembodied voice cut through the silence and called for me without using my name. One part Indian, one part British all the rest of it weary. I’d been rejected by enough men to know he didn’t want me there which was fine, fuck you Mr.Tired Voice, I didn’t exactly want to be there either.

He was an old man. Surprisingly little. Glasses. Bare feet. God. Bare feet, come on.

He sat in his chair. I sat in the couch. He didn’t look at me, didn’t say hello. Just started writing on a note pad. We sat there for a good minute or two in total silence. If someone could have harnessed my nervous energy a few more polar bears would be alive today. Did you read the Wall Street Journal article suggesting that nervous energy is extremely productive? It can create things like biodegradable fuel that people outside of Berkeley actually care about and save animals that are extinct. Maybe you’re reading this, you’re smart enough to make that happen and you just haven’t because you’re nervous but you’re lazy. Do you feel badly now that you know you could have done something for the bears? If not you should, you really should.

Why are you here.

I’m here to let go of a relationship I never really had that may have wrecked me.

So you’re crazy then.

(Go to hell you elitist, classical music-listening, cotton shirt-wearing, creepy barefoot longhorn cattle-owning clearly height compensating narcissist.)

Well it feels that way sometimes. But I don’t want to be.

What happens if you really are wrecked.

At least I’ll know. That has to be good. It’s the not knowing that’s hard.

But don’t you already know?

(Jesus asked, Do you really want to get well?)

I suppose I do. I guess I want to be something more than wrecked from someone who should have never wrecked me in the first place.

Will you tell the truth?

Yes. (too quick)

…I don’t think I know how.

So you’re a liar.

(He SEES. Get out. Make him like you. But he won’t. He sees you.)

I don’t have much to lose so I guess I will. It’s weird how long it took to get here, how tightly one can cling to something that doesn’t even exist, that’s all in my head but false hope seems to be postponed grief. So yes, I’ll be honest. Maybe it’s easy to be honest when one is at the bottom of things.

Is that it?

Is what it?

Silence.

What are you afraid of most?

That I’ll charm you and you won’t be able to see me and I will leave with the relief of knowing that I’ve fooled you like I’ve fooled everybody else. And the despair of knowing that I did.

You know all that is up to you.

That’s what scares me the most.

It should.

I may not be ready for this. I may not be capable.

No one ever is. Isn’t that beautiful.

[szynkaaa]

I did some deeper digging into the Hall of Yuanchen because you mentioned it being a real place and last time I tried to find some info I didn't find all-too much (but also I didn't spend so much time googling). Figured if not much information is provided in English, maybe it is time to search in Chinese

Long post, I went down a rabbit hole lol

TL;DR

Chinese astrology birth chart reading seems more complex than the western counterpart lol

The Hall of Yuanchen is most likely named after the Twelve Yuanchen deities

unclear weather Twelve Yuanchen and Bazi Yuanchen are the same thing

Twelve Yuanchen "belongs" to (the sixty) Taisui, which "belongs" to the Big Dipper Goddess

Sixty Taisui (deities) is a combination of the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches

Zodiac animals are associated with the earthly branches, maybe that's why Yin Tiger was working there

The long version under cut:

Mandatory disclaimer, while my ethnicity is Chinese, it is no where close to native level. I do rely to some extend on Google translate to provide me with pinyin and translation of some words I can't read. Occasionally I shoot my mom a voice memo to help me explain things lol. If any native speakers or well-versed in taoism can pitch in, and correct me, that would be greatly appreciated!

Everything underlined is a hyperlink for further reading.

Hall of Yuanchen in Chinese is 元辰殿 yuán chén diàn, as per the Chinese journal entry for Yin Tiger

元辰 - Yuanchen 殿 - Palace hall

So the next question is, who/what/where is Yuanchen, and this is where the results I'm getting is mixed, which I do attribute to my unfortunately limited Chinese skills and lack of knowledge about Daoism all together.

