#or certain semantic structures

[daemonhxckergrrl]

is there any good reason yellow isn't available on the mobile app ? "sorry we couldn't fit that many UI elements" isn't a valid reason - resize or scroll, bitch

[paper-mario-wiki]

Could you explain how Ambrosia is able to come back after dying?

1

Sure yeah, I'll give it a shot.

[Fursona Lore/ Mild Existential Horror presented in charmingly primitive MS Paint style under the cut]

2

[At the top of the panel there is the label "conceptual space (currently being created. The middle is labeled "THE UNIVERSE, REALITY (the other)". The bottom is labeled "CONSCIOUSNESS, REFLECTION (the self). The very bottom of the panel reads "OTHER, FREAKIER BUT LESS IMPORTANT STUFF" ]

To keep it brief, a person is when a certain amount of consciousness slips upwards into reality. Consciousness is, like the laws of thermo dynamics [sic], a fundamental property of the universe.

3

I'm sure you've heard of the sticking-a-pencil-through-paper metaphor for theoretical wormhole travel, right? Staying within that visual metaphor, imagine the moisture in the air around that "piece of paper" as what consciousness is. It creates tiny, imperceivable changes in the surface and makeup of the paper. Imagine a microscopic rain cloud making a tiny fraction of the paper a little bit soggy. That's what you are in the universe. A tiny soggy fraction of a massive piece of paper. (That's why you feel so small btw).

Of course, putting it into that metaphor IS greatly simplifying it, since in real life things like time and space sorta overlap, ya know? Because they're entirely separate dimensions of measurement. Consciousness is the same, it is everywhere in the universe all at once, but only after it seeps in from a place that is exactly where we are, but elsewhere. 4D stuff is complicated sorry if that's not super clear ha ha.

4

Normal people happen when a bunch of that stray potential-consciousness starts stacking more and more layers of reality on top of itself. Sort of like those pastries that you fold butter into and then fold it like 10 times and that makes it so theres like a billion layers of butter and dough and butter and dough and butter and dough and on and on and on. But with, uh. The other stuff. Consiousness and matter from the universe.

Speaking semantically, that's all the little tiny organisms that work really hard to make you alive. Like the biome in your gut, or the bacteria in your tissue and blood cells. Look it up, 43% of the human body is made of bacteria. Like, that's just on google.

Anyway, all their effort culminates in an increasingly complex meat shell that constitutes a person.

5

For the sake of practicality, we can imagine the way consciousness "seeps in" to the universe is like heat coming off the sun. The two overlapping infinite planes radiate into each other like heat radiates off the sun.

That clear? Heat from the sun. Remember that, it's important for the next part.

6

I'm sort of like a solar flare.

My consciousness, in its raw form, was so concentrated that it was like a tiny shooting star straight from the source.

Also kind of like a kidney stone, I guess.

7

Since my consciousness (which, to be clear, is approximately the same "amount" of consciouessness as anyone else, just all smooshed together into a single clump) is smooshed together into a single clump, the shell forms naturally as "reality" settles onto it. The "shape" the consciousness takes is basically the same as your body or anyone else's since the framework of both entities are the "same" on the "outside". Thus the "shells" turn out "similar" too.

Sorry for all the quotation marks, it's hard to talk about concepts outside of the third dimension in third dimensional terms, and like. I also am not super sure about this stuff either. I'm only relaying what I've learned from the scientists but some of it goes over my head.

I like to think I'm clever but like. I'm not a genius.

8

So here's the part where me and you are different: When your shell breaks apart (when you die) it's because the consciouessness had been escaping your shell, like air from a balloon, and the physical structure can't support itself anymore. Or, like, maybe you just fall over and hit your head on the concrete one day and pop the balloon all together.

Either way, the consciousness escapes from the pressure, and either goes back "down" where it came from, or goes upward into conceptual space, which is sorta being constituted through forces exerted in the physical universe. Well, I mean, really it's more of a product of a reaction between consciousness and physical space. Whatever I'm getting off topic.

The point is the shell breaks cuz the balloon pops. I think that was my point.

9

Now that you get all that, you can probably deduce on your own how and why I'm able to keep "coming back".

It's cuz I'm not really "coming back", I'm still here! The shell representing me here was just lost.

10

And while the facade may not look precisely the same every single time...

11

I remain the same.

[sepublic]

I’m seeing posts where some people are like “Eda isn’t REALLY X’s mom” or “Hunter isn’t actually X’s sibling” based on certain things and while I see where some people are coming from, whilst appreciating a clarification on dynamics… By the end of the day, I feel like people are defining these terms based on conventional family structures, when the whole point of found family is that it defies such standardized definitions; Plus, the human experience regarding certain familial roles is wide and varied and can take many forms, there is no one way to do it. Hunter may not be an older brother to Luz the same way he is to Gus for example, but I find both manners valid and I think sometimes it really is just a matter of semantics.

[weaselandfriends]

What makes prose good unto itself (and not just as a delivery mechanism for plot/character)? Despite being an English major I never really grokked this, beyond basic advice like "use significant images."

I would break down prose quality into two major parts, each of which is very broad and can be achieved in many different ways.

Part 1: Is it good aesthetically?

This is very simple. Does the prose sound good? This is usually achieved via a lot of high school English test terms, stuff like assonance, consonance, alliteration, rhyme (internal or not), meter, repetition, etc. but can also be a factor of syntax and word choice: "dismal" is generally a more evocative word than "bad," for instance, though given context one of those words might sound better than the other. Bad is shorter, harsher, more abrupt, compared to dismal which has the S and L sounds that glide. Dismal also sounds more British, which comes with its own array of connotations that can affect how the reader reacts to the word. Compare "I pray you burn in the flames of eternal damnation" to "I hope you die in a fiery death."

Punctuation, sentence length, sentence structure all make some kind of change to the way a sentence reads. Parentheticals, abrupt stops, sentence fragments. They influence the aesthetic experience of reading the text, and the best prose wields all these tools (and more) strategically to create the greatest aesthetic impact. If someone is specifically trying to make their prose unobtrusive to the semantic content of plot and character being conveyed, they are surrendering aesthetic control.

Part 2: Does it contribute meaning?

It's one thing to craft a beautiful sentence, but if it's beautiful simply for the sake of being beautiful it can often come across as needlessly indulgent. (The purple prose criticism, though in my experience most truly purple prose is aesthetically bad.) The best prose is also contributing to the meaning of the work through its aesthetics. The most obvious way this is done is through tone. Tone is how a story feels, and in many ways is far more important to a work than plot or character. A horror story has a certain tone. A comedy has a certain tone. To an extent tone can be conveyed via plot (i.e., a story where people are murdered will innately have a different tone than one in which they are not), but most of the heavy lifting on this front is done by the prose: a dark, oppressive atmosphere will put a reader on edge, even before someone is slashed in the attic.

Beyond tone, prose can provide insight into character (especially in free-indirect discourse, AKA close third person, which is extremely popular in contemporary literature) or theme. Symbolism, metaphor, various other literary devices can be used to this effect, or even simply more mundane elements like sentence length. Cormac McCarthy wrote two novels about brutal, violent journeys through utter waste lands - Blood Meridian and The Road - but the vast differences in the prose of those two novels make starkly different statements about what that violence means. Blood Meridian being a work of excess, of hedonism, while The Road is a work of restraint, of emptiness, of lack. And this is even with both works doing many of the same of McCarthy's goofball punctuation gimmicks.

I don't think anything I said here is very deep or difficult to grasp, and in other artistic mediums correlated concepts are taken for granted. In film, if you want to convey information in the easiest-to-understand method, then just do shot-reverse shot as two characters talk. It's simple, basic, and if what the characters are saying is interesting, nobody will notice. But the best films use blocking, dynamic camera angles, and varied shot length and composition to subtly make statements about character, setting, tone, and theme, while also simply looking more aesthetically pleasing. That's what prose can do for a work of literature. And the truly best prose stylists, the people pushing the boundaries of what can be done with language, will come up with prose compositions that I would never even expect.

[absolutebl]

Hello, hi.

Next week is Cherry Magic's last episode and I'd like a suggestion as to what to watch next. Since last year I've watched some shows that I've enjoyed to different degrees. So far I've vibed more with the Japanese ones and only have watched two Thai shows: step by step and cherry magic.

I definitely like cherry magic more but I'd like to watch some more Thai bl, as I can see they're very popular, but honestly I don't know where to begin. I don't know if mentioning my favorite shows would help?

Old fashion cupcake

Cherry magic (JP)

I cannot reach you

Semantic error

Thank you so much in advance 🙌🏽

This is a perfect question for me!

I think you're vibbing more with Cherry Magic Th because it's following the original yaoi so closely, so it's def more JBL feeling story than it is ThBL.

Okay so your favorites are:

Old Fashion Cupcake

Cherry Magic original

I Cannot Reach You*

Semantic Error*

You've named some of my all time favorites, and 2 of my VERY few top 10s*. (For more of my top 10 JBLs, try here (pre 2023). For my top 10 KBLs, those are here. And my top BLs of all time are here.)

But you want Thai recommendations?

Before I start, off script, seek ye Seven Days. It's my favorite JBL of all time and it's absolutely amazing and very special. It's in two parts and worth every effor to try to find. Here's me talking about it.

First, let me triage some connective tissue.

It seems like you like soft and gentle BL. (Try this cozy list.)

You like JBL so that means higher filming standards and certain aura of authenticity.

Also a lower heat level.

Okay, here are 10 Thai BLs I think you should try, in order...

10 Thai BLs to try if you prefer soft Japanese BL

1 Until We Meet Again (YouTube)

UWMA is, without question, a work of narrative genius with a powerful and cohesive romantic backbone and stellar performances. It is (to date) the only Thai BL that I’ve rated a 10/10 predominantly on the basis of story structure. That said it is also very well cast (and it’s a BIG cast), with solid production values, and enduring pair branding and a softness and complexity that should appeal for a JBL stan. More of my feels on this on here.

trigger warning on the original trigger

2 I Feel You Linger in the Air (iQIYI or grey)

I truly loved this time travel romance. IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn AKA soap opera. This is an elegant and classy BL… from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. Pity about the ending. Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t great either. However, JBL isn't noted for sticking the landings either. Full review and discussion here.

3 My Ride (Gaga)

Thai BL grew up with this little pulp (the first ever to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi driver in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics. With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show. Full review.

My caveat with this one is, like Step by Step, it is a Thai pulp which mean production values will not be up to Japan's standards. So if you bounce hard off the style of the first few 2 eps, it doesn't get better, so drop it and move on.

4 A Tale of Thousand Stars (YouTube)

With great casting and cinematography this drama nods at BL tropes but manages to elevate them (and itself) with a strong mature story concept about a spoiled rich kid who gets a heart transplant and becomes a rural teacher in order to pay out survivor’s guilt. On the way he falls in love with a local park ranger and contends with his own classism and escapist tendencies. Everyone seemed to perfectly suit their roles and GMMTV made the most out of its stable. Combined with excellent production (and post production) values, 1000 Stars is without question GMMTV’s most mature, charming, and smart BL series. I think it should go down as one of the top BLs of all time. I feel safe recommending this one to friends and non BL watchers.

5 He's Coming to Me (YouTube)

Boy and ghost boy fall in love, must solve ghost’s murder. Peak pining but also pretty tame, features my favorite sweet but important coming out sequence. The third in my precious triumvirate of unbeatable Thai BLs, that are only nominally BL because the story, acting, and production values are so good. (others are UWMA & 1k*)

You don't mention any PNR or high concept, but I still think it's worth giving this one a try.

6 Moonlight Chicken (YouTube)

I enjoyed this complicated little show, even though it’s spectacularly messy gay with lots of shrapnel and authentic pain. I thought the leads (EarthMix from 1k*) turned in their most compelling performance to date. But it was GeminiFourth (My School President) who stole my heart. That said, the most interesting central relationship was that of Jim & Li Ming, their father-son angst mixed with evident affection made me tear up. This was more slice of life than it was BL, but it ended happily so I’m not mad at it. Full review here.

It's not as soft as you like, but you might try it anyway, because it is Very Good.

A note if you watch this and enjoy GeminiFourth, you could try their BL, My School President. I chose not to explicitly rec it to you because it's VERY Thai Bl with lots of comedy and slapstick, and you named prestige JBL and KBL (which are the anthesis of this). Taht said, MSP has no more or less than Japan's Cherry Magic, so you might enjoy it.

7 Make a Wish (grey)

An odd pull but I'm going with it. This PNR (from noted Y-novelist Sammon - Manner of Death & Triage) about a doctor who can see the dead and strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love. The Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but still satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay af and has a fag hag bestie and everything. The cast is excellent but the comedic stylings could feel too overblown and tonally off. (But again no more than something like Japan's Cherry Magic.) It had sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency.

8 Bed Friend (YouTube -cut version, iQIYI - v high heat)

You didn't name My Personal Weatherman (a great high heat JBL from last year) but if you want to try some Thai-style high heat, this is your best bet. Office frienamies transition a flaming hot one night stand into a f-buddy relationship that is built on a puppy/cat dynamic (and kinks into it at one point). Our puppy is loyal, smitten, and protective with endlessly longing eyes, while our cat is snarky, prickly, and deeply damaged (ALL THE TRIGGERS). NetJames give lovely high-heat with excellent chemistry and tuned-in performances of surprising depth, the story ultimately fails them at little as it waffles and went off the rails. But that's a Thai BL thing. Full review here.

Triggers include: child abuse, attempted rape, family abuse

9 The Eclipse (YouTube)

This is a good show but the cast is excellent and the leads are absolutely flawless, which elevates it beyond just good. We got a nuanced and multifaceted burgeoning relationship: philosophical (and socio-political) conflict contrasted to moments of empathy; flirtation contrasted to moments of genuine affection, plus plenty of angst. This narrative is less about love than it is about courage and tenderness. However, near the end the pacing was off and the plot frustrating. Still, this is an enjoyable watch, with a finale that features verbal consent and a fun blooper reel.

10 Love By Chance (YouTube)

Okay I dithered a lot over this last one and finally chose this. Because in an intro to Thai BL you should have at least one trail by fire and that's bound to be a MAME offering.

AePete’s meet cute is one of the best ever put on screen. They are just so genuine and soft with each other, it’s hard not to love them from the first moment. All the best Thai BL tropes deployed (and there are a lot of them) are earned honestly by the narrative, including the seme/uke dynamic (such as it is). The characters are unique as this is a poor/rich pairing, where Ae is tough & scrappy, caring & protective, and probably demisexual, while Pete is timid, shy, lonely, and out gay (with his peers). The language is also glorious with Pete using formal (even old fashioned) register, while Ae is entirely rude. You can train your ear for Thai high & low registers with this show (in fact, it's why I started learning them). As surrounding characters point out, they shouldn't work together, and yet they're very much wonderful when they are together.

HOWEVER: You watch LBC for the mains, ignore the sides (trigger warnings), and don't bother with any of the follow ups and you'll be fine. AePete will remain in your heart for a really long time. They are still one of my all time favorite couples. Also (still) two of the Thai BL industry's most famous actors.

For those who are wondering, yes the last contender was, indeed, Bad Buddy. But I chose LBC purely on the basis of softness.

There it is.

I hope I have picked some winners for you and please loop back around and let me know how it goes?

I really want to know if any of these worked for you, this was such a fun challenge.

(source)

[power-chords]

“Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it.” The challenge of Delmore Schwartz tier Heat 2 midrash is writing small enough and color-coding my notes in such a way that they will make sense to me when I return to compile and explicate them later. A lot of these scribblings will be intelligible only to someone with encyclopedic Michael Mann knowledge + a basic familiarity with midrash and the Hebrew Bible/certain passages and lexical roots, but the abundance of biblical style restatement in the form of both syntactic and semantic parallelisms, from verbatim repetition of certain words to variable emphases on particular themes or concepts, is almost comically excessive, even to the untrained eye.

