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swordheld · 8 months

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how do you think in poems? i really enjoy the tags under your posts i've always wanted to write down my own thoughts that way bc in my head they feel so thorough and magical but whenever i put it in words i feel it just gets so much flatter and i no longer see a point and give up

oh oh oh, but lovely, can't you see that you've already started? it's a perspective that you hone, over time, something that is specific to you and you alone – that's the piece of it that makes it so special! you've already begun, and it only goes forward, up, sideways from here, wherever you wish to go!

think of it like a skill, for a moment, or a kind of muscle, if you'd prefer. you have to work at it, with it, over time and differing experiences, in order to progress.

(a quick important note: not progression as in the kind of quality-check of a grading scale, but progression as in evolution. shifting change. think of the leaves and their colors across the months of autumn, or temperatures rising with the sun and cooling with the evening dark. change isn't intrinsically a qualifying thing, it can just be, sometimes. this is difficult to remember, especially in the midst of frustration, but it is worth it. you are always doing better than you think you are – harshest critic, and all that.)

which is not to say that it's a simple thing to do! compare this to the vibe of me picking up crochet recently, with my shaking hands and too-quickly dwindling adhd focus – my first attempts at making a lil headphone sprout have not been going as well as i once hoped. my stitches are either too big and sloppy bc i'm not holding the yarn tightly enough to get clean ones, or i feel frustrated due to it not looking like how i'd like it to look in my mind when i started it, or even as i begin my umpteenth attempt.

but!! i know that it won't ever look the way i want it do if i set it down and never keep trying. it'll take awhile, like everything does, even the seasons take their time, the moon and its phases; but what i do know, is that, eventually, it'll resemble something i want it to. vaguely, maybe, but it is something. it doesn't have to look exactly like the guide i'm following, or the examples i'm inspired by, because it's mine – something made by my own hands, my own time and experience with every mistake and thrilling joy along the way to learn by.

take it from me: i want to be good at things i want to be good at so badly. and that excitement makes me want to be at the skill level i need to be at in order to do so right then and there, no learning curves or building blocks allowed. which is never how it happens, unfortunately, but –

i think, gently, that we tend to overlook what a pleasure it is to learn. to see the slow progression of things, to begin and change and continue and get better. and even if it's different as we go along, in a way it's our own little kind of magic, maybe, to create and never be done if we don't want to be.

which is all to say: it's already yours. why does it have to be anything else, anything more? why can't it just be good as it is now, where it might never be again? what is there to lose by enjoying the moment of where you are?

like everything, it will grow and shift and evolve with time, maybe into something you'd hoped for, or maybe into something you don't even have the words to describe right now at all. but that's the fun of it: how even now, even then, there, across time and distance and skill, there is a common thread of things; it will always come from your heart, your experience, where you are right then and there and now.

and if you think of that like magic, well, it becomes a little like magic, doesn't it?

also, something to consider: sometimes things you feel or think can't be put into words at that moment, or even at all! something else you could try (that i certainly do) is making something else with whatever it makes you feel - whether that's another form of art, or any other kind of media. if it makes you want to go outside and take a walk or get cozy and read or play a video game? that counts too! that's still an experience, you're still feeling.

i think that counts a little more than anything else, you know?

and as a little ending fun side-note, can i share something cool? i've never thought of it that way before, as thinking in poems. in my mind it's always been a kind of perspective of personal wonder, but you're right – it's poetry, in it's own way. you gave me that – so thank you, from the heart of me. i hope your journey finds you with every bright joy.

#rainsdowninkerala #q&a.#this is truly so much longer than i had originally thought it would be so i do hope it's less rambly and more help-y?#the art of creation goes hand in hand with the exploration and discovery of feeling and it is sooooo important n fascinating to me.#truly tho this can all be boiled down into a kind of: keep going? keep going. you can only get better.#i didn't want the post itself to get even longer & winded BUT if you want a lil fun vibe? watch meet the robinsons. it's a lil silly; but -#truly nothing changed my creative experiences more than hearing ' keep moving forward ' paired with joy at the result of failure.#how it is that you never learn if you don't fail; you have to keep trying; keep going at it; and if we only ever succeeded –#there would never be that? that checkpoint of progression? it changed that frustrating moment into a kind of art; for me.#how each time i fail and feel that sadness or anger it reframes it into oh. i'm learning. i'm doing something new and i'm learning.#isn't that amazing? spectacular? that i can do this? that it's me / you / us together?#i think ab that a lot in terms of inspiring my mindset. i hope it helps you too. wishing u all my best !!!! <3

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merakiui · 1 year

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some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal.

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus.

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you.

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do.

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set.

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial.

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim.

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you.

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you.

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering.

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable.

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all.

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee.

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate.

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #n/sfw #i think my favorite thing about writing yandere jade is how brutal and remorseless he can be #it's probably because he grew up in the harsh environment of the sea #which would naturally harden anyone and make them more predatory than a prey #it's probably also why he (and floyd and azul) see nothing wrong with murder #yes it's morally wrong and very much illegal #but in the ocean it's eat or be eaten and really do you think jade is going to let some other predator snap his darling up? :)#challenge: write one yan jade thought without it spiraling into a thought about his murderous rizz #challenge failed </3 he is a walking danger you cannot tell me he wouldn't think of the most horrifying things when it comes to darling #more jade thoughts!!! consider an artist (painter/sculpter/etc) jade who is absolutely obsessed with you (the nude model from his art class)#because you're the one who has finally inspired him and broken his months-long artist's block #and also because he'd like to paint you in the most vicious red #or jade who has broken into your home and is living there in secret without you knowing #sometimes he sleeps under your bed just to hear your steady breaths #he never rearranges anything in your house but he does do the dishes or clean up messes you've made #you can never remember if or when you cleaned these things but you never think much of it #jade stands at your bedside when you sleep at night and he watches you #you'll happen to wake and you'll spot him but by the time you've scrambled to wake up and turn the lights on he'll already be gone #so you're left to wonder if he was ever there in the first place or if you were still dreaming #he is the terror that you will never see until it's too late

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