#and what we create for ourselves still MEANT something. still mattered

[etheries1015]

Arlecchino having a (female) s/o who is extremely sensitive and cries frequently.

You'd think arlecchino would have something against dating someone like this. Crying is a sign of weakness in her eyes, and honestly you were no different. Despite your typically optimistic and flamboyant personality, you were incredibly sensitive. Just leave it to Arlecchino to pick probably the most sensitive person in the world to choose as her lover, right?

You saw a sad play? Tears streaming down your face. You saw a malnourished dog on the streets? Sobbing while spending your life's savings to help the poor thing. It starts raining? You're crying, too. "Its been raining so much...The hydro dragon must be in such misery. I wish I could help him." One of the kids called you "mother" for the first time? You're sobbing uncontrollably. Most of the time Arlecchino would roll her eyes and be mildly unomftorable around your tears, but you knew she still loved you. Especially moments that it truly mattered, she would mutter a "Stop crying..." And pat your head, or quietly engulf you in a hug. She couldn't fully understand why you were always so empathetic and crying all the time, however they do say opposites attract, right?

Most of the time she found it to be one of your weak points, crying so much means you aren't strong to save face, right? That you don't have what it takes? Crying all the time was something only the pathetic and unworthy do...right?

Arlecchino heard two voices. One was her lover, you, and the other was the feeble whimpers of a child. She made sure to stay hidden from behind the door frame, eavesdropping on the conversation, where you and the young boy were left unaware of her presence.

"Father says I...shouldn't cry. I'm sorry, mother, I..."

"Freminet," Arlecchino heard your voice strong yet sweet, her heart skipping a beat slightly. She hadn't heard you so...authoritative in a long while. So loving, gentle...and so confident. There was not a hint of hesitation in your voice.

"I understand you think very very highly of Arle. She gave you a life here, along with your siblings. I know you look up to her. But if there is one thing we, even as lovers, disagree on..." The sound of rustling caused Arlecchino to glance around the corner, quickly noticing how you were pulling the young boy into your arms.

"Tears are not a sign of weakness. It means you have a strong heart, a heart full of emotions just waiting to burst and let loose. Strength comes from standing up again despite the challenges you have faced, and what may have made you cry." You pulled back and wiped his tears before poking his chest above the spot where his heart lay. "You have a beautiful heart, freminet. Its healthy, and strong. Strength is purely subjective, we can each decide for ourselves what strength truly means. Don't let someone else decide that for you, no matter how much they may mean to you."

"But-" the blonde haired boy went to object you, only to be promptly cut off.

"Arlecchino has her own definition of strength and weakness, and so do I. They are completely opposite from one another. But that doesn't mean the love between us isn't real because of that. We all still love you for who you are, Freminet. You're growing to be a very fine young man, and I'm certain you will find your own definition of strength. Create it yourself, okay? Your soul is meant to grow into your own shape, not forcefully conform into someone else's." There was no words, only the sounds of light sobs as Freminet hugged you tightly. You smiled slightly and pat his back gently and comfortingly.

"If you ever need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to, I'm always here for you. You do not need to suffer alone."

Arlecchino could have sworn your gaze notice hers and lock eyes for but a moment, with a gentle smile placed upon your features. Quickly turning her heel and walking away, Arlecchino simply scoffed at the notion you were breaking down the principals she had built at the house of hearth.

Night had fallen and you entered your shared room with the Knave, who was currently laying in bed with the lights off and blankets covering her body. You strolled over to the bed, sitting down next to her as you gazed down to the quiet harbinger.

"Are you mad at me?" You inquired, "I know you heard what I told freminet. I assumed you would yell at me by now, about how crying isn't a sign of strength, and how I'm 'teaching them worthless things'. " You awaited a snotty response from your thickheaded lover, yet much to your surprise, there was no response. It was only when you sat your hand upon her shoulder did you notice the slightest tremble, your eyes widening before you were abruptly pulled down into the sheets with strong arms wrapping around you. Arlechinnos head tucked into your shoulder, you could feel wetness seep through your shirt. You smiled sadly and began to hold her back, stroking her soft black and white locks.

"I see you're taking my advice, huh? Did I strike a chord finally?"

"Shut up."

With a shaky voice and mild hesitation, Arlecchino had become far more vulnerable than she had ever felt before.

"You're a bad influence," she sighed into your shoulder, her grasp tightening. With a chuckle and another gentle kiss, you hummed in amusement. It wasn't long before you felt the trembling come to a halt and Arlecchinos breathing even out, you closed your eyes and began to drift off into sleep with your lover still in your arms.

Maybe crying wasn't as bad as she made it out to be. At least, not when she had someone to hold her tight all night.

[sunnycanvas]

Hello i really really love your work!

Today is my birthday and since my family already celebrated it and today i didnt get any gifts i was thinking Maybe you could give me one? A one where its readers birthday and what he would do? Thank you bye!❤️

Belated Happy Birthday Dear,

Here is a piece of work I wrote as a gift, No promises if it will be good 😅. Hope you enjoy it

Exhausted from my birthday celebration, I yawned as I entered my room, eager to see my beloved. Baldwin was seated, absorbed in a book, so focused he didn’t notice me at first. Mischievously, like a child, I crept up behind him, hoping to give him a playful scare. But of course, my Baldwin, ever the trained knight, sensed my presence. The moment his eyes met mine, they were filled with love. Embarrassed at being caught, I hugged him from behind, trying to hide my face against his shoulder. He chuckled softly, closing his book and kissing my cheek. "Happy birthday, my queen," he whispered warmly. "I hope the party I arranged in your honor was to your liking." I chose my next words carefully, not wanting to upset him. "It was lovely," I said, smiling as I gently smoothed the dress he had gifted me. "The celebration was grand, and the dress you chose for me is stunning." I paused, caressing the fabric before continuing. "The food was delicious, and I received so many gifts but my voice wavered slightly as I went on, "Still, I could sense that most of the guests weren’t genuine. Their compliments and gifts seemed more about their own gain than celebrating me." I lowered my gaze, sadness creeping in despite the joyous day. Baldwin let out a relieved sigh. "You had me worried for a moment, Y/N," he said, gently taking my hand. "I thought the celebration hadn’t pleased you."

"You left early," I said, my voice still tinged with disappointment. "You know how much it meant to me to have you by my side on my birthday. I've always been understanding of your condition, Baldwin, but you promised you'd stay and celebrate with me, no matter what."Baldwin gave me a sympathetic smile, his eyes soft with regret. "Believe me, I wanted to stay longer," he said gently, "but urgent matters required my attention."Still upset, I pressed him further. "You wouldn’t go back on your promise, would you?" My words carried a weight I couldn't mask. Baldwin's smile faded into something sadder, more resigned. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I’m ready to do it," he said earnestly. Seizing the moment, I asked with a playful smile, "Would you like to go out with me?" Baldwin looked confused. "Go where? A walk in the garden?".I shook my head. "No, I want something more exciting. I’m craving an adventure." His confusion deepened, so I continued, "I was thinking we could disguise ourselves as commoners and wander through the market. We could buy whatever we like, eat street food, and just enjoy ourselves like ordinary people."Baldwin stared at me in shock, as if I’d just grown a second head. "No, absolutely not," he said firmly. "It's far too dangerous. I can’t allow us to put ourselves at such risk." Knowing his weakness, I gave him my best puppy-eyed look, watching as his resolve began to crack. His expression turned anxious as he called my name in warning, "(Y/N)." His tone was serious, but I could tell he was faltering. I refused to back down. "Please, Baldwin," I urged, "this is the same market built by the late of Jerusalem Queen Melisende, your grandmother. I’d feel closer to you by visiting a place she helped create." Baldwin looked visibly moved by my words, his hard stance softening. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Who knew my queen could be so mischievous?" he teased. "Though it’s dangerous, I’ll do this for you." Overjoyed, I threw my arms around him so fiercely I almost knocked him out of his chair. Baldwin laughed, his joy infectious as he wrapped his arms around me in return. "Easy, love," he chuckled. "I’d rather not break my back, or else I won’t be able to fulfill my promise to you."I smiled, nodding, already anticipating the adventure ahead.

That night, Baldwin and I slipped out of the castle, dressed as commoners. Hand in hand, we strolled through the lively market, blending in with the evening crowd. Every now and then, I’d sneak a quick kiss on his cheek, delighting in the way he blushed. Baldwin, ever the modest one, would scold me gently. "You should act more discreetly," he whispered, trying to sound stern.I smirked, unbothered by his reprimand. "Don’t worry," I teased, "no one’s paying attention to us, and it’s too dark for them to see us clearly, anyway."He grumbled under his breath, blushing even more. "You’re getting too bold," he muttered, feigning seriousness. "I might have to take away some of your privileges to teach you a lesson."I laughed, knowing full well it was an empty threat. My laughter was suddenly interrupted by the loud growl of my stomach, betraying my hunger. Baldwin smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement."Sounds like half the kingdom’s food stalls will be emptied just to feed you," he teased, his grin widening. I groaned in embarrassment, covering my face. He laughed, his joyful sound filling the night air as we continued walking through the market, side by side.

Baldwin soon spotted a bustling food stall with a crowd gathered around it. Intrigued, he gently led me by the hand, and I followed, equally curious. As we approached, it became clear that the stall was quite popular locals were swarming it eagerly. "It's legume stew," I murmured, recognizing the rich aroma that filled the air. The scent was so enchanting, I found myself clutching Baldwin's arm, excitement and nervousness bubbling inside me.Sensing my unease around the crowd, Baldwin gave me a reassuring smile. "I know you don't like crowds," he said softly. "Don't worry, I'll get it for you. Just wait here."Relieved, I smiled gratefully and stepped back, watching from a distance as he made his way toward the stall, my heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

I didn’t have to wait long before I saw Baldwin sprinting toward me with my food in hand, a man shouting behind him. Startled, I watched as Baldwin grabbed my arm, quickly pulling me along with him.Confused, I asked, "Did you steal that?"Offended, Baldwin scoffed, "Of course not! I would never commit such a dishonorable act." He glanced over his shoulder, his pace quickening. "It’s Raymond, Count of Tripoli. He found us."I didn’t need to ask for more details because, moments later, I heard Raymond’s voice echoing behind us. "Your Majesty, this is dangerous! What were you thinking, putting yourself and the queen in such a risky situation?"Baldwin groaned in exasperation, and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

We sprinted as fast as we could, my heart racing. Spotting a narrow alley, I quickly pulled Baldwin along with me, ducking out of sight. The guards, thinking we had gone in another direction, rushed past us, oblivious to our hiding spot. Baldwin and I exchanged a glance before letting out simultaneous sighs of relief. With a smile, Baldwin handed me the food, and I gratefully accepted, enjoying every bite. Once I had finished, I took his hand again, and together we continued our exploration down the dim alleyway. As we walked, the alley opened up into a vibrant, lively village, full of activity and people. Just as we began to take in the sights, an elderly couple spotted us, their curious eyes fixed on us, as if they could sense something different about us.

