#if it makes life easier then it shouldn't be seen as a bad thing

[vicetrevni]

Accommodations do not 'limit' what a person is able to do.

It means that it eliminates a point of stress/grief in their daily life, so they can do *more*.

It is not 'laziness' to want to do more, but needing accommodations to make that happen.

[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

Many people have taken one look at this and inmediately leaped to the conclusion that Jedi forbid emotions. Which is, huh… interesting.

What people don't realize is that the Jedi Order are a religious organization, and as such they have their own sacred texts, such as this meditation mantra (because yeah, that's the only time it's ever mentioned, during meditation).

And the trick about this kind of texts is that they're not meant to be taken literally. You're not supposed to take it at face value, you're supposed to think about it, reflect about it, and then interpretate it. I'm sure the average "fan" hasn't actually thought about it beyond "code bad Jedi evil", nevermind that it's not actually the Jedi Code mentioned in the films.

Since it's a meditation mantra, one used to focus to make connecting with the Force easier, it makes perfect sense that this is how you should feel when using the Force.

You shouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions or passions, you shouldn't act if you don't have knowledge. This is obvious: if you can command the essence of life, then maybe you should actually be in the state of mind to do it.

However, the other lines of "no chaos but harmony" and "no death but the Force" don't fit into this. So, what do they mean?

Here is the other version of the Code. It was seen for the first time in the Kanan comics, and is arguably more canon than the previous one.

(People have called it the Gray Jedi Code, which is hilarious in and on itself and another point in favor of the argument that the so called Gray Jedi are just canon Jedi.)

I'm sure everyone can agree that this one is good.

Feel, but find peace in your emotions. Know nothing, but figure it out. Suffer, but look past it to find serenity. Just like there is chaos, there is harmony. And just like there is death, there is the Force.

But what if I told you that both Codes are saying the same thing?

I know, I know. You probably think I'm crazy, but… what if they're saying the same things, in different ways?

To expand on the interpretation that the first one is how you should be when using the Force (and I admit with my whole chest that this is my interpretation), we can say that the Force isn't naturally things like emotion and chaos. They are only what we bring with us.

That doesn't make them any less real. They are, and they are important, but they are subjective experiences. Everyone will have different emotions, different passions, different things they are ignorant of. Even death, even as it will come for everyone, is something private and personal. I don't know what X person felt or thought when they died.

However, things like peace, harmony and the Force are universal.

Chaos (noun): "complete disorder and confusion." "the property of a complex system whose behaviour is so unpredictable as to appear random"

Dictionary definition, bear with me. "Whose behavior is so unpredictable as to appear random". It isn't random, it has patterns and reasons to happen just like everything else. We simply don't know those patterns. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Just because we don't know something doesn't mean we can't learn it. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Therefore there is no such thing as chaos, not really, just a pattern, an order, a harmony, we don't know yet. First definition is about human reaction, not anything about the object itself. There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Emotion, ignorance, passion, chaos, even death. They are all feelings, subjective experiences, things that, ultimately, can change as you find new understanding (well, death only happens once and is permanent but you get the point). But inner peace, knowledge (about situations, about people's reactions), serenity and harmony are all universal. They exist, and will exist long after we die, we just have to find them.

And, long as we remember people, as we understand that all lives have left a mark, big or small, we will keep those who have passed alive within our hearts.

Death, yet the Force. There is no death, there is the Force. Or, perhaps…

"(The Force)'s an energy field created by all living things" Obi-Wan Kenobi, ANH

"Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter" Yoda, ESB

"No one's ever really gone" Luke Skywalker, TLJ

Death, yet the essence of living beings. There is no death, there is life.

[luveline]

IM BEGGING ON MY KNEES PLEASEEEE 🔥🔥🔥 NOTICE MEEEE

Really quiet and shy reader who’s new to the team and Spencer JUST got out of prison like a month ago and he comes back and sees the cutest girl he’s ever seen so young and new to the team and can’t help but tease her

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

Unit Chief Emily Prentiss scares the fuck out of you, but you're still not as intimidated by her as you are by Dr. Reid. 