And in the context of the passage, also playfully ironic! One such repetition is the explicit notation of Wardell’s crew moving in absolute (ahem) silence, combined with the COLsons (K-L being the Hebrew root for “voice,” “noise,” “sound,” etc) not answering their own door — hence my note at the bottom re: anechoic chambers. No sounds may be reflected in the “diegetic” fabula of the story, but in the sjuzhet of its structural organization, it’s a hall of mirrors! There is narrative parallelism everywhere, in the force, form, and abundance that is characteristic of Hebraic biblical prose. Even the subject matter that is belabored in these repetitions has a distinct biblical flavor, and translation/signal loss as a result of faulty copying, I.E., the principal trouble with the KJV, or what Bob Alter sought so brilliantly and exhaustively to remedy in his own translation of the Pentateuch. Once again, from his book The Art of Biblical Narrative:

What most distinguishes repetition in biblical narrative is the explicitness and formality with which it is generally employed, qualities that, to return to our initial difficulty, support an unusual proportion of verbatim restatement. In order to appreciate the artfulness of this kind of repetition, a modern reader has to cultivate the complementary opposite of the habits of perception he or she most frequently puts to use in reading. That is, in narratives where there is a great density of specified fictional data and some commitment to making the mimetic elements of style and structure more prominent than the poetic ones, repetition tends to be at least partly camouflaged, and we are expected to detect it, to pick it out as a subtle thread of recurrence in a variegated pattern, a flash of suggestive likeness in seeming differences. (The obvious exception to this tendency in Western literature would be extreme fictional experiments in stylization, like those of Gertrude Stein or Alain Robbe-Griller, where formal repetition is made an obtrusive structural principle.) When, on the other hand, you are confronted with an extremely spare narrative, marked by formal symmetries, that exhibits a high degree of literal repetition, what you have to look for more frequently is the small but revealing differences in the seeming similarities, the nodes of emergent new meanings in the pattern of regular expectations created by explicit repetition.

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 3

I wrote so many drafts for this chapter. But I'm so pleased with how it turned out. I hope you love reading from Altan's POV as much as I loved writing it. He's a little more free and unfiltered in his narrating. Also I'm so sorry that each chapter keeps getting longer!!! I just write and I can't stop until I get to the end! Thank you so much for the lovely comments so far. I'm really really happy to hear that so many of you like these characters.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 3,025 (average 23 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, mention of masturbation, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

One month.

Why in all of the nine hells did I agree to one month?

If I had been smart, I would have said a week. Two at the most.

I was going to go insane.

Ever since I left Drunrag's forge, I could feel him. It was like we were tethered together by an invisible thread and when one of us moved in proximity to the other or further away, we felt the pull and release of that thread. I figured out very quickly that he lived a very structured lifestyle and I started to predict at certain times of the day when I would feel the pull of him.

And every day I would sense it when he would be closer to me and I would hope that maybe he'd follow the pull back to me. To tell me that he changed his mind. That he'd be willing to share one night with me.

Oh Altan, you sap, how quickly you fall for a pretty face.

I knew the symptom's of Drunrag's lordhovid was probably affecting me - I'd like to think of it more as augmenting what I was already naturally feeling...semantics I suppose - but I felt almost immediately that there was something special about Drunrag the moment I saw him.

Gods, how I wanted him. He was...well, everything.

Tall - well over six feet tall and looming. Having stood so near him, I knew he dwarfed me entirely. It felt dangerous, but so alluring.

Dark - Green skin, the shade of deep emerald, textured with dark freckles across his face and on his shoulder. His hair was black, but I caught lines of silver that ran through - it looked to be nothing related to age. It was pulled up into a topknot, but some hairs slipped and strayed into the front of his face. It was tantalizing and begging my fingers to pull his hair free and run through it. 

Handsome - Maybe a bit subjective, but truly, he was exactly my type. His height was matched with a thick build, his body possessing muscle and strength that was built to break me, but I just knew he would hold me so gently.  I saw how his piercing grey eyes noticed everything. They darted around him, taking in everything in rapid order. His tusks were pearly white - well maintained. I wanted to feel them on my neck with those large hands holding me in my place. I imagined what it would be like to be ravished by someone like him.

By all appearances, he looked like what most people would see as a dangerous orc - bound by a god-given oath for power and blood. My home was near where an infamous tribe known as the Wolves of Dirge frequently raided and pillaged for sport - but I found that Drunrag was more puppy than wolf, and I loved him for it.

Oh my Drunrag, if you only knew how many ways I dreamed of you ruining me.

I think I need to change the subject.

My symptoms were mostly manageable. I felt feverish and seemed to be sweating more than normal. I found that I was more irritable and easily flustered by any sudden shifts in temperature. The longer the day went on, I would also develop a pounding headache and a strange dull pain in the pit of my stomach. But I managed. I could stave off a bit of heat and discomfort as I needed to.

It was nights that were the worst.

With nothing to distract my mind or body, I would find myself in a frenzy. The first night I kicked my sheets off of the bed - it was far too hot - and I was near panting with frustration. My entire body was on fire, it felt like it would burn through the bed and I gasped and panted for air, for release.

My mind could only stray to one thing that could take it away: Drunrag.

Whether he believed it or not, I believed him to be something special to me. I avoided calling him my mate, as that would make him uncomfortable to call him that, but I knew there was a connection between us. I wished he could have seen it as clearly as I did.

But he didn't, and I was alone to comfort myself.

As the nights passed one by one, my self-control was dwindling. Each night, I could only see Drunrag in my head. I could close my eyes and imagine his weight as he settled next to me, laying so that my back was pressed against his chest. I imagined his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me towards him. His hot breath against my neck as he whispered to me how wonderful I smelled.

I wondered what he smelled like. Damn, Altan, you should have caught a whiff before you promised to leave him alone for a month.

No. No. Actually, that would have made things so much worse.

My mind refocused on the vision in my head and I imagined his large - such large hands - close over mine and bring them up to my chest where he would curl in and hold me close and let me feel his weight around me as we both fell into a fitful slumber.

Meanwhile, imagining this only brought me an edge of desperation as I stretched out on my empty bed which had no handsome orc man to hold me.

I couldn't deal with this lust alone. Not without him. Not without help. The only comfort I had was his name. His beautiful name.

Drunrag. Drunrag. Drunrag.

Drun.

If I was lucky, I could call him that as he held me. I would say it so sweetly to him, I would never say it in anger. I would hold him in return, his head on my lap as I played with his hair and told him all the gentle things no one ever told him.

Drun, you're so handsome, so stunningly handsome. Drun you're hands are so gentle, I know you could take such good care of me. My Drun, you make my head spin with want. Drun let me touch your hair again.

I laid alone in that bed, wanting, wishing, regretting.

In desperation I tried to pleasure myself, imagining my hands to be equal to Drunrag's - they weren't - and urging the lust to spill over enough to let me rest. I could feel the pressure building between my legs and I began to breathe harder, Drun's name on my lips as I worked myself harder.

But in the end, my body would not release. I could not be satisfied or sated. My body didn't want my own self-pleasure. It wanted Drun. I wanted Drun. If my father had seen me in such a state...I dared to hope that it would kill him with shock.

Why did I agree to a month of this?

I woke the next morning with a headache I could not abate and my body flushed with heat that would not go away, even after burying myself in cold water in the bathhouse.

It had only been four days at that point.

There was no way in any hell that I would be able to last another 26 days like this. Not only was it that I couldn't live like this, but I also wouldn't. My standards were too high to accept this much sweat from so little labour. I stumbled out of the room in the Inn I was staying at, gave a slight polite nod to the innkeeper as I shuffled out.

I'm sure I looked like absolute shit. And for the first time in a long time, I really couldn't give a shit how I looked.

I needed a bath, I needed a meal, I needed to change my clothes. In fact, I needed to leave this town before I stumbled into one of my father's goons.

But I also needed to see Drun again. My body couldn't take it. I followed the pull, not minding who I rammed or tripped into as I got there. I wound through busy streets and ascended down to the lower part of the city near the coast. We weren't anywhere near where his forge was.

I found myself on the docks of the town. The smell of fish and salt-sea air overwhelmed my lungs. It was enough to make a man puke if you weren't prepared for it. Which I wasn't and I found myself flung over the the edge of a dock and heaving my guts out.

"You 'right?" A voice called from behind me.

I wiped my mouth clean and looked up. The morning sun was shining just enough to block any features of the man. I couldn't see much of him besides a rotund silhouette and a tricorn hat sitting askew atop his head. Sailor folk, I could only presume.

"Fine." I said. I wiped my mouth and struggled to my feat.

"Oh, ain't you dressed fine for a day out on the docks." He whistled low. "Fancy."

Not really, I thought. These clothes had gone two days without wash. Though, in hindsight, that's probably much more often than that man ever washed his clothes. I blinked the sun from my eyes and took a closer look.

He was a short, round man with a twinkle in his stark blue eyes. A pipe was in one hand, and the other rested calmly against a pistol on his hip. His shocking white hair and deep wrinkles revealed a man with many years behind him on the sea. He seemed friendly enough.

I smiled back at him, it was nice to have a friend. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. You wouldn't have happened to see an orc gentleman pass by, would you?"

The man pondered for a minute, then shook his head. "Don't believe I have." He narrowed his eyes and looked at me more closely. "What would a fine young lad like you be doin' with orc folk?" He looked me up and down and I saw his eyes lock back onto my face. Something about me triggered and his friendly expression fell. "Oi...you match the description of that Duke's son that's gone missin'. You wouldn't 'appen to know anything about that, would'ya?"

I shook my head, forcing my best grin. "Handsome lad I've heard, but that's all I've gleaned from the gossip." I sidled my foot towards where I felt Drun's presence and began to slide away.

"Now, now son." The man's voice was low now, not remotely friendly in tone. I felt a chill run down my spine before my body began to burn even hotter than before. "The Duke's got a generous reward for anyone who brings his son back home. I ain't partin' with you till I know for sure." His fingers graces the wooden handle of his pistol and he tilted his head, a knowing smile on his face. "If I'm wrong, we split and pretend this never happened."

This man wouldn't hesitate to shoot if I ran, I sensed.. I wondered if my father had put dead or alive on that prize money. He'd likely be relieved to be rid of me.

The smile on my face fell as I realized the trouble I was in. I hadn't expected word to spread so fast.

Then again, I also hadn't expected to stay in this town as long as I did.

Damn you, Altan.

"Sir, please." I said, pleading. "I'm not going back to Durbesk. Help me and I'll double the price my father has offered."

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. "With what funds? You ain't got shit on you."

He was right, the gold I brought to pay for my room and board was nearly gone and it wouldn't even begin to cover the price my father demanded for my return.

I felt my heart race inside me. I couldn't go back to my father. Fear and panic set in as I saw the man take a step towards me, his pistol now pointed at me.

"As a precaution" He said, his tone was friendly, but I saw the glint in his eye was now a look of wicked greed.

My cries would fall on deaf ears if I begged to him. It wouldn't matter that my father hated my existence and wished me to be a different sort of son. One who would obey him, who aspired to be just like him with a pride and ego that outmatched anyone else. Who was arrogant and spoiled. Who believed money, stature and reputation was more important than music, art, and the simple pleasures in life.

He wanted a son that wouldn't kiss boys behind stables when they were fifteen. A son that wouldn't smile so much and laugh too loud. That wouldn't bring home rodents as pets and nurse them back to health and cry when they died. He had always wanted someone more tough, more heartless and brave than me.

No, this man wouldn't hear any of that. He could care less what sort of nightmares I faced at home at the expense of my father's disappointment and hate in me. And he wouldn't care that the only person who truly loved me - my beautiful mother - was gone and buried in an unmarked grave so that I could never find her.

My mother thought I was perfect the way I was, and told me so. She never wanted me to stop smiling or laughing. She told me my music was beautiful and that it reminded her of her home in the Silverwood. She told me that I was beautiful. Everything I loved about myself I got from her. My eyes, my hair, my heart.

I wish someone would understand how much I missed her. How much I wanted to be with her instead of here...running away from my life to start over away from my father. Away from everything that reminded me of her.

I bowed my head, fighting back the hot tears that I felt brimming at my eyes. Why was I crying at a time like this?

"Please." I said, faint and breathless. "Don't make me go back."

The man looked like he was about to laugh at me, when I suddenly felt the warmth of someone's presence behind me. The shadow of his height fell over me and I whirled around to see him.

Drunrag.

My Drun.

His eyes were like deep silver pools, blazing with the heat I knew was smoldering inside him. He didn't look at me, his eyes were instead trained on the man. I looked down and saw his hands were clenched into tight fists. Under each of his arms was a barrel, which he carefully set down on the dock on either side of him, then rising again to his full height.

"You're his friend?" The man asked, a sour tone in his voice that I didn't like one bit.

Drunrag didn't answer, only sniffed contemptuously before taking a step towards him, shifting around me so that he didn't come close to touching me. I still felt the sizzling heat between us.

"You have no business being here." Drunrag said. His voice was heavy and low, rumbling his chest that reminded me of bear's growl. My body reacted to it strongly and I stumbled back, unsteady and wavering.

"Yeah? And what's your business with him?"

"None of your concern." Drun's voice was level and calm, but I could sense the mounting pressure inside.

"You just want the money for yourself." The man protested, pointing his gun at Drun. My heart began to pound faster. Don't shoot him. Oh gods please, don't shoot him.

"I saw him first." Drun responded. "We can fight on it, if you wish." He cracked his neck side to side, then clenched and unclenched his fists. Muscles, tight from his tense posture, rippled and reacted to his movements. The man's eyes were on them and I watched gleefully as his pistol lowered to his side and his face fell open.

Drun continued. "Get lost...or I'll be cracking each of your finger one...by...one until your bones are ground to dust." He cocked his head. "Won't be much use on a ship with boneless fingers."

Oh dear gods above...that shouldn't have affected me when he said that, should it? I looked down at the barrel and decided it was for the best to take a seat on it. I needed to catch my breath.

"Stupid piece of shit, is what you are." The man spat, "Green shit straight from a horse's soured stomach. Cross my path again and you're gonna see a bullet right between your puny eyes."

I had never wish a person dead or suffering greater than this man. I rose to my feet, rage radiating off me.

Drun turned back at me, his eyes flashing and a deep frown on his face. "Stay back." His voice cracked. "I can handle this." He turned back and asked calmly. "Have you anything else to say before I punch out your teeth?"

The man shook his head and turned away from us, mumbling threats and insults as he shuffled away. Drunrag stood still, tensed and ready for any retaliation.

When the man was gone, he finally turned back. I looked up to meet his gaze, my thanks and gratitude on my lips when I saw he wouldn't look at me. Instead, he walked passed me and retrieved his barrels before turning and beginning the walk off the docks towards the main part of the city.

"Drunrag." I breathed out. I shuddered to hear his name out loud like that. I wanted to say it loud and open like that all the time, for it was the name of my beloved. My hero. My fated partner.

"Don't." He said, his voice dark. "I'm doing everything I can to stop this from affecting us. Give me time and stay away as much as possible." He finally turned, his eyes were still fierce as he looked at me. "Please don't get into trouble again. I don't want to see you hurt."

He walked away from me, barrels in hands. I watched him walk away.

What could I say to him to make him stay?

I remembered then what he told me in the beginning. He didn't want to mate. He made the choice to not do it. It was never about me.

Whatever made me think that I could convince him that I was worth changing his mind for?

I bowed my head, I couldn't bear to see him walk away from me.

[anncanta]

‘Miller's Girl’: when the mirror has two faces

It’s interesting that the film Miller's Girl, which, as I understand it, caused a lot of controversy among viewers and critics, is not about sex at all and certainly not about the relationship between a teacher and a student, but about the collision of worlds. In that sense, it's a very smart film that's worth watching even with the need to wade through the heroine's pompous comments and thoughtful descriptions of love.

The beauty of Miller's Girl is that it literally and clearly shows what happens when two completely different and somewhat opposing views of the world collide.

But here it is necessary to separate several layers and semantic lines.

The first layer is figurative. At first glance, the film is structured as an impressionistic sketch, a kind of poem about a blossoming youth thirsting for love. Thus came the choice of Jenna Ortega in the lead role, simultaneously referencing the absolutely innocent (despite the gothic and deliberate sinister) Wednesday and the classic, offensively typical debutante girl. Contemptuously commented on by the same teenage girl, the old house, green leaves, drops of water, a kiss, her figure in a silk dress against the backdrop of the entrance, intricately and diligently weave this network. But then we blink – and the camera shows the other side of this mirror.

On the other side, as if in the interrogation cell window, a completely different aspect of the text is visible. If there, inside (in the cell), is a typical erotic fantasy – or picture of sexual preferences – of a man, outside one of the common erotic fantasies of a woman is. A man who is unaware of his attractiveness.

And only Martin Freeman could play this role properly. Although outwardly unattractive, or at least possessing a discreet appearance, he is so exquisitely masculine in the best sense that no further erotic scenes are needed. It is no coincidence that everything we see on the screen is fragments, short flashes, hints. There is no imitation of sex that is usual for films of this rating. What is there?

There is a man in a blue sweater standing at the table. Not a superhero, not a famous actor, not a fashion model. Very sincere and very smart. Warm. With certain life experiences that he doesn't yet know what to do with. Lost, and therefore getting involved in a game that is not his own.

This is the initial disposition. The beauty of what happens next is that we know what's coming, and yet it's discouraging.

The next layer is semantic.

The main character is ‘not like everyone else,’ because, unlike them, she is aware of her own banality. She lives alone in an old house and longs either for love or to grow up.