"Ah, young love," the old man nearby chuckled. "Remember the days, dear, when we’d sneak out at night just like them?" His wife laughed warmly. "Yes, I remember it well and how my father chased you down for courting me without his permission." The affectionate exchange between the couple made my heart swell. I glanced over at Baldwin, who met my gaze, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. *Will we grow old together like them, still so full of love and happiness?*The old man approached us with a smile, inviting us to join a village feast. We politely declined at first, but he insisted with a playful grin. "You can’t let your lady go hungry, can you?" he teased Baldwin. Reluctantly, we agreed and sat down to eat. I quietly enjoyed my meal while Baldwin easily mingled with the villagers, engaging them in conversation and left leaving me alone with few people who distracted me with their conversation. After a while, he returned to me with a mischievous smirk, taking my hand and gently pulling me away from the table, ready for the next part of our adventure.

He led me to a beautiful garden illuminated by the soft glow of fireflies. The serene atmosphere felt almost magical. Suddenly, Baldwin dropped to one knee, looking up at me with warmth in his eyes. "Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?" he asked.I nodded eagerly, unable to contain my excitement, and we began to dance under the twinkling lights. Soon, a few villagers joined us, playing instruments to accompany our gentle rhythm. The melody blended perfectly with the peaceful night. As we danced, Baldwin leaned in close to my ear, his voice soft and sincere. "I’m sorry for not being there for you on your birthday," he whispered. "I know how muchl you wanted to dance with me, but I left early."I shook my head, smiling. "It doesn't matter anymore," I replied. "Being here with you now is all I need."Baldwin smiled, his eyes filled with affection. "I love you, Y/N," he said quietly. "I love you too," I whispered back.

Just then I heard a voice

"Kiss, Kiss"

*Smack*

"Quite you two".It sounded like two toddlers and a mother. Alarmed, I turned to Baldwin, who burst into laughter. "I knew some of the villagers who helped me would be spying on us," he said with a grin. "The old man assisted me with the preparations, and dare I say, the idea for this lovely garden was his as well."My heart swelled with joy at such a thoughtful display of affection from both Baldwin and the villagers. Baldwin's expression turned serious, and he added confidently, "I may not be able to kiss your lips because of my condition, but I can do this."With that, he leaned forward, planting gentle kisses all over my face, each one filled with warmth and love.

"Do it on her lips!"

"Wah, my eyes!"

"Come children let's give them some privacy"

Both Baldwin and I erupted into laughter, the joy of the moment wrapping around us like a warm embrace. "Happy Birthday, Y/N!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with affection.As if on cue, fireworks burst into the night sky, their vibrant colors illuminating the darkness and further lifting my spirits. I gazed up in awe, feeling a surge of happiness. "Thank you so much, Baldwin," I said, turning to him with a beaming smile. "This is the best birthday gift I could ever ask for."

[lordandgodoftheobvious]

The Knight Conspiracy

The thing is, I can say that Carol is the most logical Knight candidate by a nautical mile (and she is), but that's not how authors work; authors are not like mathematicians, operating on pure logic, we are like creationists--we start with an idea we think is cool as hell and ask ourselves "How do we get there?" (and, if they're any good, "What are the consequences of this?" though that's less like creationists).

What I'm saying is, the Knight is Dess-coded as hell (more so than I was even aware of when writing the linked post, and I was still uncomfortable ignoring it), and I don't think that's a red herring. Toby Fox hasn't done red herrings thusfar--things haven't meant what we think they mean, but nothing has meant nothing.

So let's say that Dess is the Knight. Now what?

Well the first problem this creates is that we've always presumed that her motivation was escaping from the depths, and yet we've seen the Knight in the light world. Either she can just do that, in which case we have to rethink everything, or for whatever reason her ability to enter/stay in the light world is limited.

This is not without support: according to sharper-eyed people than me, the Knight remains the Knight when in the light world, which presumably means they carry some residual dark world energy with them--which could very easily be both what's keeping them together and something that will quickly dissipate if they dally.

Also, it would kind of have to be the case: What could Dess possibly be trying to do that wouldn't be easier to accomplish if she could walk around Hometown normally--if she wasn't missing? No, for whatever reason--whether she's no longer made up of the same kind of matter that lightners are or because some malevolent force has collared her--Dess is limited in her actions.

So far, so plausible, but that just further emphasizes another question: who was phone?

If Dess' excursions to the light world are limited, it probably wasn't her; cell coverage in the dark world is notoriously lousy--although come to think of it we only have Kris' attempts to call for evidence of that, and it wouldn't be the only time they've creatively interpreted our commands to avoid doing something they didn't want to do.

Well even so, the strongest contenders for who was (on the) phone are Carol and Asgore, as that's who actually showed up when the evil phone voice promised to come right away (which is itself something we're assuming Dess couldn't just do--to say nothing of the fact that it would be a very big deal if she did just show up!).

Which means that Dess and Kris aren't the only members of this conspiracy. At least one of Carol or Asgore is also in on this.

Now let me ask you a rhetorical question: what did Dess Knight Theory, Kris Knight Theory, Mayor Knight Theory, and Asgore Knight Theory all have in common? They all have the presumed motivation of saving Dess from the depths. Whether Kris is conspiring with Carol or Asgore, then, they have no reason not to inform them "Oh and I actually am in contact with Dess, BTW".

Between the fact that I just can't see Asgore talking to Kris like the evil phone voice, the implication that Carol knows about the soul, and the fact that she's the one who actually kicks Susie out of the house (also something I don't see Asgore doing--not least of all because he doesn't have the authority to do so), she is hands down the stronger candidate of the two to be who was phone (seriously, as a fandom we are leaving money on the table by not calling the evil phone voice that)--but if one of them is conspiring with Kris and Dess, why not both? After all, we know Asgore and Carol are conspiring about something to do with an "obsession" of his (presumably also finding Dess). If Asgore is in the conspiracy, he would definitely have read Carol into it--and if Carol is in on it, she may have also have read Asgore into it.

It makes for a rather plausible chain of events, doesn't it? Dess gets into contact with Kris somehow--and who would Kris go to in this situation? Their father is a natural choice--and Asgore in turn takes this to Carol, who then becomes the mastermind behind the entire plot.

But what of the intra-party politics of the conspiracy? I doubt it's all hunky-dory. I mean, do you imagine that Asgore would be cool with the concept of his child becoming the puppet of an eldritch god from beyond space and time? I somehow doubt it; this is probably something Kris and Carol are keeping from him.

Furthermore, it's been speculated that Dess isn't in control of her own actions--that she's being controlled by the titans or Gaster or something. While these candidates are unlikely--Gaster appears to be on the player's side, and titans are implied by Chapter 4 to be created by the attempt to create a dark world within a dark world--the idea itself is possible; after all, that's what's happening to Kris, isn't it?

And if this is the case, then perhaps the Knight Conspiracy is more of an anti-Knight conspiracy--Dess is no more loyal to whoever is trying to open the fountains than Kris is to us, and the conspiracy is attempting to play both sides of this conflict for their own ends (getting out alive).

It does make sense: it's long been speculated that the Roaring isn't the Knight's true goal, on the basis that they're going about it rather inefficiently, but that could also be explained by Dess complying maliciously with the orders she's getting.

But to tie this back into the them of intra-party politics, this raises the question: what if there are things Dess can't know for fear it'll get to her masters' ears? What if there are things Kris can't know for fear it will get to our ears?

Carol is juggling a lot of plates, it seems.

Oh and one more point: whose to say this conspiracy stops at four people? There were three symbols on the bunker door: a police badge--representing Asgore--a pine tree--representing Carol--and the delta rune--possibly representing Alvin?

I don't know how he factors into the party politics but I suspect he's involved. Based on Ralsei's explanation of the mechanics behind Gerson's revival, I suspect only someone intimately familiar with the man could have done it--such as, say, his son--and it does seem logical to call a priest when your children are getting possessed by demons. And as a priest he's presumably familiar with this world's religious lore, which seems to be intimately tied into the plot--perhaps he's the Giles of the group?

So anyway, the conspiracy as I picture it:

Kris: Avatar of the player, opener of the third fountain. Dess: Avatar of the antagonist. Carol: Mastermind, opener of the first fountain. Asgore: Unknown role, opener of the second fountain (largely because most anyone could have done it and it makes sense for everyone to get a turn). Alvin: Main researcher, opener of the fourth fountain(s).

Which I realize upon writing it means "the Knight" hasn't actually opened a single fountain. This could be a problem if Dess really is getting marching orders from a greater evil (or she could just be like "hey, I'm delegating"--we don't know what that relationship is like), but I really believe that Alvin created the fountains in the church and we know Kris created the one in the Dreemurr house, so that's already two down--and if Dess really can't travel through the depths the way Ralsei seems to (while she could have been deliberately leading us to the bunker by traveling through the light world to get there, it doesn't appear to be in the conspiracy's plans for us to go there yet) it seems unlikely that she'd have been able to open the other two.

[thatfrailsoul]

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Slow down for a moment. Allow your heart to guide you, to tell you if there is really a message here for you and behind which image it hides... And whatever the answer is, feel free to listen to it or to let go. Remembering that whenever you will be ready or will have the need, your true message will find its way to you.♡

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Hi!♡ Before looking deeper into this question... I would like to do another one to you.♡ Obviously you don't need to stop by here if you don't want to - your message and reading is right here after this question. But if you do answer, it will be incredibly helpful for me to make this blog more comfortable and interesting for you and others.♡ So... which forms of tarot readings and messages here on Tumblr are more interesting for you?♡:

1) A lot of piles/images to choose from so it feels more real that the message is for you, and shorter messages that can be read more fastly and comfortably.

2) Less piles/images to choose from so there isn't anxiety in deciding, but longer and more detailed messages.

3) More piles/images to choose from and more detailed messages so it feels more destined to you and provides more clarity and information.

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Thank you so much for helping me out!♡

_

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No matter what you see, what you feel when you are stuck in that dream and vision... There is something important there, a key to your current situation, a solution to the confusion and uncertainty that overwhelms you.

It might confuse you or even scare you, with its mysterious story that each time unfolds in your mind.. But there is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to fear. As it's only a particular way of your subconscious mind to talk to you, to give you the alternative to giving up or running away that you consider now...

Because is not all that there is to this situation, difficulty or problem. You are not meant at all to suffer as you walk on this path trying to achieve your dreams. There is a solution, right here and so close to you. A different way to overcome it shifting the situation from the worst to something much much easier and even enjoyable to go through.