Dr. Reid, and not Special Supervisory Agent Reid —there's a big difference— shouldn't be a scary guy. He doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, his haircut is tame, and you watch him pour enough sugar into his coffee to weaken the enamel of your teeth just looking at it. But while all or this is true, Dr. Reid just came back from a weeks long stint in one of the most tense prisons in the world. Emily assured you in her way that everything bad you may have heard about Dr. Reid would be false, and that anything positive is true. 

He looks different to how you'd pictured him. Emily's promise aside, Garcia painted him as some sweater-wearing Teddy bear of a boy who likes chess and Doctor Who. 

This is a man. Full grown, full suit, dark-eyes. You're not sure what to feel as he spots you. When Anderson gave you the desk across from Spencer's you'd thought you were lucky, getting treated as part of the team from the very beginning, but now you're not so sure. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes on you as he puts down his coffee atop a stack of medical journals. His things were left untouched while he was gone, even though he was technically separated from the bureau. He's well respected. “I've been excited to meet you. I'm Spencer.” 

“Dr. Reid,” you say immediately, standing up from your chair to meet him besides your desks. 

“Spencer,” he says again. “I don't shake.” 

“Oh, no, of course not,” you say, hiding your hands behind your back. “I know you were here long before me, but I can safely say how nice it is to have you back.” You smile. “They were all so worried about you.” 

“You kept them in line while I was gone?” 

“No, I was useless. I've never felt this stupid in my life.” 

“That's just how it feels for the first year.” He isn't smiling, isn't frowning, a hint of amusement in his eyes and hands steady as he tucks them into his pants pockets. “It's not the others, is it?” 

“No, there's just a lot to learn.” 

“It shouldn't be hard for you, though, right?” He gestures to you like this means something. 

“I don't…” 

“You're what, twenty four?” Spencer picks up his mug and takes a drink. “If you're smart enough to be here now, you'll be fine.” 

“You think so?” 

“Don't tell me you're scared, Y/N.” His lashes flare ever so slightly in feigned surprise. After a second of your obvious flustering, he laughs. “No, you don't scare easily. I can tell.” 

Absolutely nothing like you told me he'd be, Penelope. I thought we were friends. 

“So what was your last case like? The Bentley driver?” he asks, nodding toward your desk. “How's your peer reviews going? They used to drive me insane.” 

You startle and rush to sit in your desk chair, opening the case file from the last case to gather his approval. He flicks through pages, almost non-committal, though he gives a hum of approval when he reads your UnSub summary, and when he sees a comment you'd made that you'd believed to be particularly astute, he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “you'll be fine.” The smell of him floats your way, cologne or aftershave that makes you feel dizzy. He looks down at you. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing, uh–” You bite your tongue rather than answer and trip over another useless sentence. 

He touches the top of your shoulder lightly. “It will get easier,” he promises. 

He means work, of course, but for a split second you wonder if he means being near him. If he's like this often, you doubt that that's true. 

[little-worm-grant]

Night Terrors

Moonboys x You (Reader) 574 words / 18+ only, no minors

Masterlist.

If you like what you see, leave a like or reblog and follow me ♥

Summary: Marc isn't the only one to suffer the occasional bad night, they all do. Here are some ramblings of how each of the alters handles night terrors with you around. This will contain descriptions but nothing graphic.

A/N: A lil cathartic trauma writing after a bad night. I have CPTSD that's not too different to Marc's experience with his mom growing up. No matter how many years of therapy I've done to find my baseline normal, I still get night terrors every month. This is a damn sure better than what it used to be, but still annoying. It's one of those things I will never have control over and just have to deal with it. Thought I'd use my experiences to write how I imagine it'd go for the moonboys. Regardless of the things I write, I'm genuinely in a good place in my life. Healing is not linear. The worst experience to ever happen to me was my childhood and I've gone forward in life with my head up knowing nothing will ever be that bad again. Look after yourself first, no one can do it as good as you can.