And then there's a click. At eighteen years old, the first and second are one and the same. Any adult knows this, even abusers know this, which is why they single out their victims, telling them that they seem ‘older’ than their peers. And Jonathan Miller knows it too. As he also knows, fantasies are just fantasies, and experiencing an orgasm in despair at home on your own from someone else's text is not a crime, because this is not an event of shared reality. This is your personal event.

Therefore, Jonathan does not consider any of his actions in relation to Cairo as strange, reprehensible, or ambiguous. Even when he lets her light a cigarette. Because it doesn't occur to him that he could want an eighteen-year-old teenager. Don't fantasize about her, but want her. These are completely different things. A person at forty knows this. But at eighteen, no.

And now we move on to ‘that very scene’ that has caused so much controversy and in which, as at a key node, the threads of the pictorial and semantic layers converge.

To begin with, we know from the characters' conversations (and just timing) that this scene never happened. That is, we have before us a fantasy that comprehensively shows what happened and what this story is about.

The scene is divinely well-shot and conceived. I advise everyone to watch it in the original because it was greatly lost in translation.

So, Jonathan invites his student to write a story in the style of a famous writer. The girl reads a lot; by the beginning of the semester, she had read the entire list of 12 assigned books. But for styling, she chose Henry Miller.

Very important. This moment shows how lost, self-absorbed, and actually uninterested in Cairo Jonathan is. If he had been calmer, more outward-looking, and more confident, he would have seen Henry Miller as an offer and would have rejected it (as he did at the end). An eighteen-year-old girl approaching a man and waving a Henry Miller sees herself as brave, sexy, and uninhibited. But that's because she doesn't know anything about sex. She simultaneously wants to appear experienced and relies on what she imagines as the ‘male gaze’ – tired, bored, and lustful when all vaginas are the same. She seems to be saying, ‘Here I am, take me, I'm ready for sex on your terms.’

But she knows nothing about his terms.

The beauty of this (truly wildly erotic) scene is that although the characters are together in the same frame, the mirror of the interrogation room is maintained, and we see both his and her fantasy at the same time.

In addition, this is a rare case when voiceover works. Jonathan opens Cairo's letter, sees what's in it, understands that the text of the story she sent is, to put it mildly, unusual, and goes to read in the little house near the home. Everything that happens next is accompanied by this very text.

Jonathan will later give it a completely correct definition – pornography. But pornography also comes in different forms. I recognized this text immediately since I had seen it many times on literary sites, in the stories of beginners, mainly very young authors. This is a typical NC-17-rated fanfic, in which the same thing always happens, described in the same words. He pushed her (to the bed, to the wall, to the table), spread her (legs, folds), tore off her underwear, and brutally (that's necessary) fucked her.

There are two important points here. Firstly, many young women, due to their inexperience and emotional and sexual illiteracy, really imagine sex this way. Especially passionate sex. And secondly, pornography is really arousing. This is its function. We are designed in such a way that the naming of certain organs and erogenous zones, the literal description of the process of copulation, and even the aggressiveness of this process appeal to the lower parts of our brain and cause a reaction. This does not necessarily mean that we enjoy this. This means that we get sexual release. That's what happened to Jonathan. But there is another important detail.

We remember that this is not just Cairo's fantasy, right? And also that this is a fantasy. But because we saw it, we know how Jonathan perceives what is happening and what his real attitude towards sex is. (I think the fact that in his fantasies Cairo is not the real one does not need to be explained – if it is not clear enough from the visuals, there is his profession, a literature teacher, and an explanation in the second part of the film when he refuses her; a character is a character, it does not overlap with a real person.)

Look how amazingly and delicately woven it is. Imaginary Jonathan and Cairo are standing in the bedroom, Cairo reaches out to him for a kiss, but he sternly pushes her away (Cairo, fan fiction, daddy issues), turns her back to him, and leans her on the bed (Cairo). Then he slowly runs his hands down her back and gently and calmly pushes her hair to the side with one hand. He leans over and shows which sentence to start reading from (reenactment of real-life interactions between Jonathan and Cairo, confirming that this is his view). It's one or two seconds, and only Martin Freeman could play it that accurately. This is how he sees interaction with a woman, as it happens between adults. And this has nothing to do with the brutal rhythm, wet folds that are filled with sperm, and identical vaginas.

The drama that happened next is not only about how the narcissistic girl punished the teacher for refusing her. It's about how such things are inherently hopeless, because Cairo, at eighteen, even if she were less narcissistic, cannot understand that Jonathan actually said ‘yes’ to her.

But only he said ‘yes’ to that Cairo, who will grow up, recognize herself, meet a man who she will like and who will understand her and speak the same language with her, whom she will choose not because he is older/younger/blue-eyed/tall/teacher/driver (because it's a child's choice), will discover real (not cum-filled) depths within herself, connect desire and emotion, and be able to experience what he fantasized about her.

He separated literature and reality, fantasy and life for her. I won't say that he resisted his own desires, because I'm pretty sure he didn't want her. He wanted to be seen – yes, he wanted to understand what to do – yes. He wanted to have sex with his wife, after all. And even with all this pressure, he was able not to confuse the story and reality. Which, by the way, suggests that he is a much better writer than his wife.

So what is this story? Erotic thriller? Love drama? An attempt by the authors to satirize Hollywood and literary romantic clichés? In my opinion, this is a novella, beautiful, stylish, psychologically accurate, and ruthless. And at the same time, it is incredibly careful with the material and puts everything in its place.

[max1461]

Ok I'm rather busy and had planned to write a longer post elaborating on this topic but I can't do it now, I'll probably still write one later but I wanted to make a short post as the topic has become relevant: the thing that you have to know about my writing style is that (speaking particularly about my serious posts here and not my shitposts) it is very literal modulo certain stylistic quirks. I don't really have time to elaborate all of these (ironically this post was written in a rush, and thus might not itself be the best example of my usual style), but one important fact is that when I say "almost", "in generally", "more-or-less", "in some sense" and so on, I really mean these. Like, these aren't filler words, I think a lot of people just gloss over them but tbh I often agonize over where exactly to put these when writing a post. I sometimes leave posts in my drafts for ages just because I haven't decided whether to propose some phrase with "generally" or not. I'm very, like, careful about trying to make it unambiguous that I don't mean whatever I don't mean, right? So these words are not meant to be glossed over; they're written carefully and they're meant to be read carefully.

It's also important to note that I omit them for stylistic reasons quite often, in particular because if I included words like this everywhere that I think they should logically be, my writing would become like, unreadable. So I try to structure things whereby I set the reader up with reasonable assumptions about what generalizations are absolute, which ones are statistical but high confidence, which ones are very loose and so on. So for instance I'll often set up the appropriate way of understanding a generalization in the first paragraph in which it is introduced, and then make it clear from context that the reader should carry this through when I talk about it going forward. Maybe I don't always do a good job.

But like, consider this recent post. I first say that "I’m comfortable taking it almost as an axiom that no one should ever get kicked out of where they are living". And when I say almost, you know, I mean almost! Idk if other people's writing has this quality. Almost is not there for metrical shape, it's there for content! Anyway, later say something like "an ideal housing policy should respect this axiom", and this is meant to mean... well, I'm not sure really how to say it other than how I said it, it's meant to mean "an ideal housing policy should respect this axiom". A very important part of the semantics of this sentence is that I am invoking a sort of fundamental property of ideals, which is that you usually can't achieve them in actual practice but you should try to get close, modulo whatever constraints you are under. Maybe it's not clear that these constraints are the same constraints imposing exceptions to the axiom; that seems like a genuine ambiguity. Well that's on me.

Anyway, this post sounds kinda snarky like I'm getting on people's case for not reading my post correctly, but no that's not what I mean at all! No like, I'm not irritated at other for not reading a post how I intended it. But I've been wanting to write about my own writing style for a while, in particular because as I said I write in a very particular way whose meaning may not always be like... obvious to readers. And this was a good opportunity to like, point out one of the biggest ways in which my writing style is particular, and which sometimes leads to misunderstanding. Well anyway. Sorry this was written in a rush cause I have actual things I have to do today, there's probably typos and so on so please forgive that.

[judjira]

sleepless

AN: so i may have gone a little overboard with this one, but i think thats ayt considering this is the first dahyun pov of apartment au that we get, and she's basically the main character so, enjoy !!

pairing: dahyun/everyone, mentions of najeongtzu, michaeng, samo apartment au wc: 11820

A sigh. Weary as it is, with exhaustion seeping through, it’s nothing new, unfortunately. Just the product of another late night.

The flash of the red alarm clock by her desk is enough to take her attention away from her current task.

2:47 am.

Again, nothing new. She often finds herself awake at these kinds of hours, toiling over some research paper or some case study that needs to be finished soon.

Tonight, it’s a project proposal regarding a gallery exhibit that’s aimed to target the masses through pieces on sociopolitical awareness.

Tomorrow, it’s a paper on color semantics and their effect on people when used for educational means.

And the day after that, it’s a case study that explores the exposure of a certain community near their area to visual and performance art.

Then after that…well, Dahyun doesn’t keep track of things that far ahead.

With another glance at her laptop, the blinking text cursor stares at her, almost tauntingly, as she rechecks the required word count for this paper.

2000 words. And she’s got around 1500 already done.

That merits some kind of reward, right?

With her skin itching and her teeth chewing on nothing, she puts her laptop on sleep.

Thankfully, there’s no one in her bed tonight to be disturbed. They probably all got the hint when Dahyun came home earlier in the night, alone and silent.

Her door creaks open, and the hallways of the apartment, her apartment, are only lit by the moonlight that twinkles through the windows.

Most of her tenants are nightly creatures, but in an effort to provide their landlord with the peace she needs at this hour, they refrain from making any noise. It’s something she’s grateful for, but it doesn’t really help, not when most nights she’s awake, and little can put her to sleep.

Her psych says it’s the insomnia.

Dahyun thinks it’s just the way the world works nowadays. That, and sleeping pills put a sour taste in her mouth. Literally and figuratively.

Slipping on a pair of shoes and sliding on a coat over her university hoodie and sweatpants, she steps out into the night, not really sure of where she’s headed, but hoping that the walk will be enough to take the energy out of her.

This is what happens most nights for Kim Dahyun, the Lady of the Sanctuary, as she struggles to get a good night’s rest.

And like most nights that this happens, a tenant slips out of their room, if only to wander after their wayward landlord.

Fallen (But not Alone)

Near the apartment, a few blocks away, there’s another apartment complex. It’s abandoned, with ruined rooms and decaying paint, but it’s still structurally sound.

Enough for children to wander into and play out their childhood fantasies in an urban wasteland. Enough for teens to claim a few empty rooms on their own, tagging the walls with graffiti and living it up with their friends. Enough for young adults to stay and take a breather when they need a break from it all.

Which is what Dahyun’s doing.

She’s midway up the stairs to the rooftop when she hears the ever subtle flapping of wings.

Given that there are three beings in the apartment with the capability of supernatural flight, Dahyun’s learned to tell them apart.

This one comes gently, like the falling of feathers onto skin, caring and nurturing. The sound her wings make are barely a sound, if only to let Dahyun know that she is near.

Dahyun says nothing when she hears a second pair of footsteps follow her, up until she opens the door to the roof.

Out here, in the city, the night sky is but a pale image of what it is meant to be, with the light pollution blotting out the stars in the sky, and the clouds of smog that dot the horizon.

Her hand slides into her pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

It is only then that the voice speaks.

“Think I could bum one off you?”

Dahyun doesn’t try to stifle the chuckle that leaves her throat.

“Fallen angels don’t have a predisposition to cancer?”

Jeongyeon sidles up to her, stepping next to where Dahyun’s postured herself, in front of the barrier that overlooks the edge of the building.

As always, the fallen angel has elected to dress simply. Almost like a college student, she’s wearing a simple hoodie folded up to the elbows, comfy pajama pants, and soft sandals. Her short hair rests comfortably on her neck as she smiles at Dahyun.

“Nah. Part of the whole ancient divinity kind of deal.”

Her fingers swipe a cigarette from the open box, as Dahyun flicks on the lighter. The small flame comes up to the stick in Dahyun’s mouth, as she puffs out a cloud of smoke.

With a smooth inhale, the end of Jeongyeon’s cigarette ignites on its own.

“Kind of takes the thrill out of it, doesn’t it?”

Jeongyeon shrugs.

“A little bit. But when you get to my age, there’s little thrill in anything.”

Dahyun’s eyes regard the stars, twinkling despite their distance. Jeongyeon merely follows the movement.

She was the first one Dahyun met, when she originally claimed the apartment. Jeongyeon had been there since the beginning, after all. Many of the ancient wards and glyphs that protected the building we crafted by her own hands.

It’s only been two years since then, since the deed to the apartment had been put in Dahyun’s name, since she moved to the city and found herself in charge of a supernatural sanctuary. It feels longer, like time stretched through syrup, waning and waxing slowly, almost painfully.

But thankfully, Jeongyeon’s been there through it all.

She’ll likely be there after it all too, when the apartment is passed onto another soul.

That’s years from now for Dahyun. But for Jeongyeon, it’s probably the blink of an eye.

“They called me the Angel of the Stars, y’know. Back when I was up there.”

Dahyun turns to her, flicking cigarette ash off the building.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s still what they call me. But back then, it meant a lot more.”

She rarely speaks of a time when her wings were as pure as the brightest day, before she had touched upon the earth, and before she had been bound to it. Dahyun listens.

“When I came into existence, I knew about them. Those countless constellations that dot the sky like holes in paper. They’re magnificent. Countless. Immeasurable. And yet, so far out of reach.”

She extends a hand to the sky, and for a moment, the clouds, the smog, the light, everything that hides the stars away from the world, vanishes.

And for a moment, Dahyun can see them all.

Glittering, sparkling, twinkling.

Light shines from even the farthest of them.

Thousands and upon thousands of stars.

All unique, no two alike.

It’s beautiful.

But it is only for a moment, and the darkness in the sky seeps back in as Jeongyeon chuckles.

“Funny that Father decided to put so much effort into such a vast universe, but decided to center his sights on this planet, no?”

Dahyun agrees.

Why this planet? Why this silly little rock in space, with the prevalent creature being a misshapen, angry, chaotic creature that laid waste to everything in sight? What was so special about humans that God decided to favor them so?

“I questioned it too, once. ‘Why them, Father?’ I asked. ‘What makes them so special?’ And as always, His answer was as cryptic as it is.”

Dahyun turns to Jeongyeon, only to see her already staring at her, a creature so small and insignificant, she could burn in Jeongyeon’s light if she willed it.

But instead, her eyes twinkled, like those faraway stars.

“See for yourself, He said. So I did. Willingly watched as my wings turned black for descending to Earth, and I watched. The Grigori, they called us. Watchers of Mankind.”

Jeongyeon’s hand dances along Dahyun’s wrist, before grasping softly.

“And He was right. There’s no one, nothing out there like you.”

She pulls it up, pressing her lips softly to the back of Dahyun’s palm. In an instant, her weary shoulders feel freer, and her body lifts with a natural energy to it, as if the restraints that shackled her down have been disposed of.

“No one out there like you, Dahyun.” Jeongyeon repeats.

Dahyun says nothing. Because she can say nothing. No words can amount to the wonder, affection, and confusion that Dahyun feels, knowing that such an ancient, divine, and powerful being has fallen at her knees and professed their most ardent of affection towards her.

Jeongyeon is the Angel of Stars, the Burning Light, Kokabiel. A being that willingly fell from heaven, if only to protect and nurture humanity from what darkness lies in the corners of the earth. Her kindness knows no bounds. Her care extends to all. Her love is unadulterated and pure. There is no other being like her in existence.

While she is just Kim Dahyun. A struggling college senior, trying to make it day by day. One amongst many. A dot in a sea of faceless names and nameless faces. What makes her so special? There is nothing unique about Kim Dahyun.

Yet, the way Jeongyeon looks at her, as if every secret known to man is inside her eyes, tells her otherwise.

And if Jeongyeon can see it somehow, maybe that just means Dahyun hasn’t looked hard enough.

Jeongyeon leans forward, and her lips press against Dahyun’s cheek ever so slowly. Her other hand caresses against Dahyun’s face, with so much care and affection.

When she moves away, Dahyun’s breath is stolen away, her lips curving into a helpless smile.

“Let’s go back home.”

Jeongyeon bows, disposing of her cigarette. Their hands don’t separate, all the way down the stairs of the building, to the apartment door.

When they arrive at the apartment, Jeongyeon pulls the sheets away, sinking into Dahyun’s bed, next to her.

They tuck each other in, fond smiles on each other’s faces.

“Good night, Dahyun. I love you.”

Dahyun’s smile twinkles, like a star.

“I love you too, Jeong.”

Wandering (But not Lost)

The park near the apartment is always open. The gates are never locked, and the guard post at the entrance is almost always void of any personnel.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not well taken care of. As far as Dahyun knows, there’s a caretaker here, who cares for the trees, the shrubs, the pathways, the grass, all to make sure that at least a corner of their community is inviting and pleasant.