First I asked my mom, which didn't really wield useful results (sorry mom I love you)

She sent me the google translation of the Baidu article, I asked that I read it too but I need her to break it down to me like I'm five

in the 16 and 9 s memo she mentioned Person xx we both know IRL as an example, someone who is stubborn and cannot admit they are in the wrong, and that it doesn't mean anything good, and that the person doesn't get along with others. Basically what the copy paste google translation says lol

Her message after my "oh negative meaning" is her confirming it again lol.

Kinda doubting anyone would name a hall after something this negative, or maybe the word itself became a negative meaning over the years?

This is from the Baidu article: 元辰隶属于八字神煞，也叫大耗，其凶可想而知。 Google translation: Yuan Chen belongs to the eight-character evil spirit, also called Daxia, and its evil can be imagined.

I bolded words that may be of interest and yield better results. 八字神煞 八字 bāzì - Four Pillars of Destiny, means "eight characters" or "eight words" in Chinese, is a Chinese astrological concept that a person's destiny or fate can be divined by the two sexagenary cycle characters assigned to their birth year, month, day, and hour [from the Wikipedia article] 神煞 shén shà - evil spirit (神 meaning god/spirit/immortal and 煞 evil)

So the rough translation for 八字神煞 would be Four Pillars of Destiny Evil spirits, I was still not able to find much explanation in English, but here is one post that briefly explains what it.

Here is a post I found in Chinese explaining what role the evil spirit plays in Four Pillars of Destiny

The gist I got is that Four Pillars of Destiny Bazi is the Chinese astrology chart, and like any astrology chart reading there are good things and bad things and the Shensha are the bad things essentially.

Yuanchen is one of the "bad" spirits in the Bazi. Again, could not find any specific posts in English about Yuanchen, but there are quite few in Chinese about it. Here is one.

Going back to what my mom said, if you say someone is yuanchen, it's basically not a good thing and nice thing to say lol, and you can describe someone as yuanchen. It's good to remember that in Chinese, often times one character contains so many meanings.

I don't know if this means that this "evil" deity itself is ""evil"", or rather that this is just what it represents

*** *** ***

Next thing I found was on the following website:

「春節」在古代多稱為「元辰」、「元正」、「正旦」或「元旦」等，意思是一年的第一個早晨

Google translate: "Spring Festival" was often called "Yuanchen", "Yuanzheng", "Zhengdan" or "New Year's Day" in ancient times, which means the first morning of the year

*** *** ***

And lastly, I found out about I found 十二元辰 Shí'èryuánchén, translating to twelve Yuanchen.

from the Baidu article, rough translation and summary:

In charge of the month December

would be that the twelve Yuanchen are twelve Taoist Gods, also known as Twelve Moon Generals or Twelve Zodiac Signs

They are also related to the heavenly and earthly branches, so sometimes the twelve Yuanchen statues in temples are painted with Zodiac signs, but they are not in charge of the Zodiac signs

in addition to the twelve Yuanchen in December, there are also 60 Yuanchen in each year

Twelve Yuanchen belongs to the Tai Sui God

Bc it is all related to heavenly and earthly branches, the sixty Yuanchen are also related to the Zodiacs. The sixty Yuanchen are also not in charge of the zodiac signs however.

The names of the twelve Gods/generals are: 子 Zǐ、丑chǒu、寅yín、卯mǎo、辰chén、巳sì、午wǔ、未wèi、申shēn、酉yǒu、戌xū、亥hài

Named after the earthly branches.

In the game, we met Yin Tiger Chen Loong, Shen Monkey and Xu Dawg Dog. Each Zodiac has an earthly branch assigned to them, but this doesn't mean they are the twelve moon generals, those are two different things.

Are the ""evil spirit" Yuanchen from the Four Pillars of Destiny and the twelve yuanchen deities the same "person"?

Good question, not entirely sure LOL. From this Chinese post, it says: 十二八字神煞元辰，别名“十二月将”，道教神名，即十二相八字神煞元辰，乃配合十二地支排列。

They are calling Yuanchen the "Twelve - Four Pillars of Destiny - evil spirit - Yuanchen", they are Twelve Month General, name of Taoist Gods.

This is the only post I have found so far that is naming the twelve yuanchen and Bazi yuanchen in one sentence.

From your original post:

it is a hall dedicated to worship the Goddess of the Great Dipper and Sixty Taisui Deities.