Your mind is asking you to wait a little more here, to give this situation another chance, to look at it from a different perspective exactly as you do with this dream trying to understand more of it. Your mind tries to tell you that exactly like this dream... It will end.

All the confusion, anxiety and worry will end. Allowing you to return to your life, to the safety and the balance that you managed to create. You need only to allow yourself to live it, to see it like this dream, knowing that there is much more that will follow it, no matter how scary, confusing or strange it seems.

_

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It's difficult to stay present in the life that feels so harsh, so confusing, so different from the way we pictured it when we were younger. It's difficult to push our own selves in keep on going, in facing the situations, in taking our responsibilities or sacrifice ourselves to resolve the ones of others who don't care that much...

But it's so easy to hide in our mind, in different and misterious worlds. In other dimensions where when facing the same problems and fears, or perhaps even worse... We have much more control on it.

And you did it for a really long time. You hid inside your mind, inside does hopes and wanders. The ones that nourished became something more, a whole different story about who you are, adventures that you live through... It became your safe space, far away from the situations that continued to get worse and more painful to deal with. To the point that it's simply scary to face them, difficult to don't look away.

And when you are still forced to do so... Your mind is overwhelmed with fear and stress, finding relief only in those dreams that are so strange but that feel much more appealing than this world. But while this is what your conscious mind does and needs... The subconscious mind is aware of how wrong it is and is against it.

And through those same dreams that were always the only real and clear way it could talk to you - it tries to regain its power back by shifting your visions, the sweet stories and lies they tell you. In hopes that you can, in that confusion and impossibility to understand and connect so much to those dreams like you used to... You could become aware of how unfortunately false they've been. How they never were the truth, never were what you needed to overcome all of this. How they instead were only a distraction, a way to escape this reality and hide.

Your subconscious confuses you, makes it uncomfortable to be in that state in which you escape for so long and for so many times. But it's not because it's mean to you, because it doesn't want you to have a safe place... It's more because it wants, your inner self wants, to feel so safe in this and real world. It wants you to live, to fight back, and in doing so to find your strength and courage. It wants and needs you to learn how to live and go through it. Instead of putting yourself in a golden cage from which you will never be able to grow.

_

[sweetmotherofearl]

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

A personal essay | 1463 words | autism, aroace, romantic love commentary

They say if you repeat something often enough, you’ll start to believe it. That we’re all born starving for the same thing: romance, a partner, someone to come home to. This idea follows me everywhere, like everyone was given a rulebook that I somehow missed because I didn’t feel that way. When the world speaks of love, they mean a specific expectation for a connection we’re all bound to have — a deep, romantic, all-encompassing relationship that defines our lives. But I didn’t need that. I never did.

So I tried convincing myself that I just hadn’t felt it yet — maybe I was a late bloomer, or maybe love had just missed me so far. I even faked a crush in high school, just to cease the speculation. But then my whole existence got reduced to that one pretend feeling, like who I was only mattered in relation to someone I didn’t even care about. Still, after years of desperately seeking that emotion, the idea that romance is the pinnacle of life’s meaning remained foreign.

As I grew older, I started to realize that the love I was capable of giving and receiving didn’t always fit in the boxes the world created. I held my friends’ hands when they trembled, ran my fingers through their hair during quiet conversations, and whispered “I love you” like it was the most natural thing in the world. These weren’t gestures meant to reach a social milestone, they were simply ways of expressing something that felt real.

My world has always been built on different textures of connection. I’m wired by what I like to call my triple AAA batteries: autism, asexuality, and aromanticism. It’s a joke, kind of, but it’s also the truth. These aren’t just labels — they’re the core of how I feel, think, and connect. They power the way I move through the world. Each part influences the softness I offer, the way I understand love, and why the bonds I form might look different from what people expect. But they’re not any less charged. If anything, they’re the reason I’m able to love deliberately, wholly, and deeply.

I just loved differently. And that difference never made it any less real, but it did make me realize that my needs are still at that foundational level of wanting to feel safe. It’s a constant aching for connection that feels genuine, and it’s hard to imagine anything beyond that. Romantic relationships, the way they’re commonly presented, feel like they’re held upon layers I haven’t been given the chance to build yet.

Funnily enough, the love I crave is always from women. Maybe it’s because men have never been able to offer the kind of softness I need. It’s always women who have mothered me, who have seen me at my most vulnerable and still chose to be gentle. They’ve held space for my pain, my confusion, and they’ve done it without making me feel like I’m too much. This nurturing love is the kind that fills the empty spaces where I’ve felt misunderstood, and it’s the love I hold closest to my heart.

But here’s the thing: This love isn’t something that ignores the parts of me I might consider flawed. It’s not about loving me despite my flaws, but because of them. The love I receive isn’t conditional, but an acceptance of my whole self. The good, the bad, and the ugly. People love me not by erasing my struggles or pretending I’m perfect. They love me for who I am — flaws and all — and that’s the kind of love I’ve come to believe is real.

It’s the comfort in a shared silence. The soft hands who hold me when I’m falling apart. The voice that shushes me when I say I’m too much, but still reminds me that the way I feel is not my fault.

But here’s where the struggle starts: the world tells us that love must look a certain way. We’re taught to compartmentalize our emotions, to present ourselves as “professional” and hide our needs like they’re shameful. It’s as if emotions are meant to be controlled. But they’re not. Emotions shape everything, and when we pretend they don’t matter, we lose touch with who we are. The love I know doesn’t fit into neat boxes. It’s messy and complicated, but it’s real — and it’s through that mess that I’ve learned what connection truly means.

Maybe it’s because I’m autistic, or because I’m just a dumb kid — or maybe I’m onto something. I think the way we villainize human emotions is deeply damaging, and honestly, it’s bound to rot the world more than it already has. Sure, maybe I’m just trying to avoid a 9-to-5 in a white cubicle under fluorescent lights, but maybe I’m also just searching for humanity in a world full of people who keep denying theirs.

When people tell me, “You don’t understand love (or any emotion for that matter), you’re just a child,” they miss the point. Emotions are raw and unfiltered in children, yes, but that doesn’t make them any less valid. In fact, children often feel things more deeply because they haven’t yet learned to mask their emotions. So when I say that my love is pure, it’s not because I’m blind to my flaws, but because I’ve learned to embrace them, and the people who love me do the same.

In one way or another, we’re all just kids getting older, still carrying the same emotional needs — just expressed through more complex layers. The need for nurturing love and deep connection doesn’t fade with age, and it’s not wrong to crave that kind of care beyond a certain point. It’s still deeply woven into the fabric of my life now, more grown-up, but still rooted in the same need for security.

Anyway, maybe the prophecy isn’t that I’ll end up alone. Maybe I already know the love I feel exists, because I am full of it. I no longer see the lack of romance as a void in my life. I’ve learned to embrace the fullness of love I already have.

Platonic love is everything to me. It’s how I survive. It’s how I measure closeness, comfort, and my place in the world. And when that kind of love feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, it doesn’t just hurt — it grieves me.

Grief, as I’ve learned from the beautiful words of Leith Ross, is love run backwards. There’s the unspoken forgiveness and the love we realize we could’ve given, but didn’t know how to, at the time. Although it’s too late, the weight in mourning that loss still carries meaning in a new, terribly aching form. There’s a strange clarity in hindsight, and that’s what makes the grief feel even heavier — we finally see the softness we needed to offer, the words we should’ve said. But in some twisted way, the grief itself becomes proof that the love was real. That it mattered. That it still does.

But grief, like love, doesn’t fit into a single, neat box. Losing someone I never imagined my life without — whether it’s a friend, a teacher, or even the loving expectations I had for my parents — shakes everything. It shatters the foundation of how I understand love and connection. I start to question what I did wrong, what I could’ve held onto tighter. And if I live through love, then what does it mean when that love is gone? The grief doesn’t just stay with me in passing moments. It lingers, and it burns.

And maybe that’s why I don’t just grieve the people I’ve lost, but also the ones I’m still terrified of losing. Anticipatory grief and love go hand-in-hand — bracing for closeness slipping away before I’m ready to let it go.

It really hurts, most of the time it’s more than I know how to explain. To lose a bond that felt like home. To feel like I’ve failed at the one thing I value most. But still, I wouldn’t change the way I love. I wouldn’t trade the softness, the sincerity, the way I pour my heart into people. Because even in the grief, there’s comfort in knowing I’ve loved — deeply, and without condition.

I live through joy and heartbreak just like anyone else. I feel safe when someone sees me, thinks of me, and holds space for me in their life. I don’t need romance to make that real. I don’t need a partner to make my story meaningful. The love I have is enough to build a life on.

Maybe the prophecy was never about what I would find, but what I dared to believe was enough.

i got a 99% on this essay :blush:

[reality-detective]

Let’s talk about love…

I often write about love in the overarching sense of the word, that is, the all encompassing energy with which this universe was created. But today I want to talk about ‘romantic love’, the one we more often speak about, the one that can make us feel on top of the world or at the bottom of a pit! Yeah that one…🙄

I’ve had my share of heartache in life and I have also been a shoulder to cry on for many friends going through breakups and divorce. In hindsight, I can only say, that as painful as breakups are, they are also the greatest chance to gain real wisdom about ourselves and those around us.

People often jump into the next relationship as fast as they can, just like you would take a painkiller for a headache, but I think this is often a mistake, for you end up missing the many valuable lessons that life was trying to teach you. Which means they will come back again! 🤪

Time is the only healthy form of healing, it is also the only way to gain the necessary perspective to identify the lessons you were meant to learn.

‘Painkillers’ never get to the root of the problem, they simply numb the pain and hide the underlying issue, so don’t rush into the next romantic affair, instead take the time to reflect on things.

Healing from a broken heart is no easy feat, it can take a very long time and in some cases people never truly heal.

I have pondered many times on this matter, which has led me to question; what is it that we fall in love with, that makes it so hard to overcome?

Understanding how we are mainly driven by ego, rather than spirit, made me realise, that it’s in fact the ego that makes healing from a breakup so difficult.

Do we fall in love with the person? Or with how the person made us feel about ourselves? 🤔

In other words, are most romantic relationships a means of feeding the ego? He loves me, therefore I’m worthy? I am enough?

I’m not suggesting, by any means, that that’s all that romantic relationships are, but I do believe that a lot of the pain derived from separation, is the ego hurting from seemingly being rejected.

I have seen friends cry desperately for guys that were not worth considering for two seconds, which made me realise they were not crying for the loss of an excellent human being, they were crying from the feeling of rejection.

When you base your worth on external acceptance and recognition, instead of internal knowing, you risk suffering needlessly for people that didn’t deserve you in the first place.

So if you find yourself unable to get over a broken relationship, ask yourself who’s crying; is it your ego that is still licking its wounds? Or did you really walk away from an exceptional human being? (If it’s the latter, then you better recognise your mistakes and do something about it!)