It’s a small park, but in the morning and the afternoons, there are always people to find here. Active folk that jog around the paths. Elderly that stroll pleasantly amongst the flowers. Young lovers that hide away amongst the bushes.

Dahyun’s seen it all.

Tonight, it is quiet, which Dahyun is thankful for.

She begins her walk, and breathes in the nature around her.

Not too soon after, she hears the padding of paws against grass, and the soft panting of a wolf.

It is distinct to her, how every treading of paws is quiet, how every pant is subtle, how every movement is stealthed.

As if she does not want to be perceived.

Regardless, Dahyun’s hand outstretches next to her, and it’s only a few moments before fur tickles her palm.

“Hi, Momoring.”

There’s a small yip of acknowledgment from the black wolf.

In this form, Momo’s back reaches Dahyun’s chest, and if she cranes her neck upwards, she can lick Dahyun’s face with ease. With a sleek, yet long and muscular body, Dahyun could easily ride Momo’s back. Not that Momo would want her to.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Momo snorts, nudging her snout into Dahyun’s stomach.

“Hah…yeah, a little hypocritical of me.”

Her head tilts, looking up into Dahyun’s eyes.

“It’s the usual. I don’t…”

Dahyun pauses, and sighs.

“…I don’t wanna take the sleeping pills.”

There’s a quiet moment of understanding, where Momo acquiesces and continues to tread alongside her.

Momo has never rejected her. Not once. Through Dahyun’s worst moments since she’s started taking care of the apartment, Momo’s always just been at her side. Quiet, unmoving, but a comfort to behold.

She’s been like that since before Dahyun’s moved in.

“Momoring?”

Momo tilts her head to look back up at Dahyun.

“Can I hold your hand?”

If it were anyone else, Momo would whine quietly, tuck her tail between her legs, refuse by padding away.

But Dahyun rarely asks anything of her.

Momo pauses, only briefly, before her body begins to shift.

The transformation looks and sounds painful. Bones crack to reform, skin stretches and rips to reshape, organs shift and shrink to resize. It’s a gruesome process, one that shouldn’t be witnessed, but it happens in less than five seconds.

In five seconds, Momo stands before Dahyun, her human form still taller than Dahyun’s by a good few inches, messy and ruffled black hair down to her shoulders with bangs that almost cover her eyes. She’s always dressed the same when she shifts, a simple grey tanktop and black shorts. Scars litter her body, rippling whenever she flexes her muscles.

With gleaming silver eyes, Momo takes Dahyun’s hand.

“Is…is this okay?”

Her voice is never hoarse of lack of use, but it is always soft, barely heard over the din of the modern world.

But Dahyun makes the extra effort to hear it.

“Yeah. This is okay.”

A small smile comes to Momo’s face as her fingers swipe across Dahyun’s palm, as if trying to memorize the lines and calluses.

Together, they walk.

Momo keeps many of her lupine tendencies in human form, Dahyun’s realized. Her ears twitch at the slightest of sounds. Her nose perks up at any whisper of a scent. Her eyes track and follow any movement that comes across her attention.

With nothing else to focus on, and nothing else she’d rather focus on, Dahyun looks at Momo, the second longest staying resident of the Sanctuary.

“What was it like?”

Momo’s ear twitches in response, and her eyes turn to Dahyun’s, waiting for elaboration.

“Back then. Before…before everything.”

Momo has always been quiet. Never one to share, never one to open. Of the past two years, Dahyun has only ever learned of one thing from Momo’s past.

Before everything, before the Sanctuary, Momo had no name. She was simple referred to as Lupa, the she-wolf.

“It’s hard…to talk about.”

Momo strains. Her voice, already quiet, drops a decibel lower, barely able to be heard.

“I don’t want to force you.” Dahyun whispers back, as if trying to emulate her tenant. “You can tell me only if you want to.”

Momo’s eyes dart across the park, as if she’s seeing ghosts, shadows, trembles of a time long past, a time that has never been mentioned.

Dahyun is curious. But she would never let that get in the way of Momo’s pain.

“…before, I had a pack.”

She struggles to remember. Not because her memory has failed her, but because she has actively tried to forget.

“Two of them…I had two…pups. Then, they had pups. Many.”

They’ve long since stopped walking. They stand now on the tallest hill in the park, overlooking the rest of its green splendor basked in moonlight.

“Then…”

Flickers of a flame spark in Momo’s eyes, as if seeing something she shouldn’t be seeing. Not again.

“I lost them. All of them.”

With those simple words, uttered so quietly even the wind seemed to yell louder, Dahyun understands.

“I…left. And I—I searched. For something. Anything.”

In Dahyun’s eyes, Momo is still searching. Her eyes dart across the horizon constantly, and her body is always at unease, ready to move at the slightest hint of anything unsavory.

“Then you found Jeongyeon.”

Dahyun finishes, and it takes a moment of stunning silence before Momo nods.

There is more to it. But Dahyun has pushed enough tonight.

“Thank you, Momo.”

Momo doesn’t respond, but Dahyun isn’t expecting her to. She’s already gotten so much from her already, it wouldn’t be right to ask for more. Not when it caused her so much pain.

There are many things that Dahyun doesn’t know about Momo.

But the one thing that she does know is that Momo is her tenant.

And that means she needs to be protected.

Dahyun squeezes her hand.

“Home?”

Momo only nods.

They walk back, treading quietly through the park, back the way they came. Above them, the silvery moon hangs precariously in the sky, motes of light only barely managing to reach them amidst the clouds of the city.

When they get to the gate, Momo stops.

Dahyun turns back to look at her.

Behind Momo, the moon glows almost impossibly, casting a highlight to Momo’s form, making her presence much more ethereal, yet still as silent and as calm as the werewolf usually is.

“I am…okay now.”

The smile that barely protrudes on Momo’s face is telling, and Dahyun can’t help but smile back.

Momo’s hand travels from her side, haltingly, up to Dahyun’s face. Her fingers, scarred and callused, tread so gently across her skin, and Dahyun leans into the touch.

“…mi vita.”

She pulls forward, and Dahyun closes her eyes.

Lips press against her forehead, soft and radiant, like moonlight spilling out against a surface.

When Momo pulls away, it is with the utmost care and reverence, one that Dahyun is honored to receive and return in kind.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

That night, when Dahyun curls into her bed, arms scoop around her middle as a warm, human, body presses against her, the soft rumblings of a she-wolf lulling her to slumber.

Scarred (but not Wounded)

There is a canal that travels near the apartment. The water isn’t dirty by any means, but it would be inadvisable to drink it. By the sides of it are raised narrow walkways, allowing one to peer down into the canal that leads further down the borough.

It’s a shortcut that Dahyun passes through on the regular, on the way to school. It leads directly to a street that has an entrance to the subway system, so Dahyun usually ends up passing through either on the way to school or going back home.

She’s even almost fallen into the canal a few times, too sleepy to even walk properly.

That’s not the case now, as she gently treads on the walkway, no railings to guide her step, only the back walls of the building that close in on this little canal.

Sleep evades her, and for good reason. She’s been struggling with it, as of late. Mustering the energy to get up and work has been quite the feat, if only because of the extra work she’s had to put in because of college.

Now, no matter how much sleep she gets, she always wakes up tired and ready to go back to dreamland.

“My Lady?”

Effortless in her stealth, and perhaps one of two people in the apartment that is able to sneak up on Dahyun, the voice that comes from behind is regal in its chime, noble in its tone.

“Hiya, Satang.”

When she turns around, Sana curtsies, lifting the ends of her dress to announce her arrival. Her dress, more of a nightgown really, is laced with frills, crimson red highlights against a black fabric. Her hair is brushed immaculately, only serving to shine the gorgeous features of this creature of the night.

“It is beyond the hour of rest, my Lady. You should be in bed.”

Sana’s voice, ever so prim and proper, still manages to show the utmost of concern for Dahyun’s wellbeing.

“I know. I just can’t sleep. And the sleeping pills don’t help. I mean, I do fall asleep, but…”

Dahyun closes her eyes, and all she can recall are the flashes of lightning and thunder.

“…I get really bad dreams when I do.”

In an instant a hand is on hers. Grasping tenderly with a feather-like touch. Dahyun barely would have noticed it if she wasn’t so attuned to the care Sana placed into every touch of their skin.

“Then, my Lady, would it be too much to to ask you if I may accompany you on your stroll?”

Dahyun clenches on Sana’s hand, feeling the slight jump in Sana’s skin when she does.

“You don’t need to ask, Satang. It’s never too much from you.”

Sana hesitates, for just the slightest of moments. Then she inclines her head.

“Then I shall trouble you for tonight with my company.”

Dahyun has to chuckle at the stiff formality that always accompanies Sana’s speech.

It’s no surprise, considering it was how people spoke during Sana’s time. And as someone who used to be a noble of that time, a Countess, Sana’s probably never let go of the habit. Not that Dahyun would want her to. It’s one of her endearing traits.

“May I ask, my Lady?”

With Sana’s hand so daintily grasping hers, Dahyun turns to the vampire as they stroll down the canal’s walkways, with Sana on the side by the edge.

“What’s up?”

“What…troubles you in these dreams?”

Dahyun winces at the recollection. They are no ordinary dreams. They’re dreams that don’t make sense, don’t fit in with her current perception of the world.

“It’s different, a lot of the time. But…I always end up dying, somehow.”

It is then that Sana freezes, and with her skin already cool to the touch, it only chills Dahyun more when Sana looks, almost hauntingly at her.

“Your dreams…deal in death, my Lady?”

When Dahyun nods, Sana exhales a shaky sigh, and her grip on Dahyun’s hand loosens just the slightest bit.

“Different kinds. Sometimes, it’s a…a stab wound, or something. Sometimes, I’m burning. Sometimes, I’m poisoned. Other times, I’m…”

Dahyun kicks a pebble into the canal.

“…drowning.”

Sana stops in her tracks.

“Drowning?”

Dahyun doesn’t realize her breaths are just as shaky as Sana’s until she sighs.

“Yeah.”

When she looks up, Sana is staring, silently, into the canal.

“Are you okay?”

Sana immediately shakes her head.

“No, my Lady, I believe it is I that should be asking you that question.”

The one thing that Dahyun doesn’t like to do when it comes to her tenants is to assign stereotypes. But when it comes to Sana , one thing is for certain.

Just like the myths of the old vampires, Sana is absolutely terrified of treading into running water.

“It is…not a fate I would wish upon anyone.”

Dahyun comes to the conclusion immediately.

“You mean you…”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Sana exhales once more, eyes and fingers trembling at the gentle current that runs through the canal.

Dahyun had barely heard of Sana’s past life, before the apartment, but what she did know is that before everything, Sana had died. The life had left her body as cold as it was now.

As for how many times she died, that was another story entirely.

“It was terrifying, my Lady. The water would not stop running, and the current of the river was too strong for my body to resist. I could only be taken by the flow.”

Sana lets go of Dahyun’s hands, and she takes a slow, hesitant step towards the edge of the path, towards the canal.

“They had…they had tied weights to my ankles and wrists. Light enough to not sink me down to the bottom, but…heavy enough that I could not resurface. Iron shackles that…that tore at my skin. Blessed, I believe.”

Sana hugs her arms close to her chest, and despite all of her strength, her power, her impossible constitution, Dahyun can see nothing but a lost, scared young woman.

“I…I do not know how many times I…I passed in that river. Only that every time I awoke, the water would fill my lungs once more, and my end would come even quicker than before.”

Dahyun immediately rushes by Sana’s side, grasping her hand. The pain that suffuses Sana’s being almost courses through the connection of their skin.

“Sana, I…that’s awful.”

Perhaps, if Sana were younger, there would be tears at the recollection of such a brutal memory. But now, hardened by age and time, she can only smile wearily.

“What has happened to me has happened already. There is no turning back time and going back to such a dreadful memory. I can only be glad that I am where I am now.”

Sana turns to her, and in her eyes, Dahyun can see a fraction of that noblewoman who once stood before, before the horrifying fate she was forced to endure.

They called her Countess Carmilla, the first Vampire. But for such an honorable name, the things she had gone through because of it were close to inhumane.

And yet, despite it all, Sana smiles.

“I can only hope that by being by your side, your pain is relieved, my Lady. That you do not even dare to dream of the pain that I have gone through.”

Dahyun has to marvel at how a vampire, who by all rights is stronger, smarter, and more powerful than any other human, bows to her, her adoration for her Lady far exceeding that of anything she’s ever experienced.

“I can only hope my presence is enough for your weariness to subside.”

Dahyun brings her hands up to Sana’s cheeks, caressing them with a vivid disbelief that despite everything that has been done to her, Sana would still willingly choose to live amongst humans, if only to be with the one that she loved.

“It’s enough, Sana. More than enough.”

Sana faintly smiles, hand reaching up to hold Dahyun’s by her cheek.

“I am glad. It is all I can offer.”

“And it’s all I’m going to ask of you.”

Sana leans in, closing her eyes and pressing her lips against Dahyun’s.

Despite the chill of her skin, Dahyun has never felt so warm being in another’s presence like this. And when she pulls away, Dahyun almost chases after that warmth, the warmth that only Sana can provide.

“Shall we retire to our abode?”

Dahyun sighs, before nodding.

In one fell swoop, Sana’s arms scoop Dahyun up, the Lady of the Sanctuary letting out a small shriek of surprise as her hands hook around Sana’s neck.

“Sana! What’re you—”

“Hush, my Lady. Rest your body. I shall lay you to bed.”

Dahyun grumbles, but only for a little bit. It’s not too bad, being pampered by a vampire.

So, as she closes her eyes, she can distantly hear Sana humming a soft tune, one that sings of love and all of its hardships. And then, a soft whisper by the edge of her ear.

“My heart beats for you, my Lady.”

She goes to sleep dreamless.

Invisible (But not Forgotten)

The streets of the neighborhood Dahyun lives in are quite narrow. In the middle of the city, it’s in a nebulous area that’s urbanized enough to be quite populated and crowded, but not quite developed enough to be too heavily gentrified.

As a consequence of that, the buildings that surround the streets are only one to two storeys tall, a mix of apartment buildings and home businesses and restaurants that give the neighborhood a fairly simple feel, like an escape from the modern world while not treading too far from the conveniences of today.

It’s quiet as she walks along the roadside, air still faintly humid from this morning’s rainfall. There are still raindrops that coat the windows of cars parked on the curb, the faint smell of petrichor that lingers in the air, and the puddles that verge on every pothole in the road.

Dahyun stops in front of one such puddle on the sidewalk, a pricking feeling in her neck that raises a suspicion in her.

Her suspicion is confirmed when she catches a glimpse of a pure white dress, stained crimson, in the reflection of the puddle.

“Have you been following me this whole time, Minari?” Dahyun chuckles.

Mina only smiles, a beautiful one, as she walks closer to Dahyun in the reflection.

“You are not quite as sneaky as you believe you are, Lady Dahyun.”

When the apparition speaks, Dahyun can hear her voice, disembodied and echoey, from next to her ear. She turns, on pure habit, to greet her properly, only to see nothing there.

Still, she knows that Mina is with her. And that is enough for her.

“Walk with me?”

Dahyun glances back to the puddle, in time to see Mina bow her head.

“There is nothing I’d rather occupy my time with, Lady Dahyun.”

And with that, Dahyun continues walking forward.

It is an odd request, to ask a ghost to walk with you. Especially considering you wouldn’t be able to perceive their presence, beyond that of a cold chill down your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin.

But it is Mina, and Mina is always there, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Dahyun catches glimpses of her as she walks down the street. In the mirrors of parked cars, the glass of building windows, the shine of metal streetlamps. It’s a great comfort to her, to know that she is not alone.

“Today seemed difficult, Lady Dahyun. You were working more than usual.”

It’s the truth. Today was definitely more tiring than most, and Dahyun would be lying if she said it didn’t weigh her down especially today.

“Tell me about it. Barely knew what I was doing today.”

Mina, in the reflection of a bicycle’s side mirror, tilts her head in confusion.

“How so?”

How? Can Dahyun really explain that in a way that someone else will understand? Still, it’s Mina, and she tries.

“It’s like…okay, imagine your mind has a lot of buttons and levers all over the walls.”

Mina nods, following along through the gleam of a bookstore window.

“Aaaand, each button or lever is a certain thing you need to do. Like, one button is you gotta take a proper shower, or another is you have to head to school to go to class, or…you gotta remember to pull on a lever to actually be able to physically socialize with someone.”

They come across a street crossing, and Dahyun unconsciously holds her hand out for Mina, even though there are no cars at this time of night, and Mina can’t even hold her hand properly.

When Dahyun feels a cold chill around her hand, only then does she cross the street.