This post I found explains the relation of Tai Sui God, Sixty deities and the Grand Dipper:

So yeah, I believe this is why Yin Tiger was working in the Hall of Yuanchen.

Trying to understand the zodiac animals in Black Myth Wukong

this post is pretty much me trying to gather much info on these four characters. due to their little screentime and limited backstory, this intrigues me immensely.

so how about we start from the beginning, what are the 12 Chinese zodiacs. (keep in mind I mostly take these info from Wikipedia and the game's Wiki page)

According to the common legend, The Jade Emperor's decree that the years on the calendar would be named for each animal in the order they reached him. To get there, the animals would have to cross a river to reach the heavenly gates. (another popular myth is that the Jade Emperor orders 12 animals for the race to be his guards) The first animal to win is Rat and the last is Pig.

interestingly, they are called Zodiac Deities in the game. but why only 4 zodiacs? what about the rest? that will be touched upon later on.

now let's talk about them one by one and working out their timeline within the game.

Shen Monkey is the first zodiac we met in chapter 1. He's simply shown as a drunkard with a simple and carefree attitude. However he's quite knowledgeable on brews and tonics to give to Destined One. He knew the other monkeys on Mount Huago and possibly aware of Destined One's reincarnations. After his descent to the mortal realm, he brought treasure troves with him and only spent his days drinking in a lush and lovely spot of the Bamboo Grove.

Xu Dog is the second zodiac from chapter 2 near the Sandgate Village entrance. He's a profession in medicinal arts. He's quite neurotic and anxious all the time. apparently after his descent, he became a regular dog to a Daoist who's known for creating an ancient formula for an immortality pill. unfortunately, the Daoist died from a furnace explosion. Xu Dog returned back to his normal form, pitying his owner and disappeared.

Chen Loong is the third zodiac from chapter 3. When first encountered him at Bitter Lake, Chen Loong will be hostile and attacks the Destined One. Upon his defeat, he begins lamenting of his fall from grace and cries of his wish to consume a Resurrection Pill from Xu Dog. Chen Loong has the most important lore of the zodiacs. after their descent, The Sacred Divinity (Erlang Shen) gifted him the Ruyi Scroll that leads to a secluded and tranquil retreat.

Yin Tiger is the last zodiac and we can only meet him in the Painted Realm village. he is a fierce and serious blacksmith. he used to do his craftsmanship in the Hall of Yuanchen (I've searched if this place existed in jttw but nothing shows up. however, it does existed in real life. it is a hall dedicated to worship the Goddess of the Great Dipper and Sixty Taisui Deities. if anyone is more acknowledge on this part, let me know cus I'm afraid i could be wrong).

One day, he was visited by Sun Wukong who requested him to make the monkey king a better armour. But Yin Tiger refused as the gold armour is already excellent.

what's interesting when l look at the Tiger zodiac elements, it fits perfectly for Yin Tiger. they were quite clever for this.

now finally let's lay out their lore timeline with some help from headcanons and speculations.

After the great race, the 12 animals became Deities that resided in the Celestial Court. some of them became close to Sun Wukong, referring to each other as brothers. After Wukong's imprisonment by Erlang Shen, the four Zodiac Deities were banished to the mortal realm. some time after, Erlang gifted Chen Loong the scroll for their safety. however, Chen Loong, Yin Tiger, Xu Dog and Shen Monkey decided to go on their separate ways and planned to reunite on an appointed day. only Yin Tiger stayed to guard the zodiac village. perhaps they knew about Destined One and wanted to help him out on his journey.

another speculation I have as to why Dragon, Dog, Monkey and Tiger are paired together cus only four of them are mainly associated with the Earthly Branch symbol. in fact, their first names are a reference to it.

these are only my personal headcanons for the zodiacs. it's also unsure what happened to the rest of the zodiacs. were they spared and still stayed in the Court or were they also banished? who knows what the game devs have in stored.

[attachablepenis]

.