Steven wakes up sometimes in a panicked wheeze, flapping his arms as though to get a spider off his pillow (it's just the shadow indent of where his head was that his brain hasn't quite registered), or just straight up flying out of bed in a scramble to get away from the perceived threat. You've learned he needs a lot of physical contact to come around and be eased back into bed. He never remembers these nights or what he's dreaming about. Laughs and calls himself a "right plonker" when you explain it the next day. He'll comfortably make jokes about his evening escapades. He panics when he's conscious, it doesn't surprise him one bit he also does it in his sleep too. No wonder he's always so tired. Steven deeply appreciates knowing you're there for him when he needs it. He'll pamper you and try making your day a little easier to make up for it. Scratch each other's backs and all that. -

Marc shouldn't be touched when he gets like this. Always a small chance it'll freak him out more. He's never hurt you, more like he doesn't recognize you and tries to keep you at an arm's distance to keep himself safe. You've never seen him so tense. Sat upright, shaken breath. Eyes wildly scanning the dark of the room, convinced he's seen something in the shapes he can make out. As though it's both your lives on the line if he's distracted from it. He doesn't look angry, it's not like that stern expression he usually carries... but more like he's seen a ghost. He's terrified of whatever may come out of the dark. It breaks your heart. You talk him through his logical fallacies until he's convinced enough to settle back down. Sometimes it requires a light being turned on for him to snap out of it. Come the next day, he'll brush off your follow-up questions of it. Embarrassed you saw that side of him. Marc won't often remember getting up in the night, but he certainly remembers what he dreamt about. He won't willingly discuss that in any detail. He thinks you'll look at him differently if he does. The day naps wrapped around you make everything better. -

Jake you've only seen out once in this state. The broom you'd moved out the way before bed came tumbling down in a loud clatter, and he was up in a blink of an eye. No staggered breathing or wild eyes like Marc. None of Steven's exaggerated or fast movements. Stiff as a statue he's up and staring off into the empty void of the room. It was more unnerving than the other two. You try talking to him but he doesn't acknowledge you. A tentative touch snaps his eyes to yours. After a moment, he seems to soften and come back to himself. Some mumbled strung-together Spanish you aren't convinced was meant to be coherent. He chuckles and drops back down into the sheets. Reaching out to pull you in closer. Soundly snoring a moment later. You're left perplexed and blinking. Questioning who the hell that was. Jake tends to have a very vague recollection of coming to and trying to tiredly explain his reasoning. He doesn't remember if he was dreaming. "But there's no danger, so there's no problem. Go back to sleep," he'd tell you, thinking you understood him perfectly. He can sleep better for it.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter nine of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, pining, fluff, some angst.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Philadelphia 1941

You paced at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands together, heartbeat frantic against your ribcage as your world seemed to spin to a stop. You didn't know whether you wanted to laugh or cry, scream or sob, throw up or have a stroke. Your entire body was electrified with your nerves, popping and crackling loud in your ears as the impulses jumped from synapse to synapse with ease.

And it was Howard's fault.

After three years of courting, of you trying to make up excuses to lengthen the distance between you two, of trying to find a way out, of trying to find a way to tell Ben that you loved him, it had finally happened, Howard had proposed. It wasn't out of the blue, you had been courting long enough and you were well past the age of usual engagement, something your mother continued to point out, but that didn't make any of this any easier.

Your eyes drop to the offensive chunk of jewelry on your left hand. Not only was it the ugliest ring you’d ever seen, but it was from the wrong man. You knew that deep down in your bones, knew it the second Howard came to Sunday night dinner and dropped to one knee in front of you. Hell, you knew it the second you met Howard for the first time. He was nothing compared to Ben, no one was.