“But sometimes, you don’t have the energy for all the buttons and switches and levers. Sometimes you can’t reach the buttons that have to do with work. Or, you forget to pull on the levers that are for eating meals. Or, you can’t find the switches that are for talking to the people you love.”

They reach the other end of the street, and Dahyun sighs, clenching her hand around nothing. The cold feeling intensifies, and she’s reminded she’s not alone.

“And then, there are those days you can’t. The buttons are stuck and won’t go down. The levers are too heavy to pull. The switches don’t do anything.”

She stops, in front of a car’s window, where Mina is standing next to her, hand enclasped around hers and eyes staring intently into her own.

“It’s…it’s like that.”

There’s a moment of silence, a moment where Dahyun is afraid she’s word-vomited too much and Mina doesn’t understand.

“Then…how was today, Lady Dahyun?”

A brief recollection of the day’s events has Dahyun scratching her head.

“Well, it was okay? The buttons and stuff…I could push them and switch them, but it took lots of energy to do. Enough that I was so absorbed in the fact of pushing the button down that I forgot to understand what it was I was pressing.”

It’s then that she realizes that what she’s saying makes absolutely no sense.

“Sorry, this is stupid. Probably makes no sense to you.”

Mina only smiles in the car window.

“It is not what it does for me that matters, Lady Dahyun. If explaining it in such a way that makes sense to you relieves some of the pressure that you experience, I would willingly listen.”

Dahyun’s side gets colder, as Mina steps closer to her, gently hooking her arm through hers.

“Even if I do not completely understand it.”

A chuckle leaves Dahyun’s lips, gratitude rising through her smile.

When she first moved into the apartment, the thought of living with a ghost, unseen unless caught in reflections, she was initially conscious of her surroundings, maybe a tad bit frightened.

But now, she can’t imagine the apartment without her.

“And if ever it should bother you that you may be burdening me with your words, there is nothing to be worried about, Lady Dahyun. I love hearing your voice.”

Mina is quiet. Not because she chooses to be, but because there is much she does not understand, and thus, not much to say.

Of all the tenants of the apartment, Mina is the only one that has no memory of her past.

Mina is Mina. That is all Dahyun, and the other tenants, are sure of.

“It…means a lot to me, Mina. Thank you.”

In the reflection, Mina’s gentle hand reaches out to tuck Dahyun’s hair back. It looks as if the air is moving her hair on its own, but Dahyun can only giggle.

Mina smiles, and presses her lips behind Dahyun’s ear.

It’s cold to the senses, but warm to the heart.

“I shall always listen to you, Lady Dahyun.”

With those words that are barely a whisper, Dahyun sighs, and with her sigh, expels a great amount of weight on her shoulders.

“Let’s go home, then. My legs are tired.”

Dahyun walks the rest of the way home, a lone girl strolling across the streets, with naught but a cold wind blowing after her.

Heavenly (But not Distant)

“Here’s your change.”

Dahyun forces a smile to the clerk behind the counter, probably an overworked and underpaid college student like her, judging by the youthful looks that are marred by eyebags and a grimace.

The bells of the convenience store jingle as she leaves. Outside, the more awake part of her neighborhood bustles, as quietly as it can. The main road crosses through here, and as such, the surrounding street’s littered with a number of 24/7 establishments that never cease to be awake.

Neon lights and brightly lit signs coat the surroundings, even though a car only comes passing through every few minutes. People that cross through here at this time, if they even do, are brisk and focused on their own business.

Despite everything, it’s still quiet, relatively.

She sits down on the curb, thankfully dry and clean, relatively.

As she’s opening a bag of chips, she hears the flapping of wings.

These wings are loud, uncaring of any passersby, and magnificent in their tone, like the thundering of an eagle’s feathers.

“Kim Dahyun.”

The accompanied voice is equally as magnificent.

Dahyun sighs, with exasperation, anticipating the lecture she’s about to receive.

“Hi, Tzu.”

“You are meant to be slumbering at this time.”

Dahyun turns, and there she is, Tzuyu, in all her glory.

A tight and high ponytail secures her long brown hair, her hardened features only enhancing her stoic beauty. As always, she’s dressed like an office worker, with a neat white button down, paired with a black tie, blazer, and pencil skirt. It doesn’t help that the already tall angel is wearing office heels that add a few centimeters.

“I know, I know.”

“That is not a healthy source of substance.”

The attention is directed to the bag of chips in Dahyun’s lap, as well as the bottle of soda next to her.

“…no, no, it’s not.”

“I shall dispose of them immediately.”

“Hold on—”

Before Dahyun can say anything, a blinding light surrounds her snack and her drink, and with a snapping noise that pops her ears, they vanish.

“…great,” Dahyun grumbles. “There goes my money.”

Tzuyu can only blink at the perceived negativity in her tone.

“You are…upset?”

“…y’know what? Yeah, Tzuyu. I am upset.”

Dahyun sees no reason to hide it. Not that she has to. Unfortunately as an angel of the heavens, Tzuyu has no concept of human grievances.

“It is dangerous, Kim Dahyun. If you ingest enough of this type of sustenance, then—”

That only makes Dahyun snap.

“I know, Tzu! I know! I know it’s unhealthy, that’s why I bought it! So that I can sit down, ignore all my problems, and stew in my own misery! So, can you get off my fucking back for once!?”

Dahyun breathes, heavily, as she recollects her breath. She only realizes then that she’s raised her voice, quickly glancing at Tzuyu.

The angel’s eyes are wide, taken aback, mouth slightly open, and she’s taken a step back.

“…God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—fuck…”

Resisting the urge to scream, Dahyun simply curses to herself.

“…I…I apologize.”

Tzuyu looks like a kicked puppy, standing the way she does, head bowed down, and lip quivering. It only punches Dahyun in the gut with a load of guilt.

“No, I…ugh, it’s my fault. I’m sorry, Tzu, I didn’t mean to yell.”

How stupid of her to let loose at Tzuyu, of all people, the one tenant in her apartment that’s more akin to a child than anyone else.

“Can you sit down with me, sweetie?”

Extending an olive branch, Dahyun pats the curb next to her, voice low and soothing.

When she does, she realizes that the bag of chips and the soda have silently appeared back where they used to be. It only makes Dahyun feel guiltier.

Tzuyu hesitates for a moment, a moment that makes Dahyun falter, but eventually she carefully sits down next to Dahyun.

The angel’s staring straight at her, wide, confused eyes that pinch at Dahyun’s heart. Eventually, she can’t take it, and turns her attention back to the snack.

“I was…not aware this was something humans did.”

“…no, it’s…well, maybe other people do it. I know I do it a lot."

Tzuyu tilts her head questioningly.

“You are miserable often?”

The innocent tone of Tzuyu’s voice makes Dahyun stop herself in her tracks. Really, of all people to let know about her anxieties, it had to be the one that didn’t understand the plight of existence.

“I…”

In that moment, she decides not to lie to Tzuyu.

“…yeah, I am, Tzuyu. I’m a pretty miserable person.”

“Why?”

She huffs a sigh.

“Why am I miserable? Geez, that’s a hard question to answer.”

There’s a way that Tzuyu’s questions are posed, so gently innocent and curious, that opens Dahyun up, and makes her want to actually tell the angel about her woes.

“You are the subject of many people’s affections. Your work is produced aptly and satisfactorily. You are not subjected to any sort of poverty. How are you miserable?”

Although, she shouldn’t be surprised. As far as Dahyun remembers, this is Tzuyu’s first time back on earth after centuries of staying in Heaven. Perhaps her definition of what a guardian angel is is a little outdated.

“Well…sometimes, I just am, Tzu. Like, my brain doesn’t work the way I want it to, sometimes. I get really sad all of a sudden. Or, I get really angry. And then it’s hard for me to do things properly. I don’t like that.”

Dahyun sighs. Who knew she’d have to spend her night explaining depression to a cosmic being that could snap her out of existence?

“Yeah, I know I have all of these things. And don’t get me wrong, I love all of that. I love all of you. Which is why I get frustrated when I’m sad, because there’s no reason for me to be sad. I just am.”

Tzuyu stays silent for a moment. A long moment, where Dahyun fears she’s overloaded the angel’s brain.

“So…eating unhealthy food relieves this misery?”

That’s a funny way of putting it, though not entirely untrue.

“Kind of? It’s more of…indulging myself in something I like relieves my mind. Keeps me calmer and stuff.”

Tzuyu nods in understanding, somehow.

“I understand. Then is there anything I would be able to assist you in indulging that would keep you calm?”

Of course. Even though Dahyun is in the worst mood tonight, and she just shouted at her, Tzuyu still has her at the top of her priorities.

When Tzuyu first descended from Heaven itself to declare herself as Dahyun’s guardian angel, she could scarcely believe it. She still remembers how it happened, too.

The ceiling of her apartment had broken in a burst of divine light, and Tzuyu, in her true form, had revealed herself, speaking in tongues that she couldn’t understand.

After yelling and cursing, she had finally reverted to a mortal form, and spoke a language she understood.

Barachiel, she said her name was. The Archangel of Blessings, and the Chief of Guardian Angels herself. Come to protect little ol’ Dahyun, who hurt herself on a daily basis tripping on nothing.

Recalling the memory, Dahyun only smiles.

“…you can indulge me with your presence, Tzu.”

Tzuyu blinks, and it looks as if she’s unaware that that’s an option.

“But you said you needed to indulge in something you like."

“Yeah, and I like you, dummy. Come here.”

Thankfully, Tzuyu obediently scootches closer to Dahyun, like a meek lamb. Dahyun intertwines her fingers with the angel.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, sweetie.”

Getting mad at Tzuyu is like yelling at a puppy, Dahyun’s realized, and she’d never want to do it again.

“No. I must take accountability for my mistakes. I was unaware of your needs and did not take your emotions into account. Your anger is justified.”

Dahyun sighs, leaning her head onto Tzuyu’s shoulder.

“That’s okay. You didn’t know. You were only worried about me.”

“Yes, but still—”

“Tzu, we’re going to be here all night if we keep apologizing to each other. Let’s just enjoy the quiet, okay?”

“…”

Dahyun hums, taking a chip out of the bag and chewing on it slowly.

Having a guardian angel was definitely not on her list of things she thought she’d be doing, but it’s happened, and she’s blessed that of all the angels in Heaven, it was Tzuyu that came down to her.

Another hand closes on top of hers.

“I…care about you very much, Kim Dahyun.”

Tzuyu’s voice is soft, almost as if she’s afraid of Heaven itself hearing it. She strokes Dahyun’s fingers, so gentle and fond, and Dahyun’s heart bursts with emotion.

“I care about you too, Tzu.”

The rest of the night is spent in silence on the curb, city lights illuminating the streets that surround the pair.

The next morning, Dahyun wakes up to a numerous amount of bags in her room, all containing the same chips she ate the night before.

Guilty (But not Irredeemable)

In the neighborhood Dahyun lives in, there is a church.

It’s honestly more of a chapel, really. Small and quaint and quite old, as far as Dahyun knows, there’s no designated minister or clergy that serves in the chapel. In fact, it’s pretty much abandoned, were it not for the few people that pass by every Sunday to pay their respects.

Dahyun herself isn’t religious. Which is a little ironic, because about two years ago, she just confirmed the existence of Heaven, Hell, God, and just about every other religion that existed. A little odd how they managed to coexist, but she doesn’t think too much about it.

Still, the chapel serves as a quiet and calm place to gather her thoughts and calm herself down.

When she enters, the only sources of light are a dull flickering lightbulb by the ceiling, and more than a few candles that are lit against the stone walls of the chapel.

Dahyun takes a seat, admiring the simple carving of Mother Mary into one of the recessions in the wall. Behind the simple altar, a plain wooden cross hangs from the wall.

At least here, she can get some semblance of peace.

Until she hears the flapping of wings. Batlike and eerie, echoing in the small chapel.

“Gotta hand it to you, babe. You pick the weirdest places to hang out.”

Suddenly an arm is around her shoulder, like an obnoxious boyfriend at the movies.

Dahyun rolls her eyes, but still curls up into the arm of the devil.

“Got tired of waiting around the apartment, Nayeonnie?”

Nayeon, the devil herself (or one of them, at least), shrugs. She’s always had a rather odd sense of fashion, with a loose grey sleeveless shirt, and black sweatpants that look comfy and casual. Her blonde hair’s loosely tied into a low ponytail, but strands of her bangs still get in the way of her face, of which the lower half is covered by a face mask.

“Jeong told us to give it a few hours, but I got impatient.”

“Of course, you did.”

Dahyun chuckles. It comes as no surprise to her that the tenants are worried about her. Hell, no matter what she does, they’ll be worried. A warmth in her chest rises when she thinks about them, and she smiles.

“So, what’s up? Why’re you in this arguably tasteless place?”

“I should be asking you that. How are you in here without getting hurt?”

“Babe, look at the state of this place. You really think someone’s in here maintaining the wards?”

Dahyun takes a look around. The pews are dusty, the floor is cracked, and the walls are barely keeping out the nighttime chill.

“Fair point.”

Nayeon only hums, not commenting on the fact that Dahyun’s avoiding the question, much to Dahyun’s gratitude.

“If you were to go back to the start of your day today, would you do anything differently?”

The question makes Dahyun blink. And think. Her day today was rather…uneventful, if you could call it that.

“Uh…I dunno. I didn’t…make any big decisions or anything, so I guess I’d do it the same way.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes, leaning back onto the pew.

“Really. Not a single thing you’d do differently?”

There’s a certain lackadaisical energy that Nayeon carries herself with, one that somehow makes Dahyun relax and feel more at home with herself. It’s comforting having Nayeon around, if she’s not too busy bickering with the two angels that also inhabit the apartment.

“Well, there’s no point in thinking about what you’d do differently when the day is over. I mean, it’s already over. What’re you gonna do?”

Nayeon’s body rumbles with a laugh.

“That’s true.”

Then she quiets down, eerily so.

“…yeah, that’s true.”

A brief moment of silence before she talks again.

“Fuck, I’m really bad at this whole comforting thing.”

Dahyun eyes her questioningly.

“Ugh, Jeong just mentioned you had a hard day, and I thought…well, maybe I can, y’know, comfort you or something, make you feel better. I don’t do anything around the apartment, so I might as well do this, right?”

At that, amusement rises to Dahyun’s cheeks as Nayeon turns her head away, clearly embarrassed. When their eyes meet, Nayeon scowls.

“Don’t give me that.” She warns. But Dahyun is too amused.

“Big bad devil worried about lil ol’ me?”

Red fills Nayeon’s cheeks at the tease as her scowl deepens.

“Knock it off. You’re lucky I’m even here.”

Dahyun understands the words as Nayeon doesn’t say them. She’s always been one of the most concerned about Dahyun’s wellbeing, even if she had trouble showing it. And Dahyun didn’t want to shame her for her shows of vulnerability.

Biting her tongue to stop herself from teasing further, Dahyun simply leans in closer.

“Yeah, I’m very lucky. Thank you, Nayeonnie.”

If possible, Nayeon’s face gets warmer.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Despite the callous tone to her voice, Nayeon leans in as well, closing her arms further around Dahyun and leaning her head on hers.

“Y’know…” Nayeon starts. “I could…I could do that for you, if you needed it. Restart the day? Make it so that…I don’t know, your day is better?”

Eager to please would be one of Nayeon’s main traits, even if she didn’t show it often. And Dahyun’s not surprised by it. In fact, it only reinforces the belief that Nayeon belongs in the apartment.

Even after everything she’s done.

“But then, we wouldn’t be here. Together.”

Nayeon tenses.

“Sometimes, there’s no easy fix to things. If something wrong happens, we just gotta truck through it and take responsibility for it.”

Of all of the inhabitants of the apartment, Nayeon’s probably one of the only ones that desperately needs to stay there, for her own protection.

Hell doesn’t take too kindly to runaway devils, after all.

“Stop saying things that make you seem wiser than me.”

Despite Nayeon rolling her eyes, Dahyun only senses the slight quiver to Nayeon’s arms.

Devils were born out of malice, hatred, and anger. The deepest pits of humanity’s dark side. But remembering how Nayeon looked when she found the apartment, wounded, scarred, and scared for her life, evil is not the first thing that came into Dahyun’s mind. Even when Tzuyu had declared her true identity.

Mephistopheles. The King of the Crossroads herself. The reason why so many humans had fallen to Hell. A devil that dealt in bargains in exchange for people’s souls. And not just any devil. The one deemed the best at damning souls to hell.

And despite that, Dahyun had welcomed her with open arms.

“Well, would you deny that I am?”

“Babe, I can gift people with the power of foresight. I don’t think you’re wiser than me.”

Dahyun chuckles, only snuggling further into Nayeon’s body.

“Plus, you let a devil come into your own apartment and live there. How smart can you be for that?”