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[corviiids]

man i know i just posted a ficlet about it but ive just been thinking so much about light during yotsuba arc having nightmares he can't remember at all when he wakes up. just his subconscious sorting memories that he technically doesn't have anymore so it's like waking up to missing or corrupted data in your own brain. dreams that feels so normal in the moment and that leave you feeling disgusted and haunted about yourself as a person because you felt so normal about something that should obviously feel so wrong now that you're awake even though you know they're just dreams. just so compelling to think about light waking up in a cold sweat but unable to remember what was horrifying him and then taking actual comfort in the chains and in L's constant presence because it means they're going to catch kira and end the nightmares, and also that if by some impossible trick of fate the nightmares are real and he really is kira, that L will put him down and end the nightmares that way. not to repeat myself but pov you are the monster under your own fucking bed!!!!!!!

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

when I want to write something self indulgent to give me all the angsty and cuddly hurt/comfort feels but I can't because I end up feeling guilty because I'm seeking after feels that I feel in an inappropriate place because my mom told me one time when I was 15 that I shouldn't search that out or it's probably sexual sin but it confuses me because ALL the feels happen that way for me even if it's entirely platonic and nonsexual and so I don't know if it's okay to want to write to that because apparently all pleasure of any sort, even over platonic stories, is sexual or comes with a possibly probably sexual feeling and I also am having a hard time figuring out what's genuine conviction from God and what's just my anxiety/OCD/perfectionism/fear of failure

[coelakanths]

“broke up” with my situationship and two days later he made me a 3hr long playlist consisting mostly of the smiths and radiohead I love the digital age

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 3

Two weeks pass without much change, a habit forming of meeting back at the doctor's place after working all day, being sketched and measured, eating whatever dinner he’s prepared, and then walking home with him.

I have offered for him to use one of my spare rooms, a place for him to rest for the later nights. He's always refused, telling me it’s a horrible idea to keep a plague doctor overnight. Then he goes on to make his way back home. I’d asked before, it doesn’t bother him.

“Solitude suits me, I think. The quiet of the evening is refreshing, compared to the kinds of days we have.”

So then he’d go on his way, a farewell said in more and more of a cheerful manner each time, and in the morning the greeting gets warmer by mere degrees. But it’s there, I take note of it with a slight happiness each time.

It’s no surprise, though, since we’ve danced cautiously around the idea of friendship- sizing each other up, trying to feel out unfamiliar territory. We grow closer and I hesitate less around him, he eases in his strict manner as well, and we end up sharing stories until late into the night.

Tonight is no exception, trading tales and laughing as he tries to sketch me, eventually giving up in frustration.

“Not working tonight?” I ask, leaning closer to try and peer at his book. He pulls it close to his chest, leaning back away from me.

“No! And I don’t want you seeing. Sorry, but- especially when I’m not able to get your likeness down, no.”

“Would be easier without the mask. It’s probably hard to see through those eye-holes.”

This has been a subject that I’ve been refusing to drop. Apparently, to his dismay. He groans and pulls his book away enough to close it.

“I already told you, I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s not like we’re complete strangers.”

“Because… It's a bad idea. It’s just not- that’s not how this works.”

“So I stand around with no shirt on for hours while you poke and prod at me and I don’t even get to see the face of the man who’s doing it? How is that fair?”

“How would it be fair if I died? You’re still surrounding yourself with the death every day and that’s a risk-”

“A risk you also take, you do the same thing I do.”

“Donny-”

“I don’t even know your name! Why can’t I know that?”

“Perhaps it’s time to walk home.”

“No- I just- I’ve been so patient.”

“And the reward for patience is getting what you want? There is no such end for you.”

“All I’m saying is you struggle to draw because you cannot see me, you struggle with the heat by the fire, you- it just seems like more trouble than it's worth.”

“Let me worry about my troubles.”

There’s no winning this argument with him, no matter how curious I am. I sigh, putting my hands up in surrender. “Okay, sorry, you’re right. Your struggle, not mine.”

He relaxes slightly, I watch the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you. Now, should we walk?”

“Well- I guess, if you’re done.”

He nods at me, standing. “Did you know you can learn things about someone's condition from listening to their heart?” he asks, casually, as he makes his way over to the door. “It’s fascinating. Apparently different sounds can mean different things.”