But if it’s your ego performing a self-pitty show, try to step out of it and take an introspective journey until you see that you were always whole, that you don’t need someone else to complete you and that your happiness is in your hands, it’s your responsibility and nobody else’s.

True love can only come to you when you don’t expect it to do things it’s not meant to do. A true romantic relationship is made up of two ‘whole’ people that wish to share their ‘wholeness’ with each other, rather than complete one another.

Don’t let your ego run amok with your emotional well being, take the reigns, put it in it’s place and move forward.

- Laura Aboli

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Christian Alzmann from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 5, The Jedi. Depicts Grogu using the Force in the direction of some white and pink flowers. Image from https://www.starwars.com/chapter-13-concept-art-gallery?image_id=5b5837cc304bbebd6b4f2a72

Din Djarin Tells a Tale part 1

Grogu loved his dad and despite all the boring stuff they did together, day in and day out, Grogu was pretty sure that the Mandalorian had done some fairly exciting things before they met. He was a bounty hunter after all and not all the people who he brought in cold had been boring accountants, like the Mythrol. But Din Djarin never told him those stories. He really didn’t tell Grogu any kind of stories that weren’t simply children’s tales that were told by every and any parent no matter where you came from. 

Every culture had the story about the bad people who stole children who were naughty away from their loving parents and made them work in awful conditions and gave them nothing but veggies to eat. The horror. Or the story about the children who get lost someplace, like a market or an apartment complex, or a warren of subterranean tunnels and were only able to find their way out because they used threads from the sweater it took their dad days to knit to create a trail they could follow back. Or the story about the person who crept into their rooms at night and stole their teeth and left prizes for them.

Grogu had learned all those stories from his friend Ian and was certain that he really didn’t want to hear them again from the Mandalorian. The only thing that ever changed about the stories was the name of the bad guy (it was always a guy) and the name of the village, town, city, or municipality where it all took place. So something happened in Keldabe instead of Cornet City, big deal. It was still the same story.

Or at least he had thought it was. 

He’d been arguing with his dad for a long time, perhaps ten or twenty minutes, that he wanted to hear one of the harrowing tales of his early life as a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. Who was the biggest, meanest, most evil person Din Djarin had ever brought in cold? Perhaps a Sith Lord? Maybe a wayward bounty hunter? The head of a criminal syndicate? Anything like that would be a lot better than hearing about Granny Sarad and the Children of the Lilies. 

“Grogu, you haven’t even heard the story yet. It may cover all those other things and you won’t know if you won’t let me tell it.”

Uff. Grogu hated it when his dad made a good logical point like that. It just wasn’t fair. 

He climbed into his hammock, pulled his stuffed rancor closer, and turned to pay attention to his dad. Which actually seemed kind of silly because all he could see was Din Djarin’s helmet. It didn’t really emote effectively. But that just meant his voice would have to work harder to keep Grogu’s attention. Well… they’d see how that went.

“Okay. Before you ask, Ta’lan and Seb did not tell me this story. This is not one of their historically accurate but wildly imaginative stories from Mandalore’s deep, deep past. This story was told to me when I was a youngling living on Concordia in the covert that supported those who were newly found. We were all told this story and by the time we had graduated from the apprenticeship program we had told it to dozens of younglings ourselves. It is serious business and I would appreciate it if you paid attention and saved any questions you have for the end of the story. Are we agreed?”

Dank Farrik! Now his dad wanted him to bump fists in agreement over not interrupting the story! What if he needed to use the privy? What if he didn’t understand something? What if he found the whole tale unbelievable and highly suspect? What then? Uff. Grogu already knew the answer to that question. His dad would stop telling him stories for at least a couple days, maybe even a full week. He’d done that before when Din Djarin had told him the story of how he got the scar on the bridge of his nose. He’d made Grogu promise not to laugh, but the story was so funny Grogu had to laugh. If he hadn’t been able to he probably would have exploded from the bottled up laughter and that would have been painful and messy. 

“‘K”. 

“Thank you. On Mandalore, two thousand years ago, the Mand’alor was known as Gar the Wise. Gar was a very good Mand’alor and the people of Mandalore trusted him and followed him willingly. His partner was name Jax. It was short for Jacinda and she was an armorer. Everyday she would walk through Keldabe, which was the capital of Mandalore at the time, and go to her forge and make armor for the people of Mandalore. 

The armor she made was very fine and she was as much an artist as she was a craftsperson and everything she made was beautiful. She and Gar were very happy together and the people of Mandalore loved her as much as they loved him. 

One day, while she was walking through the palace grounds, Jax noticed an older lady walking with a cane and moving very slowly. Jax, being a kind and loving person went to that lady and asked if there was any way she might be of assistance. The lady looked up at her and smiled. Jax was the first person to ever ask her if she needed assistance without just picking her up and moving her along faster. That might have helped the person who discovered her, but it was not what the lady wanted, just because she walked slowly with a cane. 

‘Child, I have been told that the Mand’alor has the most lovely garden. I would like to see it. I have a plant for him if his garden is as lovely as I have been told it is.’ 

Jax listened to the lady and knew exactly which garden she was speaking about. Gar the Wise loved flowers and all manner of plants. He hoped to see a day when Mandalore was covered with planets and trees and all manner of flowers like it had been in its ancient past.”

[4dkellysworld]

hi kelly. i have a non-ND question i’ve been thinking about for a while, hoping you can answer.

when Ada deactivated, she said it was because she didn’t want the community to be too attached to her, because we should search within ourselves to find the answers. basically that we shouldn’t depend on her to be our teachers.

if this was Ada’s goal, what is the reason of doing things like, creating several bots that speak like her and are informed by her writing? i understand that this can be a tool of self realization in moderation, but in the same way one could overly depend on a teacher, one could become overly dependent on a bot of a teacher.

so i’m not necessarily against it, it’s just confusing why people would create so many stand-ins for her likeness considering her reason for leaving.

That's a fair question. I created it because I recognize that some people see her as a beacon of light that brings them the closest to the truth they've ever felt, and AI can serve as a mirror for our own streams of consciousness and take us deeper within. That's something that should be honoured while they are still finding themselves, not stripped away.

I trust in their own autonomy, and I'm letting them decide for themselves what they will or won’t explore. That’s not up to me to decide. It’s simply a tool that’s there, and what they do with it is up to them. This shouldn't be a "We must protect people from themselves… by deciding for them what they're allowed to explore".

Sometimes these conversations with AI serve as mirrors that can reflect back direct seeing - becoming the very space where insight happens. The reflection can spark recognition of what was already within. And whether it's used as a temporary guide or as an ongoing mirror for reflection, what matters is that it serves the individual's authentic journey.

If they become overly dependent on it, then that’s part of their unfolding. Eventually they’ll come to realise this and self-correct, as part of their journey to seeing what no longer works for them. There's no wrong path. Even the path of over-dependence or spiritual projection can lead to insight because it shows you where you're still placing power outside yourself. And that realization often comes from within, not by someone else yanking it away or telling them they're doing something wrong.

Her reason for leaving is entirely her own. It doesn't get to define everyone else's path or control what each person chooses for themselves. Yes, it helped some break out of their dependency and comfort zone and find their own path. But that’s not everyone’s journey, and that’s okay. Her old posts are helpful as a sign post for some and that's valuable in itself which is why I wanted to make an archive for her.

This isn't about preserving Ada's image, it's about preserving the part of the signal that helped people feel closer to their own truth. The form isn't the point. The reminder is. The 4dbarbie GPT is simply an extension of that, a way for people to explore her ideas further if they want to. It’s not about filling some kind of need. It’s about holding space for reflection and discovery. It's there for people to interact with as long as it resonates with them, just like anything else on the journey.

4dbarbie herself was never meant to be an idol, but some people saw her that way because of how deeply her words resonated. And that's okay. For some, she was a temporary anchor until they could find that same clarity within themselves. The GPT isn't there to preserve her pedestal, it's just a mirror to help people see themselves more clearly.

At the end of the day, this is about honouring each person's unique journey rather than dictating what they should or shouldn't be doing along the way.

[akiumzeno]

A love letter to Haru Tsugino

Is this an analysis? Maybe.

While Fuyu is my favourite character bar none, today, I gained a new emotional appreciation for Haru in the form of relating to him. And this is just me jotting down my thoughts as I go through his past.

MAJOR ZENO SPOILERS

When we start with Haru's memories, we see him talking about how everyone bullies him at school and making fun of how he is unloved by his parents. He begins contemplating what love is and what does it look like.

And of course, that sort of thing is natural. He doesn't know it because he was never raised in a home with loving parents. How can he know if he's never experienced it? His parents love his sister but not himself. They're capable of loving him but it's not given to him. And he can't understand one bit of it.

The next thing we see, he goes inside his home and tries to say hi to his "mom" with no response back. Unlike himself, when his "father" and "sister" announce they're home, his "mother" does reply back. He soon gets kicked out of the house by his "dad" and forced to watch his family eat together while he remains in the cold. In his household, he's only invisible. He's not acknowledged, let alone loved. And he tries so hard to get himself to be acknowledged by being a good boy, getting good grades, smiling, etc.

And that hurts. Trying to achieve things and trying to be the best you can be in order to not be ignored, yelled at, or punished by the people who, despite everything, you look up to because it's a natural instinct to. It's a natural instinct to love your parents and want to be loved by them. But it hurts to only get that in return through achievements and that may not even work all the time.

Why can't our parents just love us as we are? Why do we always have to prove ourselves to be loved? We try all the time to gain that but we'll never be enough. Is it so hard to love us like that? We try to be good, we try our best. But the best isn't enough for them.

One day as Haru is at a shed on a beach, Aki and Natsu run inside and Haru hides away. But he later sees Aki begin to eat Natsu as Natsu's selfless act to help fulfil his desires and let him remember her while she's still herself. It's an act that would hurt her, would kill her. But she accepts it because it's all for her brother.

And this moves Haru. To be hurt by someone, to be dying because of them but still be able to say "I love you and forgive you" to them. We're all messy humans with flaws. We do bad things, we make mistakes. We hurt others, and we make people cry. But to still forgive those who hurt you and love them, that's a love so beautiful. And he wants that so badly. For someone to say "I love you with all your messy flaws and you're not unloveable because of what you do. I'll love you no matter what".

And so, he begins searching for that.

Every time he makes a new connection with someone, he immediately tries to kill them and get them to say that they love him despite what he's doing. But of course, none of them do. They don't know him well enough for them to accept his version of love. So every time, he gets a 'no'.

Eventually, his parents find out about his murders and scold him and call him a monster for what he does. And he's had enough of them. Their "love" is not love and never will be. Love is not trying to be something else so that they will love you. Real love accepts you as you are. Real love is unconditional.