And for a moment, Dahyun hears a sliver of it, hidden behind a facade of humor. Just a tiny bit of self-loathing.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

Nayeon says nothing for a bit.

Until she reaches out, placing her hands on both of Dahyun’s cheeks, warm as they are.

Her lips press against the tip of Dahyun’s nose, gentle as if she’ll hurt her if she applies too much pressure.

“…no, I’m…I’m glad you did.”

Dahyun beams when Nayeon pulls away, a fond smile on her face.

“There you go. I’m wiser.”

Nayeon can only roll her eyes, but doesn’t deny anything.

“And you’re wrong, by the way. I think you’re great at comforting.”

It’s only a heartbeat of a moment, but Nayeon’s face stretches into wonder, amazement, and gratitude. Showing for a second the Nayeon that Dahyun knows is lying hidden under all the sarcasm, temperament, and guilt.

“Well, of course I am. Did you expect anything less?”

Then it’s back to regular old infuriating Nayeon.

“Of course you are, Nayeon.”

Dahyun chuckles.

“Let’s go home.”

“If that’s what you want, babe.”

When they head to bed later that night, Dahyun might be imagining it, but Nayeon’s arms cling to her a little tighter than usual.

Cunning (But not Evil)

Of all the places to head to in the middle of the night, a library was the last place Dahyun thought she’d end up in.

The library in their neighborhood was underfunded, underappreciated, and underrated. While they did have a great amount of books that were rare and hard to find, it didn’t mean that people went out of their way to look for the library.

Still, that doesn’t stop Dahyun from opening the doors to the library, thankfully open 24/7.

The librarian barely greets her, half-awake at the counter, as she strides past to her corner of the library.

Her corner of the library is a nook at the very corner of the building, where two bookshelves barely meet, and she can easily slide her small body into the space in between the two shelves. Lowering herself down to the ground, she pulls a random book from the shelf.

It honestly doesn’t really matter what book she reads, because she’s not reading them for the contents. Something to focus her attention on, something that’s not related at all to work, is exactly what she needs right now.

“Pssst.”

There’s a murmur of a voice from next to her.

When she turns to look, there’s a pure white mouse on the bookshelf, peering over to look at the book.

“Whatcha reading?”

Dahyun sighs, before closing the book and looking at the title.

“The Biology of Genies.”

The mouse skitters.

“Genies! Bleh. A bunch of scammers, really. You’re not allowed to ask for more wishes? Lame.”

Dahyun side-eyes the mouse.

“And you’d know a lot about scamming, wouldn’t you, Chaeng?”

The mouse leaps off the shelf, and in a whirlwind of a silhouette forming, Chaeyoung appears in the space the mouse used to be in.

Dressed in a pair of shorts, a simple print tee, and an unzipped jacket, the shapeshifter’s hair is flattened by a baseball cap, blonde hair drifting down her shoulders as she grins.

“Of course! I perfected the art!”

Grinning down at Dahyun, the shapeshifter puffs out her chest. It’s endearing, and Dahyun reaches out to pull Chaeyoung down to the ground. She acquiesces, sitting in front of Dahyun and smiling eagerly.

“So! Mind telling me what you’re doing in this boring place?”

Dahyun tucks the book away, knowing she’s not going to need it to be distracted.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She sighs. “Getting away from it all, I guess.”

Chaeyoung nods in understanding.

“I feel you. Sometimes, you need to get away from it all, y’know? Life’s too short to spend on stressful things!”

Dahyun raises an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you immortal?”

“That’s besides the point! The sentiment is the same. We should do something fun!”

The gleam in Chaeyoung’s eye is enough for Dahyun to immediately decline.

“Chaeyoung, your idea of fun is setting something on fire to scare the locals.”

“But that is fun! No one gets hurt too, it’s magic fire!”

A mischievous woman, Chaeyoung always was the source of some weird happenings in the neighborhood.

“Oh, like the time you made it so that that dude’s face was on the back of his head, just because he didn’t open the door for you?”

“It was temporary!”

“He had an inverted head for six months, Chaeng.”

“Like I said, temporary!”

Dahyun’s just chalked it up to Chaeyoung being out of her environment. She might be one of the most well-adjusted to modern society in the apartment, but that doesn’t mean she necessarily has human sensibilities.

“And what about the time you tried to curse someone’s car to make human-like noises?”

“Dude, that was hilarious!”

“You gave the car sentience on accident!"

“Still hilarious!”

“It drove away from the neighborhood screaming!”

“Okay, that was kinda creepy, I’ll admit. But still funny!”

Then again, considering where Chaeyoung had come from and her true nature, Dahyun shouldn’t be surprised. A god of mischief is bound to get into trouble no matter where she goes.

“Seriously, you need to keep a lower profile. You’re attracting attention to yourself.”

“Oh, I can handle it.”

“Really? And if your family comes looking for you?”

“They can’t do anything! I’m in the Sanctuary!”

“Still, Chaeyoung, you need to be more careful.”

“Ugh, stop nagging on me. You sound like my brother.”

With that, Chaeyoung crosses her arms and turns away, disgruntled and grumbling.

Stubborn and mischievous. A bad combo, especially when it came to Chaeyoung.

When a shapeshifter had shown up on her doorstep, looking for safety, she thought nothing of it.

When it was revealed that that shapeshifter was actually Loki, of the Norse pantheon, that’s when Dahyun had to actually pay attention.

Escaped from her prison and desperately seeking sanctuary, Chaeyoung had run away from her family, after everything they’d done to her. At first, Dahyun thought everything would be fine, but when Chaeyoung had shown her more…difficult tendencies, Dahyun had to adjust.

“Chaeng, you know I’m just worried about you, right?”

Chaeyoung refuses to answer, still turned away.

“It’s just dangerous for you to be putting yourself out there too much. Your family’s still looking for you, and if they were to find the Sanctuary, I’m not sure what I’d be able to do to protect you.”

Finally turning to her, Chaeyoung scowls.

“I don’t need protecting, Dahyun. I’m a god, for crying out loud.”

“And yet, you came to me when you were looking for help.”

There’s nothing Chaeyoung can say to that, so she doesn’t.

“It’s up to you. But I’d hate to see you in danger.”

Dahyun sighs. Chaeyoung is a hard person to deal with, but she would never wish harm on her.

“…ugh, fine.”

Chaeyoung crosses her arms, pouting.

“I’ll keep a low profile. There, are you happy?”

“Yes. Thank you, Chaeyoung.”

Dahyun smiles at the compromise, and leans in to kiss Chaeyoung, at the corner of her lips.

“Good. Because I told Jeongyeon this would only take a few minutes before I brought you back home.”

Chaeyoung stands, and it’s only then that Dahyun realizes.

“Wait…did you bait me into that conversation?”

The trickster god shrugs.

“I knew you’d never want to do anything fun. I figured if you were too busy worrying about me, it would take your mind off of whatever you’re worried about.”

What an underhanded tactic. Yet, it worked, and Dahyun can’t help but be both irritated and thankful at the same time.

“I guess I should know better than to try and argue with a god of mischief.”

Living up to her name, Chaeyoung smiles mischievously, with no small amount of warmth.

“You love me, though.”

She says it so arrogantly, so truthfully, and with such smugness that Dahyun can’t help but roll her eyes, take Chaeyoung’s outstretched hand, and stand up.

“Yes, I do, unfortunately. Let’s head back.”

“Wait, unfortunately?! The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what you think it means, Chaeng. Now stop fussing and let’s go.”

Thankfully, when they get home, Chaeyoung’s too lazy to keep the argument up, and they wind up sleeping in the lounge, a blanket tucked over their resting bodies on the couch.

Cynical (But not Hopeless)

There was a time when Dahyun was just a child, eager to visit her grandmother in the city.

Her grandmother who was the landlord of an apartment, in the middle of a curious neighborhood of the city.

An apartment that seemed to be home to all sorts of people, weird people. They all had their own eccentricities back then, and Dahyun was too young to judge them as anything but odd.

Her grandmother would always tell her to treat them with respect. The groundskeeper of the apartment, a young woman who seemed to perpetually have a broom in hand and a kindly smile. The larger-than-life black dog that never seemed to like her, always growling when she got near. The odd woman who always wore red dresses, sang beautifully, and only seemed to come out when the sun was gone. And many others.

At the time, she thought nothing of it.

Now, though, knowing everything, it seems as though her grandmother had known that the apartment was going to go to her.

When her grandmother had passed, her wish was to be buried in the graveyard in the neighborhood, a small detachment of the park that always seemed to be cared for, despite having no caretaker.

“Hey gramma.”

Which is where Dahyun’s found herself now.

The graveyard’s quiet, as graveyards usually are.

Dahyun comes here often, when there’s too much on her mind, and nothing to distract her.

She puts her hands together, and bows. She’s already exhausted everything she could say to her grandmother, and she was never really one to spend too much time talking about her day.

So, she merely pays her respects, whispers a faint ‘I love you’ and stands quietly.

Then she hears the footsteps behind her. Footsteps that are normally silent, but made obvious enough for her to notice.

“Ji?”

The footsteps come to a halt next to her, and with her body almost materializing out of the shadow, Jihyo stands solemnly.

“It is dangerous this time of night, my love.”

With a red tipped spear in hand, old and worn out but tight fitting leathers, and black hair braided down, Jihyo looks intimidating in the night.

But to Dahyun, Jihyo, with her soft features, round and shining eyes, lips curved into a frown, looks beautiful.

“Hi.”

At Dahyun’s voice, Jihyo sheathes her spear on her back, stepping closer.

“A burial ground is no safe place to be. A necromancer may give rise to the dead that rest here.”

Dahyun shakes her head.

“No, Jeongyeon keeps the wards up around this cemetery. It’s safe.”

Jihyo looks around, with more than a little suspicion, but bows her head in acquiescence.

“As thou wishest.”

Jihyo is from a different time, as they all are, and the question comes to Dahyun a little reluctantly.

“Ji, can I ask you something?"

Jihyo perks up.

“Anything, my love.”

“Well, this is a little sensitive…so I’d understand if you didn’t want to answer, but…”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but Dahyun ends up asking anyway.

“You knew me…like, in a previous life. Right?”

She can’t quite see Jihyo clearly in the darkness of the night, but what little moonlight does illuminate the graveyard shows how Jihyo’s body tenses momentarily.

“…that is correct. I knew thee in all thy lives.”

The concept of reincarnation is still something difficult to grasp for Dahyun, but she accepts anyway.

“What was…I…like?”

Jihyo inhales shakily, and Dahyun doesn’t hesitate to grab her hand.

“No need to answer if it’s difficult. I was just…curious, y’know?”

Jihyo’s eyes drift to the ground, and Dahyun thinks for a moment that she won’t answer.

“…thou wert always a hero.”

A hero?

“In thy first life…the life I first met, thy name was Cu Chulainn.”

The Hero of the Ulster Cycle. Dahyun doesn’t know much about Irish mythology, but the name does ring a bell.

“Thou wert…strong, compassionate, and loving. Thou wouldst fight for all that thou caredst for with everything thou hadst.”

That doesn’t sound like her at all. Now, Dahyun is just a little mouse that runs away from all her problems.

“And then…thou passed from this world fighting.”

Jihyo takes a moment, before looking up at her, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“And thou wouldst continue to do so, for every life that I had met.”

There is such sadness in her voice that it makes Dahyun ache.

“…I’m sorry.”

Jihyo shakes her head.

“No. Thou fought for what thou believedst in. I could never take that from thee.”

Her hand squeezes Jihyo’s.

“Mine only wish…is that I had known thee sooner.”

The amount of dedication that Jihyo has to her is amazing, when in reality Dahyun has done nothing to deserve it. Her previous lives may have been heroes, but the Dahyun of now is no hero.

“Dunno if I can live up to Cu Chulainn of all people. I can barely get through a school day.”

Jihyo suddenly grabs her other hand, startling her.

“No, my love. In this life, thou art the strongest, most compassionate, and most loving that I have ever known thee.”

Her eyes stare into Dahyun’s with such fiery truth that Dahyun has a hard time looking into them. Her chest warms, but her voice cracks.

“But Ji…I’m just…I’m just me.”

It’s then that Jihyo smiles, a rare gift that Dahyun receives.

“Perhaps that is what makes thee strong.”

Then Jihyo leans in, and Dahyun closes her eyes, feeling the spark of electricity that courses through her entire body as their lips meet, spreading warmth from her fingertips down to her toes.

Jihyo pulls away.

“Thy strength always comes from others, my love.”

Then, she kneels, head bowing down in respect and love.

“And if thou ever havest need of mine, thou only needst say the word. Now, and forever.”

Dahyun is stunned, and how could she not be? An immortal witch, basically proposing to her, offering up her strength for hers.

Scáthach may have been a legendary figure in mythology, but to Dahyun, she was just another woman that had her heart.

“God, you have no shame at all. Come on, get up.”

Jihyo stands, albeit reluctantly, looking up at Dahyun with expectation.

“Thanks, Ji. That makes me feel a bit better.”

“I am glad.”

Dahyun takes the hand of an immortal warrior, and smiles at her.

“Let’s head home.”

Tired (But not Resigned)

In all those other nights, Dahyun is accompanied by one of her tenants. Through stories, jokes, and love, she is comforted and kept warm.

This night, however, she is alone.

She passes by the abandoned apartment complex first. The rooftop is nice and peaceful, and the sky is clear, clear enough for her to catch a glimpse of a meteor shower in the far distance. The cigarette in her mouth calms her down, and the smoke is gentle and soothing.

The park is quiet, too. No one strolls along its paths except for her, and she catches a glimpse of a stray dog dozing off under a bush. She smiles, and continues her walk.

The canal’s stream is continuous, and pleasant white noise to her ears. Kicking pebbles into its stream, she squeals in delight when a particularly rapid current splashes her. It’s cool and awakening to the senses.

Strolling by the sidewalk, the streets are filled with a liminal feeling that secures her to the ground, as she runs through the roads with a certain carefree feeling rushing through her veins.

As she gets peckish, chips at the local convenience store are enough for her to sit down by the curb, and watch the neon lights buzz. Cars pass by with their gleaming headlights, and Dahyun takes a few pictures.

When she needs to rest, she does so at the chapel. She takes her time at each image of a saintly figure, lighting candles and wiping away grime and dirt with respect.

The library, open as always, is welcome to her, and she spends her time leafing through page after page of obscure, supernatural information that opens her mind to new possibilities.

At the graveyard, Dahyun lies down next to her grandmother’s grave. She talks, unlike before, to her grandmother, of her tiring day and her stressful work. It takes a while, but at the end of it all she’s more than a little relieved.

Then, when the sun is about to rise, Dahyun heads home.

A fulfilling night, one that’s successfully taken her mind off of everything.

But, a little empty.

Like something’s missing.

She sighs as she fits the key into the apartment door. When she twists it open, she’s greeted by a tall, imposing figure.

“Kim Dahyun.” It rumbles.

Dahyun smiles fondly. “Hi, Tzu.”

“Jeez, Tzu, you’re gonna scare the poor girl.”

Jeongyeon comes closing in, apron tied around her usual ensemble, eyebrows furrowed as she pulls Tzuyu away.

“She was gone for an extended amount of time.”

“Yes, yes, we were all worried.”

Jeongyeon smiles at Dahyun, from where she’s ushering Tzuyu off to the side.

“I made you some soup if you’re hungry. Healthy soup, by the way, not like those chips you ate.”

Dahyun has the dignity to be embarrassed, scratching the back of her head.

“Hey, let her live a little. Nothing wrong with pigging out every now and then.”

Nayeon, relaxing on one of the couches in the entry room of the apartment, winks at her.

“If you had your way, Nayeon, she’d always be eating unhealthily.”

“I mean, I could always just gift her with eternal youth, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“Nay!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t.”

Dahyun feels the smile in her heart before it grows on her face.

She spends some time eating Jeongyeon’s soup, trying to fend off Tzuyu’s overbearing questions, and rolling her eyes at Nayeon’s sardonic humor.

As she’s stepping up the stairs, a ghostly white visage appears in one of the mirrors she’s strategically placed throughout the apartment.

“Lady Dahyun.”

There is an exasperated look on her face, and it’s one Dahyun is used to.

“Did Chaeyoung do something again?”

The ghost nods wearily.

A few moments later, Dahyun has a guinea pig in her hands, moving away from one of the apartment rooms.

“Hey! This is assault! Get your hands off my soft, pudgy, body!”

Mina sighs from wherever she is.

“You can always change back whenever you deem fit, Lady Chaeyoung.”

“Well, I like this form! And I like it when Dahyun carries me!”

“Then why are you complaining?”

After putting a reluctant Chaeyoung in Mina’s room, Dahyun strides through the hall, until the murmur of a soft song catches her attention.

Peering into one of the rooms, she smiles.