“Oh? That’s new.”

“I get journals sent to me from France.”

“So it’s experimental?”

“It’s in the observation stage, like most of the science I’m practicing.”

“So… I’m assuming you’ll be attempting that.”

“Possibly. There are issues with the procedure. I can try to feel your heartbeat, but- currently the way to do such a thing would be… ah-” He clears his throat. “It’s a bit impractical.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d have to put my ear up to your chest.”

There's a lingering silence punctuated by our footfall. I’m thankful to be walking by dim moonlight, as to hide the way my face is flushing at the thought. “Oh. Well- with the hood and all…”

“That, too. I’m still refusing to budge, don’t argue with me about it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” More silence follows this. “We’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want that to stand in the way of research.”

He glances over at me and then back in the direction we’re walking. “Yes, well… easier said than done.”

“I could… close my eyes? Look away?”

“With how you’ve been acting about seeing me? Why would I trust you to keep your word on such a thing?” He’s half teasing, I can tell by the tone of his voice, interwoven with light laughter.

“I guess… I’m sorry I’ve become untrustworthy.”

He laughs, it’s own kind of warmth that cuts through the chill of the evening. “I don’t blame you for your curiosity, but I’ll be damned if I let it win.”

“We’ll see about that.” I say with a smile thrown in his direction, a chuckle trailing off into the silence of the night. I peer upward at the stars for a moment, taking in the vast blanket of them across the sky, watching the clouds of my breath float up to meet them.

“I do wish, though, that you didn’t have to wear that thing. Not just for my curiosity, it’s really nice out right now. Maybe on your walk back- you should see the stars.”