You had looked Howard in the eye stunned, unable to speak, then raised your eyes to your father and mother hoping to find your voice and a plausible excuse, but before you could give him the honest answer you knew in your heart to be true, your mother had shouted "Of course she will!"

Because she's controlled everything else about my life, of course she'd do this as well.

Your tried again not to think about how ugly the ring and how it was utterly wrong for you in every way. When Howard dropped to one knee and opened the velvet box, all you could think of was Ben. You wondered what ring Ben would have chosen for you and wondered if the ring from him would have been right.  He knew you better than anyone else.

Which begged the question: shouldn't your fiancé?

You tried not to compare your best friend to Howard, because you knew who would win. Every time you began to compare them, Ben had more pros than Howard did. But you couldn't keep waiting for Ben, didn't want to. Howard was promising you a future, a family, marriage-

A loveless one. The thought is immediate and makes your heart seize in your chest.

You knew that a marriage with Ben would be different, filled with passion, romance, love-

But he doesn't love you. So basically if Ben married you it would be the same for him as you marrying Howard. A one-sided love.

Despite dating Howard, you still allowed Ben in your life. Ben stayed over whenever he wished, walked with you to the park, stole you away for drinks in the bar down the street where Howard wouldn't be caught dead in, and took you to the occasional baseball game. Howard didn't drink and he didn't like being outside. Those moments with Ben made you feel more alive than you'd ever felt and then you'd meet Howard later and try to summon the enthusiasm to sit with him at dinner, all the while you were still buzzing with happiness from seeing Ben.

It made you feel like a traitor, feeling that good and thinking about another person while Howard tried to be everything you wanted.

Whenever Howard would kiss you goodnight, it made you feel like you were kissing a statue, cold, unfeeling, and despite his attempts to slide his tongue in your mouth it was passionless. And it made you think about what Ben said about Howard's name and what he would be like in bed, as improper as it was. You think back to all the moments you and Ben had been pressed against one another when you woke up in the morning, how perfectly you fit against him. Whenever Howard tried to hug you or hold you close it was all wrong. He wasn't tall enough or broad enough, not to mention sometimes you thought if he'd even be able to pick you up. Howard was more lanky than muscular, certainly not as strong as Ben, who picked you up one time on a dare from Adam when you were all really drunk.

Howard didn’t make you feel warm when he touched you accidently, he didn’t make you feel brave whenever your mother was around, and he certainly didn’t make you feel as happy as you did when you were with Ben. Not to mention he never let you draw him, said that there were more important things that he could be doing rather than siting there posing for you.

Howard wasn’t spontaneous. He’d show up exactly on time, call when he said he would, time every single minute of your dates and he certainly never tried to surprise you the way Ben did. The only time Howard ever seemed excited about anything was when he was talking about the fiscal progress of the United States in comparison to Europe, which he weaseled into every conversation you had together.

Even when he asked you to marry him it sounded more like a business proposal than a happy moment. You always thought that when you got engaged the other person would make at least some confession of love. He hadn’t done that. Howard successfully sucked the life out of a moment you thought you would remember forever. You couldn’t even remember what he said before he got on one knee, just the awkward silence and the feeling of dread that clamped tight around your heart when he asked you the question that ruined your life.

Legally am I bound to this, because technically my mother said yes for me?

You wondered if Howard proposed because the U.S was finally joining in the war or if he genuinely loved you. He brought by flowers often, roses even though you liked lavender more, brought by caramels even though you liked chocolates, and sent you books on the financial history of the United States that were helpful when you couldn't sleep at night, they sent you right off, not to mention you'd started sketching street scenes in the pages making them much more interesting, but you weren't going to show Howard that. His head would probably explode.

You sigh again, pacing faster at the end of your bed.