A large wolf’s head is perched upon a pale lady’s lap, the vampire humming softly as she gently drags her fingers through the wolf’s fur. The wolf rumbles in pleasure.

Sana looks up, pausing momentarily in her song. She smiles at Dahyun.

“Good evening, my lady.”

Momo opens one lazy eye, before exhaling through her nostrils in acknowledgment.

“I hope you had a lovely stroll.” Sana greets.

Dahyun smiles in return.

“I did, thank you, Satang.”

Momo lets out a whine of disappointment.

“Alright, alright.”

Sana chuckles, then continues to stroke through her fur, continuing her song.

When Dahyun gets up to her room, the shadows tremble slightly as a figure materializes in the corner of her bedroom.

“Was thine evening walk pleasant, my love?”

“…it was okay. A little empty.”

“Empty?”

“Something was missing.”

“Whatever could that be?”

Dahyun looks around her room, spotting the closed laptop and the papers strewn about her desk. From around the apartment, voices filter through faintly.

“Tzu, it’s just soup, it can’t hurt you!”

“It was of a heat that is dangerous to a mortal body.”

“Didn’t know you made your soup with hellfire, Jeong.”

“Mina, I swear, you’re such a buzzkill!”

“…if you get trapped in another divine seal, I’m not helping you.”

“Wait, I was kidding!”

“Lady Momo, I apologize, but would you be able to adjust your head? I cannot feel my legs.”

“Woof!”

Then, she smiles.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Let’s go to bed, Ji.”

Dahyun closes her eyes with Jihyo’s arms around her, and as consciousness fades, she idly wonders why she’s no longer tired.

[dailyanarchistposts]

G.2.4 What other reasons do individualists give for rejecting communist-anarchism?

The other differences are not as major. Some individualist anarchists took umbrage because the communist-anarchists predicted that an anarchist society would take a communal form, so prescribing the future development of a free society in potentially authoritarian ways. As James Martin summarised, it was Tucker’s “belief that ‘in all subsequent social co-operation no manner of organisation or combination whatsoever shall be binding upon any individual without his consent,’ and to decide in advance upon a communal structure violated this maxim from the start.” [Men Against the State, p. 222] Others took umbrage because the communist-anarchists refused to spell out in sufficient detail exactly how their vision would work.

Communist-anarchists reply in four main ways. Firstly, the individualist anarchists themselves predicted roughly how they thought a free society would look and function, namely one on individual ownership of production based around mutual banks. Secondly, communist-anarchists presented any vision as one which was consistent with libertarian principles, i.e., their suggestions for a free society was based on thinking about the implication of anarchist principles in real life. There seemed little point in advocating anarchism if any future society would be marked by authority. To not discuss how a free society could work would result in authoritarian solutions being imposed (see section I.2.1). Thirdly, they were at pains to link the institutions of a free society to those already being generated within capitalism but in opposition to its hierarchical nature (see section I.2.3). Fourthly, presenting more than a sketch would be authoritarian as it is up to a free people to create their own society and solve their problems themselves (see section I.2).

Clearly, A. H. Simpson was wrong when he asserted that communist-anarchists argued thusly: “Abolish private property by instituting compulsory Communism, and the State will go.” No communist-anarchist has ever argued for compulsory communism. Somewhat ironically, Simpson went on to argue that “difference between Communism and Anarchy is plainly observable in their methods. Abolish the State . .. that bulwark of the robber system … says the Anarchist. Abolish private property, the source of all evil and injustice, parent of the State, says the Communist.” [The Individualist Anarchists, p. 92] Yet communist-anarchists do not subscribe to the position of abolishing private property first, then the state. As we note when refuting the opposite assertion by Marxists in section H.2.4, anarchists like Kropotkin and Malatesta followed Bakunin in arguing that both needed to be abolished at the same time. Kropotkin, for example, did not divide economic and political issues, for him it was a case of “the political and economic principles of Anarchism.” [Anarchism, p. 159]

This unity of economic and political aspects of anarchism exists within Individualist Anarchism too, but it is hidden by the unfortunately tendency of its supporters of discussing certain forms of private property as state enforced monopolies. So to a large degree many of the disagreements between the two schools of anarchism were rooted in semantics. Thus we find William Bailie arguing that the anarchist-communist “assumption that rent and interest are due to private property is not proven” as “both rent and interest are the result of monopoly, of restricted individual liberty.” [Liberty, no. 261, p. 1] In other words, rent is caused because the state enforces property rights which the individualist anarchists disagree with. Thus when individualist anarchists argue they seek to get rid of the state, they also mean the end of capitalist property rights (particularly in land). That this can lead to confusion is obvious as, in the usual sense of the word, rent is caused by private property. The communists-anarchists, in contrast, generally used the term “private property” and “property” in the same way that Proudhon used it in 1840, namely property which allows its owner to exploit the labour of another. As such, they had no problem with those who laboured by themselves on their own property.

The lack of a market in communist-anarchism led some individualist anarchists like William Bailie to argue that it “ignores the necessity for any machinery to adjust economic activities to their ends.” Either its supporters “exalt a chaotic and unbalanced condition” or they will produce an “insufferable hierarchy.” [The Individualist Anarchists, p. 116] Thus, to use modern terms, either communist-anarchists embrace central planning or their system simply cannot produce goods to meet demand with over-production of unwanted goods and under-production of desired ones. Needless to say, communist-anarchists argue that it is possible to bring the demand and production of goods into line without requiring centralised planning (which would be inefficient and a dire threat to individual freedom — Kropotkin’s arguments against state capitalism were proved right in Soviet Russia). It would require a system of horizontal links between self-managed workplaces and the transmission of appropriate information to make informed decisions (see section I for a discussion of some possibilities).

Another objection to communist-anarchism was raised by Proudhon during his debates with the state communists of his time who also raised the slogan “from each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs.” For Proudhon, wages in the sense of payment for labour would still exist in a anarchist society. This was because of two main reasons. Firstly, rewarding labour for its actual work done would be a great incentive in ensuring that it was efficiently done and meet the consumers requirements. Secondly, he considered communism as being potentially authoritarian in that society would determine what an individual should contribute and consume. As he put it:

“Who then shall determine the capacity? who shall be the judge of the needs? “You say that my capacity is 100: I maintain that it is only 90. You add that my needs are 90: I affirm that they are 100. There is a difference between us of twenty upon needs and capacity. It is, in other words, the well-known debate between demand and supply. Who shall judge between the society and me? “If the society persists, despite my protests, I resign from it, and that is all there is to it. The society comes to an end from lack of associates. “If, having recourse to force, the society undertakes to compel me; if it demands from me sacrifice and devotion, I say to it: Hypocrite! you promised to deliver me from being plundered by capital and power; and now, in the name of equality and fraternity, in your turn, you plunder me. Formerly, in order to rob me, they exaggerated my capacity and minimised my needs. They said that products cost me so little, that I needed so little to live! You are doing the same thing. What difference is there then between fraternity and the wage system?” [The General Idea of the Revolution, pp. 96–7]

Yet even here Proudhon shows the libertarian communist solution to this possible problem, namely free association. If there were a conflict between individuals within a free commune in terms of their contributions and consumption then the individual is free to leave (and, conversely, the commune is free to expel an individual). Said individuals can seek another communist commune and join it or, conversely, work for themselves in their present location. Ultimately, free association means the freedom not to associate and libertarian communism is rooted in that truism. Thus, communist-anarchists would agree with the French anarchism when he “conclude[d] that a single association can never include all the workmen in one industry, nor all industrial corporations, nor, a fortiori, a nation of 36 millions of men; therefore that the principle of association does not offer the required solution.” [Op. Cit., p. 85] Like Proudhon, communist-anarchists base their anarchism on federations of associations and communes, with these federations and associations formed as and when they were required for joint activity. Thus the federation of communist communes and workplaces would play a similar role as Proudhon’s “agro-industrial federation,” namely to end “wage labour or economic servitude” and “to protect” against “capitalist and financial feudalism, both within them and from the outside” as well as ensuring “increasing equality” and the “application of application on the largest possible scale of the principles of mutualism” and “economic solidarity.” [The Principle of Federation, p. 70 and p. 71]

The key difference, of course, between Proudhon’s mutualism and Kropotkin’s communism was (as latter stressed) that the former supported payment for labour in terms of money or labour-cheques while the latter argued that this would be a modification of the wages system rather than its total abolition. Yet by divorcing payment for labour from its consumption, Proudhon argued that communism, like monopoly, made it difficult to determine exactly the costs involved in producing goods. The French anarchist argued that there was no way of knowing the real cost of anything produced outside the market. This could be seen from monopolies within capitalism:

“How much does the tobacco sold by the administration cost? How much is it worth? You can answer the first of these questions: you need only call at the first tobacco shop you see. But you can tell me nothing about the second, because you have no standard of comparison and are forbidden to verify by experiment the items of cost of administration…. Therefore the tobacco business, made into a monopoly, necessarily costs society more than it brings in; it is an industry which, instead of subsisting by its own product, lives by subsidies.” [System of Economical Contradictions, pp. 232–3]

Communist-anarchists reply by noting that the price of something is not independent of the degree of monopoly of an industry and so natural barriers to competition can skew prices. Equally, competition can be a race to the bottom and that competitors can undermine their own working conditions and enjoyment of life in order to gain an advantage (or, more often, simply survive) on the market. As we argue in section I.1.3, markets have a tendency to undermine equality and solidarity and, over time, erode the basis of a free society.

As an aside, Proudhon’s argument has obvious similarities with von Mises’ much later attack on communism which is usually called the “socialist calculation argument” (see section I.1.1). As discussed in section I.1.2, von Mises’ argument was question begging in the extreme and our critique of that applies equally to Proudhon’s claims. As such, communist-anarchists argue that market prices usually do not reflect the real costs (in terms of their effects on individuals, society and the planet’s ecology) — even those prices generated by non-capitalist markets. Moreover, due to Proudhon’s opposition to rent and interest, his own argument could be turned against mutualism and individualist anarchism as followers of von Mises have done. Without rent and interest, they argue, there is no way of identifying how much land or credit is worth and so resource use will be inefficient. Of course, this assumes that capitalist definitions of efficiency and “cost” are the only valid ones which is not the case. So, arguing that markets are required to correctly value goods and services is a two-edged sword, argue communist-anarchists.

One of the joys of Proudhon is that he provides material to critique both Kropotkin’s communist-anarchism and Tucker’s individualist anarchism for while opposed to communism he was equally opposed to wage labour, as we indicate in section G.4.2 (as such, those who quote Proudhon’s attacks on communism but fail to note his attacks on wage slavery are extremely dishonest). Under mutualism, there would not be wage labour. Rather than employers paying wages to workers, workers would form co-operatives and pay themselves a share of the income they collectively produced. As Robert Graham put it, ”[t]hat both Tucker and Bakunin could claim Proudhon as their own illustrates the inherent ambiguity and elusiveness of his thought … With his death, that synthesis broke down into its conflicting parts.” [“Introduction”, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, The General idea of the Revolution, p. xxxi] Social anarchism emphasised the self-management, associational and federalist aspects of Proudhon’s ideas along with his critique of private property while individualist anarchism tended to stress his support for possession, “wages” (i.e., labour income), competition and markets.

[transgenderer]

On the Norse, Indic, and Iranian stories of the origin of the world from the dismembered bodies of a god, from "The Indo-European Myth of Creation", Lincoln, 1975

The general resemblance among these texts is certainly quite clear. In all of them a primordial being is killed and dismembered, and from his body the cosmos is fashioned.28 Yet, there are differences in each account (beyond the petty difference that the body-world homologies do not always match up), and it is evident that certain transformations have taken place within each culture and within each text. The dismemberment is performed by gods intwo of the accounts and by a demon in the third. The victim is accompanied by an ox in one text, a cow in another, and has no companion in the third. The act is treated as a sacrifice once, but as murder twice. Most perplexingly, the names of the victims bear no resemblance to one another. The primordial victim is Ymir in Scandinavia, Gayomart in Iran, and Purusa in India. The question must arise: Are these figures who are structurally so similar really related in any historical way ?

The answer is certainly yes, and it is here that the Old Norse version best preserves the P-I-E heritage. Old Norse Ymir, as Guintert first demonstrated, is derived from Proto-Germanic *yumlyaz, which in turn is derived from P-I-E *ya2m(i)y6s (*Ymr[mi]y6s, as it might be written in a more modern orthography), a term intimately related to P-I-E *yemo- "twin."29 This word corresponds to Lettishjumis, "double fruit"; Middle Irish emuin, "twin"; Latin geminus, "twin"; Avestan yama, "twin"; and, most significantly, to the proper names Avestan Yima = Sanskrit Yama, which literally signify "twin" as well.30 Based on this phonological and semantic correspondence, we hypothesize that there was originally a mythic correspondence and that all are derived from a figure in the P-I-E myth.

Iranian evidence supports this hypothesis, for behind the figure of Gay6mart we may discern the older figure of Yima.3' The way in which this transformation took place is somewhat complex. First, it must be recognized that in pre-Zoroastrian Iran, Yima was not merely king of the golden age, but, as Christensen so skillfully demonstrated, was regarded as first king, first mortal, and first to die.32 This tradition, however, was rejected by Zarathustra, who soundly condemns Yima the only time that he mentions him (Yasna 32.8). There is one verse, however, in which Zarathustra does make an oblique reference to the myth of creation by sacrifice: YASNA 30.4 And when these two spirits first met [the good and evil spirits], they instituted Life (gaem) and non-life, and how life should be at the end.33 Moreover, these two spirits are said to have "appeared in the beginning as two twins (yjmd) in a dream."34

In these verses several eminent Iranists have recognized that Zarathustra attempted to deal with an earlier myth of creation which he found objectionable but which he could not completely ignore.35 Thus, he philosophized the myth, changing its characters into abstract entities, but retaining the essential mythologem that the first living man died at the creation of the world. Ironically, however, a re-mythologization of Zarathustra's version took place in later centuries. In the verse cited above, the Avestan term translated "life" is gaya-, which in the Younger Avesta is often combined with the term maratan-, "mortal"36 to form the name given the first mortal man, who was created and died at the beginning of the world-Gaya maratan.37 This name comes into the Pahlavi (Middle Persian) of our Bundahisn text as Gayomart. Thus, the development is Middle Persian Gayomart < Younger Avestan Gaya maratan < Gathic Avestan gaya < Pre-Zoroaster Yima

In India, too, it seems that the figure of Yama lies behind the Purusa of the Vedic hymn. Most scholars have agreed that Yama is another First Man/First King figure and have also noted that he is the first to die, thus establishing the realm of the dead.45 Several scholars, however, have been willing to go somewhat further and equate his freely chosen death and his abandonment or transcendence (< Skt. pra-Vric-) of his body as in RV 10.13.4 with the sacrifice in Purusa in RV 10.90.46 As Dandekar, who most effectively argued the case, put it, the Purusasuikta is merely a more detailed setting of the Yama myth of RV 10.13.4.47 In light of the comparison to Ymir and Yima, I am inclined to agree. The name Purusa literally means "Man" and seems to be a title born of philosophical and theological speculation. Such speculation changed this figure's name again in the Brahmanas, as Purusa, "Man," became Prajapati, "Lord of Creatures,' but the under-lying story is still the same.48 The morphological and structural features convince us that this is the same figure encountered in Iran and Scandinavia-*Yenlo, "Twin"-first king49 and first sacrificial victim, from whose body the world was made.

honestly the purusa connection seems kind of dubious (although i mean, yama being a first-man figure and purusa just meaning "man" does seem like a strong association) but i love how elaborate and yet imo totally plausible the yima->gayomart transformation is

also if youre curious, lincoln argues that dismembering-god-to-make-the-world stories arent independent even though we see an example that should be independent in china, he argues that's influence from india. he also alludes to a similar polynesian and south american myth which must be independent but he doesnt give any details and i cant find any so no idea whats going on there

[muckmagister]

Your imaginary number explanation only works on paper and not in a physical space. That's kind of what pisses me off about math - so much of it just isn't physically real and most of it is just used for tracking wealth/money/other capitalist bullshit. Math should be about efficient ways to count and measure, not arbitrary ways to put people into debt or make rich people seem even richer so they can scam other rich people.

I also think this is why so much of our understanding of physics is flawed - our counting system has less to do with the real world and more to do with social structures, so attempting to apply it to physics doesn't work.