He looks at me for a good few paces, then to the sky. “You know what? I think I will.”

~~~

He’s decided not to tempt fate, as he put it. Instead of removing the hood and mask to listen to my heart, he’s starting by attempting to pick up irregular patterns by placing his hand over my heart.

Admittedly, when he’d first suggested it I didn’t think much of it. I’d been so used to him positioning me, sliding his hands over my arms as he measured, murmuring numbers to himself.

But usually he leaves his gloves on- save for taking my pulse at the wrist and neck.

This shouldn't be much different, in theory.

But somehow it is.

He has me stand for this new procedure, slipping his gloves off and gingerly placing them aside on his desk. He steps into my space, one hand resting on the bare flesh of my shoulder, the other gently placed over my heart.

I try not to think about it, the delicate pressure from the other hand that has no need to rest where it does. There’s no real reason for the extra contact, so much so that it evokes a flood of questions within me.

Why?

He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person where this kind of movement would be natural to him, it makes it feel purposeful, like he’s got some reasoning that I might not puzzle together.

He’d not denied his preferences- that he would rather find himself amongst other men.

Perhaps that is what’s making this feel different to me. Perhaps he’s not changed at all, it’s only my perception of him. I’m overly sensitive to his motives now, wondering what each movement might mean, thinking about the fact that he’s leaning ever so slightly into me…feeling strangely elated to notice it.

Or is there really something there? The way he draws his hand away slowly, almost dragging away so his fingertips trace against my skin slightly, leaving me to shiver as the goosebumps erupt down my skin.

He takes a slight step away, peering up at me. “Are you okay?” Real concern paints his voice when he asks this. He still does not remove the hand that lays over my heart.

“Yeah- why?” I sound strained, I can hear how much my words sound like effort, like awkwardness.

“You’re-you’re turning red. You’re not feverish are you?” He places the back of his free hand on my forehead and I suddenly feel as if I may faint.

“No- no I’m- It’s okay, I’m alright.” I fight the urge to back away, give in to the flutterings of panic in my core, the sudden sparking of nervousness.

He huffs out a slight laugh, pulling his hand off my forehead and smoothing it over my shoulder, down my arm. “Don’t forget to breathe, Donald.” He says this gently, filled with amusement, and I can't stop thinking about the way his hand now gently rests wrapped around my wrist with a feather light touch.

My mouth has gone dry, I nod at him and take a deep breath, feeling my face heat warmer than before and turning my gaze away from him to focus on something, anything else.

He takes a larger step back from me, pulling both his hands away and grabbing his sketchbook. “I don’t think I’m going to get any useful information out of you like this.”

I still say nothing, keeping my eyes locked on the fireplace.

What does he mean like this? He’s noticed- I’m not even sure what it means, entirely- he’s noticed that I’m nervous, now that I know about his past? I hope he doesn’t hold it against me, feel slighted.

I would never hold it against him, his taste in companionship. I’ve had my fair share of struggles against my own mind, my preferences, things I’d never say outloud to another.

I wouldn’t dare act upon such thoughts, no matter how tempting they seem to be- no matter how enticing the allure of a handsome man’s smile can feel.

There’s part of me that suddenly views him as dangerous due to that- thanks to the fact that a simple hand on the shoulder can break my will so easily, that my heartbeat disobeys my every desire for it to remain steady.

It feels as if, though, none of this bothers him. He goes about his routine as usual, no comments other than the one he’d already made- which sticks in my mind like a briar.

There’s no more conversation for the night, he works in silence and I hold my tongue, shocked at my own reaction to him. When it comes time to say goodnight, as we linger outside my home, he finally speaks to me again.

“I apologize… if I’ve overstepped.”

There’s more silence, I can’t quite pull my thoughts together to give him an appropriate response. Is it okay? Did he overstep or am I simply reacting too much? Should I tell him I forgive him, though there may be nothing to forgive?

“Well- Have a goodnight then, Donald. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.” He sounds apprehensive, turning and taking a pace before stopping again. “I mean it,” he turns to look back at me, “please be there tomorrow. I-I mean- I hope you will be.”

“I will.” I murmur, trying very hard to look at him as I say it, but failing and turning my eyes to stare at the ends of his cloak instead. “I don’t think… I’m not sure there’s anything to forgive you for.”

“You’re… not sure? Hm- Well, think about it. I’m not trying to- I don’t mean to scare you away.”

I take a breath, thinking back to the interaction- would I really say no if I knew that’s what would happen? If I knew I’d feel so flustered?

No, I don’t believe so-

In fact, I find the thought exhilarating, a small rush of hopeful excitement at the thought of his hand on my shoulder, of him sharing my space so casually.

“I mean- No, there’s no reason to apologize. I think I’m just- I’m just tired tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be more myself.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.”

‘Look forward to seeing you’

“Walk safely.”

“Have a good evening, Donny.”