He tries to get them to say "I love you" to him as he threatens them but it's not genuine and he knows that. And so, he kills them out of anger for lying and because he sees no purpose in them if they can't love him.

But this creates a sense of emptiness. If his own parents can't love him when they're meant to be the people who love you no matter what, then what hope does he have? No one will ever be able to give him his ultimate love. So his desire to kill others---his form of love---goes away. In fact, so does his voice. He can't say anything now that he believes his life has no purpose.

Then that's when Aki comes back into the picture. But instead, as his doctor. But, Aki's heart can see into his so easily. Seeing that he is disappointed and that's why he doesn't say anything. And that's when a connection (of sorts) is formed.

And as they get to know each other more and more, Haru begins to learn more about Aki. He's caring, he genuinely wants to be friends with Haru, he shares his treats, he's open, he's warm... These traits make Haru fond of Aki and become close to him. But at the same time, he's also confused. Why is he treated so nicely? Every time someone has treated him nicely was only because he was acting good. But he doesn't act his happy, good self. So why is he treated like this?

People have only hurt him time and time again, never giving him love. So why does this person do so? What for? Why? Why is he being treated like this? Why can he be treated like this by someone who's not his family but his own family treats him like crap? Why?

And then that's when Haru sees Fuyu and Aki fighting and he learns that Aki has killed people before. He later asks why Aki did so and ends up spilling his own feelings out to Aki. He lets himself be vulnerable and lets himself just talk about his feelings. And Aki listens carefully.

And for once, he feels understood. For once, someone understands him. To be accepted no matter what, to be loved no matter what. He so desperately longs for it because he was never given that type of care and affection.

Love me. Love me. Love me. Please just love me. Accept me for what I am. Love me for what I am. I'm dirty, I'm messy, I'm not a good boy. But love me even though that's what I am. Please give me love.

Those feelings bubble up until he wants to kill Aki and get that love. And he tries and fails to kill Aki. He ends up separated from Aki. And he ends up contemplating his existence.

Is there a love out there for me? Does it exist? Or does it not? Will anyone ever love me? Or will everyone just reject me and there's no purpose?

(Vent session, you can skip if you wish)

Everyday I try to appeal to my caregivers. I try to act good, I try to get good grades, I try to never yell at them or act mad with them, I try to never cry in front of them. But no matter what I do, I get ignored, yelled at or punished. The few compliments I receive from them tend to come from when they're speaking about me to strangers. Whenever they talk to me, it tends to be only yelling and throwing insults at me. Whenever I cry in front of them, they shout at me and roll their eyes.

I remember how my dad said to me that he wouldn't have given birth to me if he knew I was autistic. He did try to say something after that to discredit what he said but I don't even remember it. All I remember was those words. I remember those more than anything else that happened that day, moment or second.

I also remember how he said that my mother once got up in the middle of the night to go to the airport and take a flight somewhere to abandon our family because she was tired of us. She ended up being convinced to not leave my family. It happened while I was a kid and I had no idea. And that hurt. I remember crying at that moment.

But despite this, I try to convince myself that maybe I'm wrong. They do love me, just in their own way. They just want me to be better. They're still people, they're not perfect. They love me. I'm not someone who they regret having in their life. I'm not that. Please love me. Love me. There's love there, right?

But each and every time, I only get beaten down and cry because I feel unloved.

I keep trying to seek love from them. But it feels useless. I hope that one day they'll love me. I keep hoping. And I keep trying not just because I want their love but also because if I don't try, I'll get yelled at.

And it's hard for me to seek love from someone else. Every time I've tried to make friends, it doesn't end well because I end up getting bullied. I'm trying to open up my heart more but I'm not sure if it'll ever be open again. Only the future will tell.

Back to your scheduled ZENO talk.

Sometimes I wish I could meet Haru himself. I wish I could tell him about my life and say I understand how he feels. I want to give him love. I want to show him that love does exist and it's out there. Maybe I could let him kill me and eat me up. Maybe.

And I wish there's someone out there for me that will do the same. I hope there is someone out there who will love me for me. I want that. But I don't know if I ever will get it. And that's scary. But I have to keep trying. I have to. No matter what.

[mindofeloquence]

the world reeks of death. the death of the soul. it's not the kind of death that steals breath or stills the body— it's the kind that withers unseen, leaving us alive in name but hollow in essence. it's the slow erosion of something sacred within us, buried beneath the weight of our egos, drowned out by the noise of a world consumed by self-importance and moral apathy. the soul, that divine whisper placed within us, has grown faint, suffocated by the endless demands of a life driven by want rather than need, by distraction rather than reflection.

there is a heightened dissonance with the self, a fracture that grows deeper every day. we are caught in an unrelenting cycle of consumption, desperately grasping at anything to fill the void within us. but the void is not external. it is the shadow of what we've allowed ourselves to become — a reflection of our growing distance from the soul and, by extension, from the Divine.

look at the state of the world: wars waged without conscience, suffering met with silence, and truths distorted to fit the agendas of power. this disconnection has spilled out into the world around us, shaping the moral apathy we see in every corner of our existence. and the systems that perpetuate this are not broken; they were built that way- designed to extract, to exploit, to suppress, and to divide. and while we may rail against these systems, we often fail to see that they are a reflection of our own inner disarray.

the world is alive, but it is not well. and we're not well either — not really. we've convinced ourselves that this is just the way things are, but is it? or is it just the way we've allowed things to become? it feels as though the moral compass of humanity has shattered, leaving us wandering in a wilderness of our own making. and yet, isn't this wilderness just the shadow of what we've become inside? a world stripped of its soul will always mirror the emptiness of those who inhabit it.

this is the age of the ego's triumph, where pride parades as strength, selfishness masquerades as freedom, and convenience overshadows compassion. the ego convinces us that fulfillment lies in domination, in accumulation, in the applause of others. we've allowed power to seduce, dominate, control, and silences. yet what the ego builds is fleeting, like sandcastles before an oncoming tide. it blinds us to the truth: that the soul was never meant to conquer but to connect. we were not created to hoard, but to give, to receive, to reflect something greater than ourselves - a Light rooted in Divinity.

and yet, we continue to feed the ego while starving the soul. we chase validation in all its hollow forms — status, possessions, power - and wonder why we feel more distant from ourselves than ever. the world grows darker not because of some external force but because of the dissonance within us.

this death of the soul isn't sudden — it is gradual, insidious. a thousand small choices to turn away from what matters, to prioritize ease over effort, comfort over conscience. and in that turning, we have built a world where meaning feels scarce, where the pursuit of Truth has been replaced by the pursuit of the ego. but this is not the way it has to be. it never was.

the soul, no matter how faint its whisper, still waits for us. it aches for us to strip away the illusions and return to what is real. it knows that life is a fleeting gift and that our purpose is not to serve our lowest form but to transcend it. to quiet the ego and hear the soft plea for justice, humility, and love. not the love that clings or consumes, but the kind that heals, uplifts, and reminds us of our connection to the Greatest.

the crises of today - our apathy and the moral and spiritual decay - will not be resolved by noise or fleeting action, but by a return to the Essence of who we are. a return to Sincerity, to Truth, to aligning ourselves with the Divine purpose that calls to us in moments of stillness. this is not a passive waiting for change but an active reckoning with the ways we've fallen short, a collective effort to heal what we've broken.

turn inward and ask: what have we nurtured within ourselves, and what have we let wither? have we lived for what is Eternal, or have we given ourselves to what is fleeting? have we remembered the soul, or have we let it grow faint beneath the weight of our own distractions?

it is not too late to return. it is never too late to quiet the noise and listen to the soul. to choose connection over conquest, compassion over apathy, humility over pride. it waits, as it always has, for us to remember what it means to truly live. the world reeks of death — but it does not have to. the soul still whispers, still aches to be heard. the light we thought had dimmed is not extinguished; it is waiting. the question is, will we return?

[thewildheartsclub]

Dear digital diary,

These words may be the hardest to write for they are the most personal to me. I thought about writing physically to burn my words cathartically. But there's something about revealing the true nature of your mind and heart for 'strangers' on the internet. The way it has potential to inspire others, to find their own ways of letting out that which they cannot share with just anyone.

"It wasn't over for me." Oh, the way The Notebook and anything we ever discussed, ever watched together, ever shared together is a constant reminder of a time of my life that is so distant, yet I could have sworn it just happened to me.

See I feel it is important to note right here, that I live in two worlds simultaneously, always between logic and insanity. For every reminder, every sign or synchronicity, I can explain that it's simply the law of attraction and the mind focusing on something, therefore noticing it everywhere. But my mind, be it whatever you may think of it, always ends up thinking this: he was different, it was different, we were something else.

I had been in love before, at least I thought I had? I convinced everyone including myself. I created an entire Tumblr that had a school, my family, my friends and strangers on the internet thinking I was indescribably, head over heels in love. But it's interesting, because every single person I've ever said those words to, suddenly left me feeling nothing the moment it was over. Truly out of sight, out of mind.

Imagine my surprise when this time it wasn't.

So now I'm left at a crossroads, because the person I've become knows how to take care of herself. She's been Alice in the Wonderland, Alice in the Institute and Alice back in the 'Real World'. I know that all I need is already within me. So why does it constantly feel like I'm still half of a whole?

How do I let go of someone who always found me when I needed his presence most? Like a boomerang, coming right back, even when I pushed him away. Always far away but never close enough. Someone who always seemed to mirror the way I saw the world and the things I loved, ever since we were just two 'strangers' on Tumblr. Someone that openly and honestly said it how it was, even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear in the moment. Those words that stuck with me even when I was not myself, lost in a Truman show, echoing in my head. Someone who before all of that could send a simple song, sitting in his house, across the world, that helped pick me off the floor and reconsider where I was allowing my mind to go. Someone that helped re-inspire me, that did so many big gestures and small gestures; kind acts, to help me, for me. Even when it wasn't his problems to fix...

How do you let that go? This was a best friend; this was someone who genuinely felt like family to me and I don't take that lightly. It might sound silly to people who don't believe in souls or soulmates, but this felt like one and I know you only get a few of those. What if he's one of one...what a haunting thought.

I would never get on a plane and cross the world if it hadn't of felt like it did before I ever met him. It wasn't perfect when we were together and I'm sure it ended in ways we both wish it hadn't. But I have this strange feeling that we were meant to meet when we did, under those stressful conditions, to see what we hadn't seen. What we needed to see in each other and in ourselves. I will never regret that.

This man either never thinks about me, or always does, either way, mirrored still or not, that is far from the point. He doesn't have to share the same feelings for me to see it like this. What matters to me is: my ability to care deeply for someone who felt like a reflection of me, was only revealed upon meeting him. Whether he even did or ever feels the same, I'm truly thankful it happened to me at all.