I just. Maybe I'm just out of the loop bc I genuinely cannot process simple math equations but I really feel the reason for that is bc it's not grounded in a sense of reality OR in a mindset I can understand. Idk I'm autisitc and also there's a likely chance I have discalculia or some other learning disability/disorder that impairs math comprehension but seeing talk abt these kinds of math problem really make me think that I'm not the problem here.

enter at your own risk, you've been warned

ok oouuh i- Well. I think you seem to have a pretty cynical outlook on maths. To say that it's all about putting people into debt and letting rich people scam each other is just. That baffles me, to be honest. It's like saying language is all about constructing the most brutal insults possible and telling people to kill themselves. Like yeah a lot of people use language to do just that but that's just one tiny part of it. Maths isn't just about efficient ways to count and measure either, by the way, it's its own language, its own art form, a vast mountainous landscape with peaks we've yet to climb and valleys we've yet to discover. Forgive me for getting poetic but maths just isn't that... small, y'know?

I also disagree that this is why our understanding of physics is flawed. To be clear: It's flawed because we're idiots. We're idiots figuring out how our new toy works by throwing it around and pulling and squishing it randomly, because it didn't come with a manual and we have no idea what we're doing. Also, mathematics isn't our way of understanding physics, it's our way of building models that try and predict what would happen in certain circumstances. That might just sounds like I'm being semantic, but I think it's important to point out that nobody actually, truly, has any idea how physics really works. In fact, no ones ever even seen physics, when we make observations about the physical world, we're just seeing what physics does. So we use maths to make models that predict what we expect to see in our observations, and then we use those models and our observations together to try and infer the nature of reality. But we're all just guessing at that point, really.

So with all that in mind, to say that our understanding of physics would improve if only we had a better suited system of mathematics is. Well, I disagree. I also think that there isn't just some "better" system of mathematics out there waiting for us to discover it. I'm reminded of Gödel's incompleteness theorem. I encourage you to look it up on your own if you want, but basically, in any reasonable mathematical system there will always be true statements that cannot be proved. So there certainly are other systems of maths and we have looked into them. They do have their own upsides and downsides depending on how they work, but to say one system is better than another is, well, if I may use the language analogy again, it's like saying one language is better than another, when really it's just different sets of words and rules for us to say the same sentences.

So when it comes back to our current system of mathematics, it's not better or worse than any other system except for how widespread it is, just like how most of the world uses metric, a standardised system of maths makes it easy for anyone to communicate the same mathematical ideas to one another. But there are other systems of mathematics that become useful tools in more niche areas of maths for people to talk and understand those difficult topics.

With all that being said now too, I don't think our current system of mathematics, or any other system really, inherently has any less to do with the real world than it does with our social structures, or anything else for that matter. In fact, I don't think any system of mathematics inherently has anything to do with anything except itself. People didn't invent maths, we discovered it and then we invented ways of talking about what we learned. But numbers are their own thing. Their own abstract metaphysical objects. And they'd exist whether there was anything alive to know about them or not. Saying that there's a special way to use them to understand physics to me implies that numbers are what physics is, in a way, but like I said we have no idea what physics is. It just so happens that numbers are an incredibly useful way of talking about what physics looks like. But it's also incredibly useful to talk about our social structures. Frankly we're incredibly lucky that we've been able to saddle these concepts from abstract space, that our minds are powerful enough to reach out beyond the real to give us these tools of ideation that we can use for so many things.

You said that maths difficult for you because "it's not grounded in a sense of reality OR in a mindset I can understand" and I think those two things are the same problem in a way. I know I just did some big talk about how maths is really this abstract thing that isn't inherently connected to the real world, but we're all still the idiots I said we were, so a lot of maths does need to get grounded in reality for it to be reasonably comprehensible. And being able to ground a mathematical concept is often about shifting your mindset until you can see it at an angle you understand.

Like, you also said that my explanation only works on paper and not in a physical space, and I actually disagree! But I do think I get where you're coming from. I suspect you're thinking about numbers like physical objects, as in, the number 1 is like having 1 apple. So well of course, negative numbers kinda make sense right? I mean you can't just have less than 1 apple but you can get an apple taken away. But when you introduce i, it's like. What does that even mean? And you'd be right that it really doesn't make sense when you think of numbers as objects like that. But numbers aren't physical objects, we're just taught like that as kids, 1 apple, 2 bananas, 3 oranges, because they want us to build the association between the symbols (1, 2, 3) and the idea of that amount of something, of that value, of 1 being 1 apple or 1 step. But that's it, 1 isn't the apple, or the step, it's the idea of "oneness" or "singleness" and 2 is the idea of "doubleness", 3 is "tripleness" etc. It's difficult to even describe the idea of "singleness" without using physical metaphors, which is why we rarely ever do think about numbers in their purely abstract forms. And it's of course why we teach kids with apples and bananas, and why we go on to teach addition and subtraction by giving them more and taking them away. Even though, likewise, addition and subtraction isn't really about giving and taking. Now, I'm not saying you can't or shouldn't think about numbers as physical objects, or addition and subtraction as giving and taking. I'm just saying those are the initial ways we ground maths in reality in order to teach the concepts in the first place. And for a lot of people, this understanding of numbers is all they need for the rest of their lives. But the truth is there are different ways of understanding numbers and the operations we perform on them, and shifting your mindset on how these things work is an important part of being able to grasp more complex concepts, like imaginary numbers.

Finally, I said my explanation does work in physical space, how is that? Well if your understanding of numbers is that they're like objects, and that addition and subtraction is like giving and taking, then it doesn't work in physical space, no. What you need to do is think about numbers as a distance, and think about addition and subtraction not as giving and taking, but instead about direction. So what that means is that numbers don't tell you how much of thing you have, they tell you how far away from zero you are. Now when people talk about the number 1, what they usually mean is positive 1, like 1 = 0+1. (We just don't always draw the addition symbol out front.) So now if 1 is the distance away from 0, then positive + is the direction you travelled away from zero in. And when you write -1, the negative symbol isn't saying you have an "opposite 1" or that you're "taking 1 away", it's that you're travelling a distance of 1 in the negative direction, which is exactly the opposite of the positive direction. On a number line, this idea is pretty easy to comprehend since you only have two directions you can travel.

However, i is defined as being the square root of -1, which doesn't make much sense if you stick with the traditional understanding of what a square roots is, since it seems impossible to take the square root of a negative number. You can take take the square roots of +1, which are just 1 and -1, since obviously 1*1 and -1*-1 both equal 1. I'd also like to point out that taking the square root of any positive number works like this, you always get two solutions which are both the same distance away from zero in opposite directions.

(Square roots and square numbers are usually taught using, well, squares, introducing exponent notation where, say, 5*5 = 5² = 25, which is explained visually with how a square of side lengths 5 naturally has an area of 25, then that the square root is the opposite of this process and that 5 = √25. As you may expect, there are other ways of defining the notion of a "square" and "square root", and I'm sure that some of those ways can help make the existence of imaginary numbers become much more obvious, it's just, to be completely honest I don't know them.)

Now, if you do try to take the square root of a -1 anyway, and you just don't accept that it looks impossible, you'll have to invent a new number that explicitly has the property of squaring into -1, and since this new number won't be able to fit on the number line what ends up happening is that the number line gets extended into the second dimension, as in, it used to be a number line but now its a number plane. And if this sounds ridiculous let me remind you, this isn't the first time we've invented new numbers and extended the number line, again: negative numbers didn't always exist.

Also, remember how I said +1 and -1 are both square roots of +1? well +1i and -1i (or just +i and -i) are both the square roots of -1, and as you can see, they also sit a distance of 1 away from zero in opposite directions. In fact, √16 = +4 and -4, and in the same way the √(-16) = +4i and -4i. I know this likely won't really be able to help you understand, but hopefully it's nice to see how it is self consistent in a way and that it does kinda help to think about numbers like that.

or anything useful at least- i'm no teacher i just like talking about this stuff:> fhsdkjhs

[faint-petrichor]

hi! Saw ur tags on that abolition and communism post and I was wondering if u could explain ur tags a bit? I thought police serve to violently protect the material interests and property of the bourgeoise (vs “protecting people”). Wouldn’t working towards communism mean abolishing the police then?

(Sry if misunderstanding… note sure if a backflip is positive or negative).

i can give you something to get you started. a full exploration of this subject takes much longer, and frankly i am not currently well-read enough on this particular subject matter to go into great depth. with that said:

all institutions have a class character, and police are not exempt from this. with that in mind, police under capitalist states exist to protect the interests of the bourgeois class. this is why in states like the US, police exist to protect property and as arms of state terrorism to keep exploited populations "in line".

in the absence of that class character, police naturally take on a much different function, closer to what police are romanticized to do but never actually perform in capitalist states. they tend to be much smaller institutions with far less access to violence. (and simply less need to perform it)

at a certain point, it becomes a semantic question. are the police of china or cuba really the same as the police in the united states? would "abolishing the police" in favor of neighborhood regulatory committees really be abolishing policing, or would it be creating a new policing institution with a different membership and class character?

just like a dotp transforms the character of the state (a social institution that regulates violence!) into one that serves the proletariat, all social institutions under it similarly follow suit. rather than merely getting rid of everything deemed ontologically evil for its reactionary role under a capitalist state, marxists transform and advance existing social technology for progressive ends, including police. just like the state of a socialist nation bears little in recognition to its capitalist counterparts in terms of its function, so do their police.

now, say a country like the US had a socialist revolution. would its current police continue to be the police under the revolutionary government? almost certainly not. in the event of a hypothetical revolutionary war, the current police in the US would take the role of counter-militants. and even if it didn't, the existing police would resign or be purged for their reactionary character. from there on a new institution would be built, likely taking greater inspiration from other socialist nations than the one it has succeeded, in accordance with the conditions of the time. for example, heavy structural reforms which consider the legacy of slavery, mass incarceration, deportation and settler-colonialism--but going into this quickly becomes a different and more specific conversation, so i'll leave this here. i hope that helps

[bloody-wonder]

2023 reading wrap up

sort sort sort i love to arbitrarily sort😌📚

*i decided to get even more creative this time and named the tiers after different things from the books featured on this list. see explanation below🙃 **the following series i read in full are represented only by the first book: the aurelian cycle, the radiant emperor, the winnowing flame, sorcery of thorns, monk & robot, lilywhite boys

so in 2023 my reading was heavily curated: i challenged myself to finish at least 5 series i started a long time ago, to start at least 5 new ones, to read at least 10 classics, at least 5 dark academia books, at least 10 books not in english and to re-read at least 5 books i've been meaning to re-read for some time - and i did well at all of these challenges except for the last two (missed the goal by one book in each case). it's still difficult for me to find books in languages i can read other than english which i actually want to read as well as prioritizing re-reads over new exciting books😒🤷‍♀️

but overall i would say this was a good way to organize my reading year. i like planning, i like structure, i like crossing things off different lists so completing these challenges gave me a great sense of accomplishment. but more importantly, i feel like they achieved their respective purpose: i returned to stories i fell in love with years ago and finally followed some of those journeys to their end. i discovered new fun journeys - some of them so exciting i had to finish the series immediately and some that will last me for a few more years to come. i finally feel like i trained my classics brain muscle back to its glory days and i can't express how pleasantly surprised i am to see one of those dusty tomes i read by the dozen as a teen on my top 5 again. i rediscovered my love for dark academia. i did read books in different languages and some of them ended up quite high on my tier list as well.

at the same time i had plenty of opportunities left to mood-read. boy parts, my favorite book of the year, for example wasn't a part of any challenge. the same goes for semantic error which i picked up at random during the bl manhwa revival i experienced at the end of 2023. so my top tiers ended up being a mix of different genres, the new and the old series and books, the expected and the unexpected faves.

i wasn't trying to read a certain amount of books this year but surprisingly i managed to read even more than last year (when it comes to the page count). and as for the quality, i do have a better feeling than i had in 2022 too. while i didn't manage to regain the heights of literary enjoyment from the golden era of 2019-2021, i think i'm on my way there :)

here's another curious wrap up thingy @magpiefngrl tagged me in! very representative of my reading tastes, though i must say i have only 6 unread kj charles books left and i'm starting to get concerned about what i'm going to do when i inevitably gobble them up in 2024😬

what about you guys? please tell me about your reading year! you can do a tier list (if you're a virgo) or the my year in books overview (if you regularly update your goodreads) or just write a post, if you want to. or you can also ignore me and go have a fantastic year😉🍾🎉🎆🎄

@figuringthengsout @fugitoidkry @pinkasrenzo @fandomreferencepending @counterwiddershins @magpiefngrl @sugarbabywenkexing @weirdsociology @theodoradove @doh-rae-me @venndaai @sixappleseeds @oliviermiraarmstrongs @bookish-moony

goodreads │ old yearly wrap ups 2020 2021 2022

explanation of the tier titles under the cut (if you even care)

spermaceti is a precious substance derived from the head of the sperm whale that may or may not be the whale's sperm. these are the books i absolutely loved. the vibe is that scene from moby dick where they are all on deck slicking each other with spermaceti and chanting "sperm!🙌" (that's how i remember it anyways)

toy excavator is the source of his strongest positive feelings for the main character of semantic error chu sangwoo. these are the books that i loved too but not on the spermaceti level, you know. the vibe is that scene where sangwoo realizes he's in love with jaeyoung and is like,, damn. this feels exactly like that time they gifted me a toy excavator🤔😒 (he's autistic)

skyfish is the least cool type of dragon in the aurelian cycle. the hufflepuff dragon, if you will. but it's still a dragon so these were some good books i still enjoyed😌

defekta are sentient furniture in nino cipri's sci fi novella defekt. now, in this book the concept of defekta very much serves the purpose of questioning what things we see as defective and the ethics of of how we treat them. for the purposes of this tier list however defekta are the books which range from good to great but which at the same time have some big issue that made me want to throw them at a wall. that's why the radiant emperor is ranked twice lol it has to be on my top 5 bc i'm obsessed but also ragsghhjdsgjhjbbdsd

kerinne is a made up drink the characters of mca hogarth's cozy sci fi series the dreamhealers like to drink. in 2023 i found out that i am not immune to cozy sff but one genre-specific thing i will forever remain indifferent towards is foods & beverages - i don't care about them too much irl so when they're fictional i care even less. these are the books that were just whatever🤷‍♀️

holism is art's annoying coworker we're introduced to in system collapse. a totally overrated guy, just like these books🙄

green varnish is a resin-like substance a certain type of creature in the winnowing flame excretes after consuming everything it finds in its path so that entire towns together with their residents get entombed under it forever. it's also transparent so the areas attacked by these creatures basically turn into see-through graveyards brrrr. these were The Worst books i read in 2023😬

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly, I think people who don't have language issues / speech issues kinda assume that it is just learning words or making sentences that are the issue - and yeah! That can be part of it

But a lot of the time its a lot more complex than that because language is a lot more complex than that - it's just something that a lot of people with typically-developing language and speech skills take for granted because it comes naturally to them

I was thinking about a response I was trying to say to my fiance as a joke (verbally where we struggle a lot more than written) and had a very kind of funny in-hindsight language "glitch". I was going to use it as an example but I couldn't remember the exact contact and phrasing that made it made sense.

Everything from here is how my brain works and may not apply to all people with language / speech issues.

But often when speaking certain words cluster together into conceptual groupings and they together fall into general functions in sentence structure (adjective) (noun) or (action) (noun) or (pronoun) (noun) and they generate a specific concept and idea together that isn't always the same as when translated individually. Additionally, in my experience, chunks of phrases and semantically similar words (ie words that tend to frequently be used together) are easier to draw upon and tend to be pulled into my awareness / "speaking pool" better than individual words.

So "bite you" "bite me" and "bite that" are all actions of biting something in specific and they tend to register in a chunk and operate much like an independent word probably does to an individual without language / speech issues (I am assuming based on how my written language skills are because I usually have little impact on my writing ability)

Taking that into consideration of that with the fact that sometimes it is just hard to find the phrases I'm looking for and thus a common cheat sheet to getting around that is to use the phrasing of the other person if their words were 'close enough' to what I wanted to say, there are certain moments where something entirely different than what was MEANT to be said is actually spoken.

Again, I don't remember the exact details to make it make sense as an example with just the script but him and I were joking around. He made a joke that it is "his job to bite me" which is a play jab cause we bite him 5x more than the other way around. So I wanted to reply "Bitch no, it's MY job to bite YOU" - but I had issues pulling the words together

To say that I needed to state the subject, the action, and any necessary modifiers.

Modifier: "No" (disagreeing)

Subject: "Your job" "(unlabeled concept of me / mine / I)"

Action: "Bite me" (<-stolen from his original phrasing, "me" is taken because brain said I was missing a word that represents the concept of myself in relation to the sentence and "me" is one of those words that fills that + its conveniently already attached to another word)

So my brain put it together "No your job is to bite me"

Which when put next to what I was TRYING to say, is the exact opposite. And so unreliable speech moment which had us both laugh a bit because I just responded to him saying that it was his job to bite me with "no your job is to bite me" which is silly

And honestly unreliable speech takes more forms than this cause theres a lot of different types of unreliable speech errors and what not, but I did kind of want to breakdown one of them for people since I have the written language skills to do so.