He turns and makes his way into the night, walking quietly on his own. I watch him as far as my eyes can strain to see- ducking away when he turns suddenly to look back in my direction. When I peer back out again, I see a silhouette of him removing the mask- no details to note, except that I can tell he’s gazing up at the night sky.

Plague AU Ch. 1

This is a fanfic au of @tuna-jsgross oc, Donny :)

No matter how many rigid, pale, glossy-eyed corpses I toss into a pit- I never get used to it. The smell clings to you, not just physically, but in a way that you can recall it at any given moment and it’ll be precisely correct every time. Your mind locks on to it, a cruel fate when you’d only ever wish the memory away upon recalling it.

But we do what we have to do, those of us who are healthy enough to carry on must bear the burden of the souls that leave us behind. Hundreds of them. 

Things have been bleak, lately, the population dwindling, the doctors working tirelessly at all hours, the keepers doing our best to support their efforts.

Despite the curse that’s seemed to land upon us all, the cold grip of death that drifts as fog through the town, I do my best to remain the optimist. I try, through the sweat, vomit, and exhaustion, to be the smiling face that others may need to see. I want to grant the damned one last comfort before their walk to the other side, if nothing else.

I’ve been told that I’m going to fall victim, myself, if I don’t learn to keep my distance. I try -I swear I do- but what is humanity if I allow myself the coldness of turning a blind eye to the tears of a widow in her last moments? I hold their hand through it, I think I always will. If that’s what brings me to the end, I will take that journey with pride. 

In some way, I believe this trait is what saves me. I’ve far outlasted friends, those who have worked beside me, and other members of town- the clergyman in our parish says my soul has been granted divine graces for my actions. The plague doctor tells me that his spiritualism is nonsense, there must be another reason.

Though, admittedly, he’s never been able to provide any sort of reason for it.

I suppose it would be hard to believe in divinity after seeing so many people’s lives extinguished, as he has. There’s no sense to it, I confess, it’s hard to believe in anything caring for us when so many have succumbed to the sickness. I’d glanced at the book they keep in the church, records- weekly death tolls growing larger and larger as time moves forward.

I’m on rounds today, moving through the makeshift hospital, trying to keep patients cool despite their fevers, dabbing a rag into a bowl of water and passing it over their foreheads. I try not to look at the blackening flesh, rotting while they’re still alive- everyone knows once this happens, death follows. We’re told to skip these patients, there’s nothing we can do.

The plague doctor is here, letting blood from patients, examining wounds, and swearing roundly at the losses as bodies are dragged out to the street to be disposed of later. I watch him work between my tasks, methodically, moving from person to person with the confidence of a man who seems not to fear death at all. As far as doctors go, when the death started spreading, many of them fled. The plague doctors are mostly new doctors, some not even doctors at all. The instructions they give vary from person to person, but this one in particular has been the most consistent- showing up day after day, always seeming to be around in one way or another. 

After a while, it seems that he’s grown familiar with me as well, calling me by name when asking for assistance, sending me on errands for him. I’m happy to help in any way I can, and just like that I’ve found myself becoming a close assistant. 

When he shows up in the morning the first thing he does is summon me. He hands me supplies, asks if I’m ready, and we make our way inside. 

Despite the time I’ve spent around him, I know very little of him. He doesn’t tell me his name, doesn’t disclose where he’s from, but his accent speaks of France- some things cannot be so easily hidden.

As it turns out, nobody knows much about him. The other plague doctors have names, previous jobs, we know where they were hired from, but this one? It seems he refuses to discuss anything other than business. 

This has led to a web of rumors surrounding him. Some of them are run of the mill- he’d run away from some rich family to lay down roots, he’d left his wife when he couldn’t stand her anymore, he’d had so much debt he couldn’t dream of paying it back. Some of the rumors are a little more scandalous. His wife caught him with a mistress, he’d never married due to his affinity towards the same sex, he had a drinking habit and got kicked out of his old town when he performed medicine drunk and killed a man.

Whatever may or may not be true, I find myself becoming more and more curious with each passing day. One evening, on a particularly grueling day, the doctor pauses on our usual walk out from the ward. I’m carrying supplies, a bit of a habit from working with him for so long even though he hasn’t actually asked me to in a while. “Donald- have you noticed anything peculiar?” I run through a mental list of the day's goings-ons, turning up only the usual. “No?” “Hm. I’ve noticed things.” This is the most conversation I’ve managed to get from him at evening time, so I take the bait. “Care to share, or are these things going to live and die with you?” “See, that’s just it. You live. The others- they die.” “Oh- we’ve talked about this, I’m blessed-” “-but the others who shared the same disposition? Divinity found it fit to turn his back on them?” “Well… I guess.” “No. I don’t believe it to be so.” “What do you suggest? You’ve found no answers previously, are things any different tonight?” “Not yet- but I want to propose something.” This piques my