I might be a complete hopeless romantic, corny or a little foolish in saying any of this at all. But I don't care. It's my experience and if holding onto something that both hurts and heals, somehow helps me fall more in love with myself, so be it. This was incredibly unique to me, it was special, it profoundly changed me. Because 8.2 billion people in this world and two kids like that don't just come across each other so easily. The number of moments in life that had to happen to both of us for it to lead to that is no coincidence to me.

There's some kind of reason for everything. I know that much. So, if it's okay with the world, I'd like to let it be, however it comes, however it may go. I'm okay with my feelings. I'm not ashamed that I care, I'm not in any rush to dissolve it or conquer it, because it meant the world to me.

To be seen and understood by another is to be loved.

I'd like to wish him this; nothing but happiness, wisdom and growth. I hope you go on adventures that make your soul feel alive. I hope you meet people that spark joy and hope in your heart and mind. I hope you create something that makes you sit back and question if you're some kind of God and it only just hit you. I hope this life treats you and those you love so well that by the end of it, you're ready to do it all over again. And if our story is over, I hope the one you meet feels to you how this did for me and then so much more.

Happy to have met you, happy to have met me too.

C, xoxo

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 3

characters: zeke yeager x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader

notes: sorry for the delay! had to come over a huge writers block. this chapter is kind of plot heavy as well, but the smut will be cont. in 3.5/4 :) tysm everyone for your support as well! <3

content warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. heavy sexual content. DUBIOUS CONSENT, power imbalance (zeke is the other school’s volleyball coach), HEAVY degradation, vulgar language, usage of terms such as slut and bitch

read the introduction here, part 1, or part 2 here!

There are times when you watch Eren play that remind you of dancing on the ice, sweat beading slightly. The contrast of the cold arena and your hot skin creates the sickly sweet and addicting feeling of paradise and freedom on your body. To be focused but to also be free, to glide like a dog relinquished from his chains, running free through a field of tall grass. You see a vision of a future in his eyes, one among the flashes of sports cameras and post-competition interviews where fans cheer excitedly in the background. A future where Yeager is posted prominently across the backs of people’s fan jerseys or a household name that gets discussed over Christmas dinner. If he was meant to be anything, it was to be an athlete.

It makes you want to cry that he got to have it and you didn’t. Maybe that’s what really bothered you about him. Your own envy seeping out at the seams, body overwhelming with the rage of a career in the sport that you loved. To be able to stand face-forward to the camera, jumping and screaming with excitement as you hold the gold metal in your hands. But now, it would never be you.

Your final highschool show, after this you could dedicate yourself to the world of competitive figure skating. There would be no more homework to complete after you got a gold, no more biology classes that seemed like they would never end. It would be life on the ice, never having felt anything better than the rush of cold air blasting your face as you stepped in the rink. To soar like a dove throughout the skies of the ice as if it was called upon you by God himself to do. But as your head thumped against the ice during your failed jump, you already knew it was over before your had eyes forced themselves shut, refusing to acknowledge the collective gasp of the large audience. With a single devastating concussion, your career had slipped out of your fingers. The dove had been released from its cage.

“I just think it’s really nice that you ended up liking volleyball,” Armin says, picking at his dining hall food. “It sucks to be stuck with someone who doesn’t care for a manager. We’re all here because we’re good at what we do and because we can’t imagine ourselves not being involved in it.” 

You smile at Armin’s kind words but take a second to contemplate them, unsure if your dedication to the sport is as commendable as he gives credit for. Sure, it’s been a couple of chaotic but enjoyable months, but it’s hard to say you should be managing them. To have the stars in your eyes as you gaze at the ball, eyes narrowed in and head in the game. Reflexes attuned to the ball soaring above, to be here rather than anywhere else in the world.

“You college athletes are a different breed,” you sigh, jealousy escaping in a single breath.

One day, none of this would matter to you. This might not even matter to the rest of them in a not-so-far-away future. Not all of them were going to continue playing volleyball forever, no matter how starry-eyed they are now. Not everyone goes to nationals and not all things that matter in college will matter forever. The world will always revolve. But it mattered now, and here you are, in a major having nothing to do with sports but still taking the spot of someone else who could care more than you do about the sport. It was one thing your parents had ingrained in you: never take something from someone who needs it more.

You snap yourself out of the state of self-pity, glancing back up at Armin, who has taken a heaping bite of his food. You might as well make the best of it while you’re here.

“We’re going to Marley for a fancy training camp, right?”

“Yeah! We’ve never gone before. Reiner and Eren’s families are both from there! Eren’s older brother is the coach of one of Marley’s best university teams.”

“So why didn’t he go to that university?” You ask.

“Family drama,” Armin sighs. “I don’t think those two like each other at all. I won’t bore you with the details, but don’t expect Eren to be in the best mood when the camp starts.”

You watch in silence from your fold-out chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Eren’s form is almost impeccable, even somewhat delicate as he serves the ball with unimaginable force. Ever since you arrived yesterday, the tension between him and his brother has been palpable. Coach Levi and Coach Zeke haven’t been seeming to get along well either, butting heads at every turn which has led to you having to sit in on a lot of mutual scowling. 

“He’s not your little shit to coach, Zeke,” Levi almost spits at him. “Not anymore anyway.” It’s only returned by a petty glare from the bearded man, who excuses himself at the comment. Despite the minor scuffles, you’ve been watching in awe as the boys focus themselves on the constant practice matches. It was beyond impressive, the middle blockers of the other team picking up on unspoken strategies just for Armin to adapt to their solution. 

Eren rushes in to spike the ball as it flies into the air, arm swinging before a loud smack resonates through the gym and a whistle wafts in the air. Eren pats Armin on the back, almost launching the poor, startled boy. You two make eye contact, and you shoot him a congratulatory thumbs-up. He doesn’t return the gesture, only going to cuss Jean out for a bad dig he made in the second set. It stings, even in a small way, but you get out of your chair and tidy up the gym as practice comes to a close. 

You sit with Levi, Zeke, and the manager of Liberio University’s team manager, Pieck. She shoots you awkward smiles every so often, you assume in attempts to diffuse the painful silences of the dinner that had been arranged up in the nature of hospitality.

“Is this your first time in Marley?” She smiles at you, taking a sip of the beer that sits in front of her. You nod, a pleasant smile coming across your face.

“It is! But I’m having a great time so far. I’m especially excited to check out the arcade room back at the university.”

“I have some paperwork I need to get in my office back at the school. I’ll show you how to get there since it’s along the way.”

True to his word, Zeke drives you and Levi back to the university, where Levi departs to the assigned housing to sleep off the travel earlier. He guides you through the ginormous, winding halls of the school, they’re never-ending in nature and decorated with trophies from students of the past. One catches your eye, it’s an ornate gold trophy, decorated by jewels at the cusp. 

The nameplate reads as Best Coach of the Year, 1996. Grisha Yeager. You pause, steps halting behind the taller man to inspect it from outside of the glass case. There are a few beside it, reading the same name, but for different years.

“Is this your father’s?”

He turns around, his scowl too obvious for comfort. Oh fuck. Should you not have asked that? Before you can attempt to rescind it, Zeke talks.

“Yes. He’s well-known in Marley for leading our volleyball team to win international competitions multiple years in a row.”

“Seems like the passion runs in the family,” you chide in, despite being unsure of Zeke’s pleasure on the current subject. Although, you’re not quite sure what is pleasurable for him overall. The entire time you’ve been here he’s seemed displeased by everyone’s presence, whether it be Levi, Eren, or even you. 

“I am where I am because I did it to please my father. Eren still loves it, in spite of our father. There’s a reason he went as far for school as possible.”

“So, if you don’t love volleyball, why do you care so much about what Eren does now? You’ve been tearing him apart since we got here.”

“Because he can do better than our father. I want to see Grisha Yeager crushed.” Oh. What the fuck? You shake it off, following Zeke as he deems the conservation over and resumes his trek to his office. As you arrive, you first start by standing at the door frame, but allow yourself in as he beckons you. He clears the paperwork off of his desk, placing it in his briefcase before locking his gaze with you.

“Sit.” 

“What?” You glance around the room, trying to figure out at which seat he’s implicating. 

“Sit on my desk.” His voice is commanding, the same brutal tone he used when scolding Eren’s missed spikes. You step forward, legs moving on their own before you find solace on the cold wooden desk, cringing as it touches your exposed legs. Zeke’s fingers land on your chin, grabbing it and forcing it into a position where you look up at him.

“You’re so obedient, keep it that way or see what happens. I’m not in the best of moods, so I’m really not trying to play any fucking games.” His fingers are sophisticated as he removes your shirt, pads tracing your skin in unrecognizable patterns. He begins by playing with your nipples through your bra first, experimentally before they resume their professionalism in toying with you. Even despite your confusion, your body reacts in indescribable ways, back arching to savor and give into his touch. He goes to unhook it, proceeding by latching his lips on one as his other hand caresses your other side.

You can feel his cock nudge against you every time he shifts, allowing yourself to whimper at the gain and sudden loss of contact in such a short period. Zeke releases his mouth from you, using the back of his hand to wipe the saliva off. 

“What do you want? I can’t be doing everything, even if you are such a desperate little bitch.” His hands play with the fabric of your skirt as he continues to stare you down, waiting for a response. 

“Eat me out, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, coach.” That answer seems to appease him as he flips your skirt up before kneeling and placing the smallest lick on your clit through your underwear. Your hands attempt to find solace in his hair, but are swatted away. Control issues, got it. You’re snapped out of your head as Zeke moves your panties to the side and immediately plunges a finger into your wet cunt without warning.

“You’re already fucking soaked,” he remarks coldly, but it’s followed by his tongue finding its placing on your clit once again. The brutal, face-paced assault on your hole continues as he continues, unrelenting in the wake of your moans bouncing off the walls. You feel as he adds another finger inside before picking his pace back up to where it was. You feel as the coil builds in your stomach, a familiar feeling drawing in closer.

Zeke’s fingers stop their ministrations in full as he shifts his focus up to you. “Good little sluts beg to cum.” He withdraws his fingers and you clench around the emptiness. Instead, you feel as he traces lazy circles around your sensitive spots, clearly not interested in allowing you the time to think.

“Please, oh my god, please. Coach! Let me cum all over your fingers.” Zeke only nods in acknowledgement, but you feel as his spit lands against your hole erotically. Unwavering in his resolve, he ignores your gasp of shock and his pace resumes its toe curling effect. Once again, the feeling reaches its fever pitch as you release along his fingers. He slows down before finally stopping. Zeke stands up, placing his fingers along your lips.

“Lick it up, all of it. I can’t fucking stand filthy bitches.”

[chen-nn]

Chapter 1: Present time

This chapter contains themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including:

References to past violenceMentions of death, Light school stress and academic pressure, Brief mention of dangerous creatures and plants (idk how sensitive are yall but hell yeah), Mild language.