interest, I move the supplies to one hip, shifting my weight into a comfortable lean. “I’m listening.” “I’d like to do research on you. Nothing terribly invasive, nothing painful. Mostly just observation.” “Observation? Don’t you watch me work all day?” “I confess, I do. Quite closely.” There's a stillness in the air after he says this, a moment where the chirping of crickets and the distant sound of wind through brush is all my ears catch. He sets in again, shifting and grabbing the supplies off my hip. “Apologies, I just want to understand. There must be a reason for it- I’m hellbent on finding an explanation.” “Well- I suppose there’s no harm in it. What would you like me to do?” “Come to my quarters in the evenings. Let me observe, let me perform a physical- probably once a day. I’d like to note any variables or changes.” “A real life science experiment.” I mean it as more of a joke but with a singular bob of his head he agrees. “Right. If I can figure out why you’re immune- maybe we could use it for the others.”

“A worthy cause.” “Quite.” “Alright. You’ve got a deal.” “Wonderful! Let’s head over then-” “Tonight? Right now?” He freezes mid stride, turning to peer back at me. The movement would’ve been bird-like even without the plague doctor costume. “Is that alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you had plans.” “I don’t I just- it’s somewhat late and I’ve not had a bite to eat all day. I’d like to get supper first.” “I’ll supply food if you’d like. You can eat while I go over the death records.”

“Oh- okay, sure.” I shuffle along beside him, awkwardly. After a few strides it’s evident that the supplies are heavy to him. “You sure you don’t want me to carry that? It’s no problem.” “I’ve got it.” We march along a few more yards before I can hear him huffing as we go, trying to keep up the pace despite restricted airflow due to the mask. “Seriously, boss, I can carry it. Let me help-” “If I accept your help now, I’m admitting defeat. I’m not letting three stone of glass do me in.” “It seems the doctor has a stubborn streak.” I’m mostly musing to myself, slightly amused at this new tidbit of information. He looks up at me, and I swear I can feel the glare behind the mask. “Damn right I do.” He marches forward with determination. “The only way to get anything done around here.”

“Hey! I seem to recall doing a lot of stuff!” He sighs. “Yes, with you being the one exception.”

“So don’t give up on the task. Just… delegate it so you can save your energy for more important stuff like research.” He stops so abruptly that I nearly trample him, the question of who’s carrying what nearly becomes completely invalid as the box almost fully topples out of his hands. “You’re right. Here.” He holds the box out to me with weary arms and I take it easily. It doesn’t feel like much weight to me, though I suppose a lifetime of heavy lifting far better suits me for the job.

We finish making our way back to his quarters. It’s mostly temporary, but he’s been housed far outside the city, quite the walk. When I comment on this he lets out a low hum of agreement. “I can’t be near anyone in good health. I’ve agreed to isolation.” “What about- I’m in good health. Will you get in trouble?” “Well, you’ve been exposed first-hand plenty. If you were to fall to the sickness I’d imagine it would’ve happened far sooner. Besides… I’m my own master, here. Who is going to chastise me for it? Do you see anyone around? Nobody knows or cares what happens in my quarters.” I glance around at the hollow houses surrounding his, empty and dark, somehow cold as if they suffer from the disease as well. I can almost hear them moaning in the same kind of pain, feel them longing for the life that once graced their walls. “I-I guess that’s true.”

“You’re coming in or you’re dropping the box off and leaving, this much is up to you. If you choose to stay I will be grateful.” “I’ve committed, I’m not going to abandon my word.” “Very well, step inside.” He opens the door for me and lets me in, upon entering I see he’s set up a comfortable living space for himself. There’s a stew still warmed on the cinders of the fire, a bed set off to the side, a desk laden with parchments, several lamps and plenty of oil to go with them.

Upon closer inspection, his desk has more than work notes. There’s a few sketches of flowers, each with the scientific name scrawled underneath them. Viola odorata, or commonly, the wood violet. 

It seems he has both a knack for artistry and a fondness for botany. “Violets?” I hold up a drawing and he nods without looking over at me, stoking up a fire. 

“Yes, they’re used in my mask.” “Oh, so… not because you like them?”

“Well- I find the scent pleasing. As it should be, for a plague doctor’s mask, such is the point of it.”

“What else do you put in there?”

“Lavender, if I can find any. Tea, maybe mint if it’s not too scarce. Mint and lavender work the best, in my experience.”

“The smell keeps the illness at bay, right?”

“It’s the theory- the scent is what makes you sick. But then you have others who… don’t seem to obey that rule. So now I’m trying to figure out what else it could be. I thought perhaps contact, but that doesn’t seem to bother you whatsoever. I have to wonder to myself how someone could be in such close contact, breathing in the same air, and still be left standing a month later? It’s phenomenal… it’s maddening.”

I chuckle, cocking my head at him. “I’ve kept you up at night thinking about me, then?”

There’s a long silence before he shakes his head. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. What do you want me to do first?”

He stands and collects a bowl, filling it with stew before handing it to me. “Eat. Keep your strength up. I’d hate to lose the subject of my interests so early.”

I take it and make a ‘cheers’ motion. “Yes sir.”