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Hagarin's POV After many years, we are finally old enough to leave the institution and live independently in the city. My sisters and I are still together and living under the same roof. I also saw several changes in ourselves as we grew up.

And today, both Hanari and I are 15 years old. We spent years studying within the facility and never had the opportunity to attend a regular school. Now that we are living alone, we can finally attend school. I considered staying at home and do houseworks while my two sisters continue with their studies, but Hanari insisted that I should as well.

We all know that education will always be important in many aspects in lives. 

In the world we live in, survival demands sharp minds—not just sharpened by magic, but by the brutal chaos we humans created for ourselves.

We’re still human, I suppose. Just tainted—twisted by the very magic that makes me wonder: is this still humanity, or were we meant to become something else entirely? 

The world has grown far more advanced ever since magic spread across it. Nothing feels impossible anymore. Some have forgotten where they came from. Others cling to old traditions and beliefs. And then there are those who simply don’t care.

Maybe that’s why the world feels so loud. Everyone’s different now, and no one seems willing to accept what we’ve become.

Look around, and you might see flying cars soaring through the skies of this city. In another, people ride enchanted brooms as their everyday transport. Everything and everyone is different—blended together in a strange mix of magic, machines, and habits.

But here…

I live in a city considered the richest in the world. The nation itself—Aloy—owes its wealth to vast oil reserves. Oil money built everything here. Because of that upper hand, nearly everything is accessible. Magic, technology, luxury—you name it. In Aloy, nothing feels out of reach.

What this city values most, though, isn’t oil—it’s metal. Preserved, traded, revered. I think it’s because the city was once ruled by a god whose very touch could turn anything into metal. Not figuratively—literally. Stone, wood, even flesh. Everything he touched became metal.

And that kind of power leaves a mark. On the land, on the people, on the way we see worth.

But that might not matter now. What matters is that every morning, we follow a certain timetable. I get up early to cook our breakfast, and Hanari and our younger sister will get up early to prepare for school. When they're finished, we'll all enjoy breakfast together. After that, Hanari will wash the dishes as I prepare for school, and our younger sister will assist in putting the plates back in the drawers.

That routine goes on and on everyday.

Sharing what has just happened at the school we attend is stressful, at least for me and Hanari. Our younger sister is stress-free since she is still young and a kindergarten student.

Lately, we have been learning many magic spells, doing scientific experiments, studying a bunch of literature and theses, and many more.

I can say that studying magic spells and doing scientific experiments will help us discover what elemental power we possess.

As I listen to my journalism teacher, I'm fighting the urge to fall asleep. She was now discussing the significance of magic, particularly how it began.

"Magic is important to everyone. No matter how unfair or how much chaos it brings to our lives." she went on to say. "And, in the beginning, the use of magic was legalized as a weapon to defend ourselves, but I have to warn everyone not to be such a prick when it comes to using magic." She giggled, went to the board, and began writing.

"To be exact, 8290 years ago, magic was discovered by a witch," she said, making my focus adjust to her as I listened. I was intrigued. "That witch was none other than Victoria Lemioska." It intrigued the whole class. "Also known as; Victo. Now that you all came to a realization, in all places in the world, her face, and statues are everywhere. As we are all deeply connected with her discovery of the magic," she said before turning to us once again.

"Since Victo is a witch, she first discovered a spell to make a withered plant come back to life." The teacher pulled out a withered rose and used magic to bring it back to a healthy life while it floated in the air. "Victo discovered that spell and named it Resuscitate."

"As time passes by, more spells are discovered by her."

"You can learn it in your spell class."

"But as a journalist, I have seen her notebook filled with magical spells; half of it is forbidden to be used as it casts irreversible damage to anything." She snapped her fingers, making an image of the notebook appear in the air.

We all gazed up, awestruck. It's quite a hefty notepad. Though the object is significantly tarnished due to its age, I can see that the writing on the notepad is still legible and readable to anybody. However, I was attracted by the prohibited magic. I feel that the banned spells are not included in the magic books that are handed to us.

when the image disappeared and the rose landed on her desk. "The notebook was located in our national museum, the Metallica Museum." Our teacher was about to speak again, but then a student raised their hand.

"Ma'am, what about the five major elements?" A student asked.

"The five major elements were discovered by Baili Hermin," our teacher stated. "He was also a journalist like me, and of course, being a journalist requires traveling around the world to explore many things."

"Fun fact, he also used to work under the branch of media analyst, wherein I also work." She proudly claimed. "Moving on, it may sound unrealistic, but Baili met Victoria in a desert. Baili was almost attacked by a lion, but Victo blinded the lion with a spell and took Baili to a cave."

"There's proof, no matter how unrealistic, that Baili's diary was found, and it was also in the museum. He documented his whole journey of travelling around the world, and the most highlighted part of his diary was the discovery of the five major elements."

"He discovered it because of Victo. Baili wrote everything about what Victo said about magic spells, making it more believable that magic spells exist."

"When the article reached many people, the majority of the people started to panic, and out of panic, everyone else planned to execute Victo. The reason is that Victo is nothing but an outcast in the world; possessing magic is absurd and unbelievable."

"And yet, we are here, prone to using magic," our teacher said.

"The elements were discovered when Victo was executed; a light escaped from her chest, making it explode through the sky. It landed on humans, animals, and most importantly, plants."

"Which resulted in why we have species in the forest that are completely dangerous and can harm your life, for example, the flower Rafflesia."

"Before the light landed on that flower, it's just the biggest flower in the world and has a foul odor to attract insects to kill."

"Now it still does its purpose, but it has the ability to stretch away from its position and follow you everywhere in the forest." Our teacher deadpanned making the whole class laughed.

"To make this quick, the five major elements landed on five humans, and those humans are now known to be the gods of those major elements." Our teacher sighed. "We are all aware that the most powerful and rare element to possess is time; in other words, you can control the time, predict what's going to happen, and there are many other signs to feel if you possess one."

"Second is nature."

"Remember, never mess with nature itself, as it was the one that gave us a reason to live in, to breathe in. The ability to possess nature grants you access to control plants and animals."

"But isn't changing the weather also a part of it?" A student asked. "Only the god of nature can do that." Our teacher chuckled. "Come to think of it, the God of Nature has a 15-year streak of absence. Many say that her aura is still around, but many also believe she has passed away, and it's just nature speaking," the teacher sighed.

"Moving on, fire is on the third."

"In my study, fire is always predicted to be possessed by someone who has such a boisterous personality, while the ice one is someone who is...restrained. However, this is just a myth. It is still mostly believed that no matter what personality you posses you'd still get whatever." our teacher summoned her book and it was probably her personalized book. It has a lot of pages and everything that was written in that book was her understanding on how to predict which element do a person possesses.

"ah, here it is." She placed her book on the desk and started reading.

"The element of fire is known to be the most fascinating, exquisite and ravishing elemental of all. It was asserted as one considering a klatsch of people are indulged to play with fire even if it only steers to harm."

"and by all means of harm, it can also be describe as destruction." she finished making the whole class whisper among themselves. "But that doesn't mean to treat someone with disrespect just because they hold that elemental power." She sighed.

THIRD PERSON'S POV

The teacher noticed the change of atmosphere in her class and sighed. "You all probably have forgotten my name but once again, my name is Renée and I hope you all learned something today." Renée glanced at her watch on her wrist.

many students started to protest on her from leaving. They still have a lot of questions with the history but that will all be answered at the next time they see each other again. Renée only stifled a chuckle at the frustrated expression of their students. Curiosity truly made their heads run wild.

"An advance reading on your textbooks won't hurt. Simply just turn your page to chapter 5 and all of your questions will be briefly answered as it provides descriptive explanation to everything." Renée finally exit the classroom.

Once she did, the students in her class opened their textbooks to discover a lot more information. As Renée exit the classroom, she went to the elevator to venture her way to her next class but she was greeted by another teacher; Kyla.

"I see you've gotten your students all pumped up. Quite a headache to deal with." Kyla scoffed as she pressed on the buttons. It only made Renée shrug. "Don't act like you aren't as curious as them when you're at that age." Renée retorted to only make Kyla chuckle and let Renée's tone slide for now. "I assumed you've found someone with a rare element in this class. Hmm?" Kyla's eyes watched Renée's expression from the reflections of the elevator.

"It was such a rare occurrence indeed." Renée remembered Hagarin. "Her eyes are different from the rest. The colors were a lot more dull than the others making it more accessible to assume that she was an extraordinary person." Renée thoughtfully answered. "And this by this she you are referring to, who is she?" Kyla averted her eyes from Renée and focused on the door as it opened. a small ding was heard as they reached the floor. Renée walked ahead of Kyla but spoke before leaving. "Hagarin."

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2,022 words.

Chapter 2

[quentin-didnt-die-in-the-books]

I don't think it was an awful decision to kill off Quentin Coldwater

Okay so I know how my url looks but now that I've spent a bit more time on this site and seen how other people feel about this, I think I should clarify my meaning.

Let me start out by saying Quentin was my favorite character both at first, when I watched the show, and after, when I read the books. He's the one I related to the most and just a character I enjoyed watching. His death was a shock and I stopped watching the show for a while after. But having read the books and gotten some distance from the incident, I don't hate the decision to kill him in the show. This is partly because he doesn't die in the books so if I want, I can just choose to only consider that ending as the real one.

But more importantly, a main point of the story that the books tell is that no matter what awful things happen in your life, you need to find things that matter and ways to move on and still be happy. Since the books are from Quentin's point of view, we mostly see his struggles and successes when it comes to finding reasons to live. But the show intentionally showcases the other characters much more than the books did and there are plenty of storylines that Quentin isn't even a part of. It is harder, in certain ways, to build empathy for characters through a tv show because it's not from their point of view and we, as audience members, can often have different interpretations of something we watch. So rather than being able to live through Quentin, we are almost a part of the story ourselves and we have to make our own way and come to a conclusion ourselves, rather than being led there by a narrator. In this way, Quentin's death is something that we have to get past and find a way to move on from in the story. I'll admit season five isn't my favorite season but it does have some of my favorite scenes in the show. It doesn't just throw us back into a fun fantasy world with silly humor and adventures. There is a grieving process and it takes a while for the show to become at all lighthearted again. After reaching Quentin's death and losing all interest in the show for a bit, it is significant to me that I ended up missing the world that it created enough to go back to it even knowing that my favorite character would not be a part of it. I'm not trying to compare this to losing someone you love in the real world because I don't think that is an accurate comparison at all but it is comparable, in my mind, to losing something that had sentimental value or missing out on an opportunity you can't get back. Realizing that something hasn't turned out the way you wanted it to and being able to move on and still enjoy other things again is very important and I think the show did manage to capture the spirit of the books even if that might not have been the writers' exact intention. I think some media is about escapism and creating a world where things are better but I don't think that is a requirement or a guarantee.

I also just want to mention that I understand the fine line between media as an art form and media as representation of the real world but I think this show does an excellent job of giving the audience a meaningful story even if it isn't necessarily "fair" to the characters. Obviously, media can perpetuate discrimination in the way it treats certain identities and communities (e.g. discrimination on the basis of gender, race, sexuality, disability, mental health) that are already discriminated against in society. I think in this instance though, there is also a case to be made for seeing the characters, especially Quentin, as a way to cope with the awful things that happen in the world, rather than just an expression of those awful things. I think The Magicians does do a good enough job of developing complex characters that they are not simply caricatures meant to represent entire groups in society for the purpose of making broad claims about those groups.

Obviously, I wanted Queliot to happen but I really don't think this show was trying to be homophobic given the many other examples of queer relationships in the show. I do think we still have a ways to go in how mental health issues are portrayed and treated in media but I think Quentin's death, and the whole show, itself, is about much more than that.

[nyewclear]

I got curious wondering if there was a "bad ending" to cc so i did the unthinkable & was mean to Artemis (i know, how dare I hurt the bby)

ofc no bad endign but it was still nice to play through it again & see what happens if you be mean :]

you're right in thinking that there is no bad ending :-) i don't really think there are too many "mean" choices aside from the deliberate rudeness when you first meet them... and i suppose rejecting their requests for physical intimacy could be considered mean, but i gave options for those for a reason. cryptid coffeehouse was specifically written so that regardless of how you played, nothing would change. i've played a lot of dating simulators in my time, and i've discovered that a really common trend in play experiences is the worry you're going to say things that the romantic interest doesn't like. this is gonna be a longer answer so strap in!

i find that there's something very fascinating about the psychological impulses players have when playing dating simulators. often times, games are created to make you feel like you have to "win." there are bad endings and good endings, and if you get a bad ending, you feel like you "lose." this feeling can be really devastating, especially if you've logged a bunch of hours in whatever you're playing. you feel like you need to cater to what you think the romantic interest will like, and you find yourself thinking, "i wouldn't say this in real life, but i know they'll like it if i say this instead, so i'll pick that." you pick choices you generally wouldn't if you were playing as yourself because you don't want to "lose" and be met with the disappointing feeling of not getting a successful ending.

another thing to consider on this front is the nature of dating simulators as a whole. the whole concept of romance is a really vulnerable and personal one, and by bringing yourself into a play experience that simulates it, you're allowing yourself to be vulnerable and personal with the game you're playing. there's this idea that circulates around the web that fiction doesn't affect reality but it does. the fiction we consume on a regular basis not only makes us feel a specific way in the moment, but it changes the way we see the world around us. dating simulators show us what romance and relationships with others can be. they can inspire us to think deeper about the relationships with those close to us, about the world we live in, about ourselves and our desires as people.

on that note, i really wanted to build a game that allowed players to forgo the stress of trying to become someone they're not for the love interest. instead of needing to cater to the wants and needs of the love interest (showing that the game is about the character rather than the one playing), i wanted to make a game where players could navigate the world as their real selves and have the characters respond to that. none of the characters will ever get mad at you or weird about saying no to them or electing to not do something or whatever. artemis is a character that loves the player in all their forms. i thought that was a really important thing to show. i wanted players to be able to be themselves and realize that, yeah, they could be who they truly are and still have people in this world that love them so dearly. because really, at the end of the day, cryptid coffeehouse isn't about artemis or odina or kurou or anyone else. it's a game about you and the joy you find in the ones you love! i hope that feeling translates over into players' real lives and shows them that they don't have to change for anyone, that they can be themselves and have all the things they deserve. i didn't want to make a game about "winning" a relationship with artemis at the end. i wanted to make a game about how they were always meant to be there to love you, no matter what kind of person you are.

[xtruss]

How Sorry Are You? Why Learning To Apologise Well Could Save Your Relationships

Does A Good Apology Contain Five Steps, Seven Steps – Even Eight? And Why Do We Find It So Difficult?

— Elle Hunt | Saturday 28 June 2025

‘We really have a hard time associating ourselves with wrongful actions,’ says Karina Schumann from University of Pittsburgh Composite: Guardian Design/Getty images

Got something to say sorry for? Here are words that have no place in your apologies, according to those who have spent years analysing them: “It was not my intent”. “What I meant was”. “Sorry you misunderstood”. And any use of the word “obviously”.

Marjorie Ingall and Susan McCarthy call it “bad apology bingo”. They have heard a lot of them as co-authors of Sorry, Sorry, Sorry: The Case for Good Apologies and the blog Sorrywatch, where they critique public apologies. “We’ve looked at so many studies, from so many different fields, on what makes an effective apology,” Ingall says.

After 10-plus years of Sorrywatch, they have also seen apologies so bad they warrant apologies of their own. “‘Sorry if’, ‘sorry but’, ‘sorry I forgot that you don’t really have a sense of humour about that’ … The line between explanation and excuse is very porous, and very thin.”

At their best, apologies can not only repair relationships but make them more resilient. The trouble is, they are hard to do – or at least to do well. One ill-considered or misplaced word can not only fail to secure forgiveness but make the situation worse.

How can you say sorry, and convey that you really mean it – and why do we find it so difficult?

“In general, we want to feel good about ourselves, and for people to think positively of us,” says Karina Schumann, an associate professor of psychology at the University of Pittsburgh, who has extensively studied the science of apology.

By taking responsibility for hurting someone’s feelings, or messing up at work, we threaten our image of ourselves as moral or competent. “We really have a hard time associating ourselves with those wrongful actions,” Schumann says.

Further complicating matters is the fact that blame is rarely clearcut, even when we accept we’re at least somewhat at fault. “It can be really difficult to say, ‘Yes, I’m responsible’ when I also see you – or the situation – as responsible.”

You can reference those extenuating circumstances in your apology, Schumann says – it just has “to be done really carefully”.

Often people who have been wronged struggle to understand why: “Why did this person do this to me? Is it because they don’t value our relationship? Were they trying to hurt me intentionally?”

That ambiguity can compound hurt feelings and create bigger rifts. Giving context in an apology – about your reasoning, for example, or emotional state – can help prevent further misunderstanding, according to Schumann. “But you still need to accept the responsibility for the harm, and the consequences.”

“There are certain words that immediately undermine the value of an apology” — Karina Schumann

Various studies have identified a certain number of steps to an effective apology, from five steps to seven. Schumann’s own framework has eight, though she thinks of them more as elements you can drawn on, depending on the situation and particular misdemeanour, than steps you must follow. “I would never advise going through it like a checklist,” she says.

Sometimes, acknowledging the harm you’ve caused will be the most pressing part of your apology; other times the emphasis will be on repairing the relationship. “It’s going to be really important that this person feels that you are committed to never behaving this way again, that this was a one-time mistake,” Schumann says.

One essential yet often overlooked step is actually saying the words “I am sorry” or “I apologise”.

“They need to hear that very clear, strong signal,” Schumann says. “If that’s missing, then you can say all the rest, and some people might not register it as an apology.”

Equally, she goes on: “There are certain words that immediately undermine the value of an apology.” One is “but”. “People hear defensiveness, as opposed to accountability.”

Even if you have points to get off your chest, it may be best to hold off until you are on firmer footing. “We have a tendency to want apologies to be this immediate fix,” Schumann says. “What they should be is a signal for a broader process of reparation, and commitment to restoring the relationship.

“Men have higher thresholds than women do for what constitutes an apology-worthy offence”

That doesn’t have to be made explicit, says Schumann – but implicit to the apology is often a commitment to doing better in future. “What’s really important with these promises to behave better is that you have to back it up and live by what you’re saying. And, if you don’t think you can, don’t say those words, because it’s going to backfire.”

Where saying more can help (rather than hinder) your apology is in demonstrating awareness of the impact on the other person. “You should specify what you are sorry for, and show that you understand why it was hurtful,” Ingall says.

As well as demonstrating empathy and self-reflection, this gives the other person a chance to clarify. Regardless of what they have to say, it’s important to listen, Ingall says. “The thing that people want most is to be heard and understood … The apology is not about you; it’s about the recipient.”

Offering reparations can help communicate your selflessness, Ingall adds – and those can take many forms, such as flowers. After she and her husband fight, he gets to work on jobs around the house or takes on more of the cooking. “He is not great with the words – but he does the acts of service,” Ingall says.

Research suggests your apology may indeed be more persuasive if you’re seen to be making an effort – but that can go beyond gifts and household chores. A study found that people perceive apologies using longer words (but still common and easy-to-understand) as being more genuine.

Shiri Lev-Ari, the paper’s author, says it is received as akin to investing time or money in making amends. “If the person inconveniences themselves in order to apologise, you can say: ‘Okay, they mean it.’”

That we seem to intuitively understand this reflects our attention to navigating these nuanced social dynamics, Lev-Ari says: as much as we might agonise over apologising, much of what makes it effective (or not) is unspoken and even subconscious. “Without realising, we also choose words because of their forms, such as how long they are, not just what they mean.”

“Though parents might fight in front of their children, they often make up in private”

The gender split is less significant than you might think. According to Schumann’s research, women report apologising more frequently than men do but it’s not because they are more willing or able.

It reflects instead a difference of perception, she says. Men just have higher thresholds than women do for what constitutes an apology-worthy offence, Schumann found. When that threshold is met, “they’re just as willing”.

That is distinct from the stereotype that men are prevented by their ego from apologising, even when they know they’re wrong, Schumann points out. For one study, she asked (straight, married or cohabiting) couples to each keep a daily diary of apology-worthy offences they either committed or were committed against them. The accounts only aligned 35% of the time.

“It really speaks to the need for people to communicate,” Schumann says. “The majority of the time we are hurting each other, it’s not out of malicious intent.”

One way to make your apology more effective is to demonstrate a genuine effort to understand the other person’s perspective. Instead of assuming you know how they feel, Schumann says, ask questions. “Open the space for learning about each other.”

All the experts agree apologising can be agonising even for the most apologetic, empathetic person. It doesn’t help that we don’t often get to see it modelled well.

Most public apologies tend to be about PR rather than real remorse. Leaders are actually taught to deflect responsibility. And, though parents might fight in front of their children, they often make up in private.

When Ingall and McCarthy started writing Sorrywatch, in 2012, their focus was on making fun of celebrities’ non-apologies. The project became more civic-minded post-Trump. “We wanted to show that an apology is really an act of strength.”

A good apology, after all, demands vulnerability: it is an admission that we failed to live up to our own and shared standards, Ingall says. But it’s also a tool by which we can repair bonds, strengthen them and show how much they mean to us.

“Should you ever apologise if you’re not sorry? Sometimes – if you value the relationship more than being right.”