Howard wanted a quick wedding within the week before he shipped out to military training on Friday, and maybe you should be scared about your fiancé going to war, but the only person you were worried about was Ben. He'd probably also join the military to prove something to his father and take your heart with him when he left. You knew that Ben was the only one you wanted to hold your heart in his hands.

You look back down at the ring on your finger, filled with dread and thoughts about a passionless future.

How am I going to tell Ben?

The tap on your window is familiar, but frightens you, because you didn't know how to tell him or how he'd react. Each time you brought up Howard around him, Ben would make a sarcastic comment and change the subject. You think about the night you danced together, when Ben said that you couldn't be Howard's and also his friend.

Does that mean he'll never want to be apart of my life when we get married?

The thought makes your heart break. You couldn't imagine a life without Ben and you didn't want to, but you could image a life without Howard.

Ben is crouched in the window, a wide smile on his face,  but this time he doesn't wait for you to let him in, he rolls up the window himself and he crosses the room to hug you.

The hug surprises you. You were usually the one that initiated them, but the hug breaks something in your chest and you hug him back tighter than you ever had to stop the tears from falling, pressing your face into his rumpled suit.

"Hey Sweetheart." Ben pulls back, but frowns when he looks at your face. "What's wrong?" Ben's hand gently cups your cheek, trailing warmth where his fingertips touch. You're surprised at the boldness of his touch, but you ascribe it to the alcohol, given the sharp tang of whiskey that floats through the air between you.

"Nothing." You clear your throat, stepping back so his hand falls and covering your ring finger on your left hand with your right nonchalantly. "How are you?"

Ben frowns for a minute at your reaction, but then shakes it off. "I've got great news." He smiles so wide that it makes the urge to cry rise in the back of your throat again.

You knew that as soon as you married Howard he would forbid you from seeing Ben. He already had after the night at the dance hall, but you didn't pay attention to him. Unfortunately, you knew that once you were married you wouldn’t be able to defy his wishes. You respected what marriage represented far too much to cross that line.

"Um me too." You smile tightly, your heartbeat so loud you wonder if Ben can hear it.

"Oh. Well-" Ben begins to say, wanting to let you talk.

"No. Please, you go first."

He won't tell me what news he has if I say my piece about Howard.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said to me the other day about trying to figure out what I want-"

You remembered the conversation clearly. It was another day at Fairmount Park and it was an attempt to get Ben to start thinking about his future, though when you had told him to figure out what he wanted you hoped that it meant he would consider you, consider turning your friendship into something more. Your heart surges, hoping that this is it, this is Ben finally saying that loves you, that he wants to be with you.

"And I'm finally going to make something of myself." Ben's green eyes shine brightly with his excitement.

"Huh?" Your heart sinks.

"I talked to my dad." You don't miss the way Ben's jaw tightens when he says it. "And I've decided to enlist-"

"Enlist! Ben-" It takes all you have to beg him not to go, not to leave you here. Because you knew that you couldn't live without him and the thought that he would die overseas in a war destroyed you.

"Wait, listen." Ben smiles wider, confusing you. "My dad has friends in the war department, friends that are looking for volunteers for a military project."

"A military project?"

"It's a serum or an injection that's supposed to make us stronger, better-"

"What do you mean?" You ask mildly confused. You hadn't heard of the government announcing any kind of experiments or projects in the newspapers. Surely Howard would have told you about it, he was always boring you with things like that.

"I'm a not a scientist" Ben shakes his head. "But all I know is that they're looking for volunteers and they want men and women."

Surprise flits through your mind. It was odd that they were also asking for women. Although you knew that the military was beginning to accept women in their ranks, it was still surprising that they wanted female volunteers for a government project. Especially if they were experimenting on them.

Like lab rats?

"What are you saying?" You're still confused as to what he's trying to tell you, unusual given the fact that you were usually very good at reading him.

"I want you come with me." Ben can hardly contain his excitement, his smile is so wide it nearly splits his face.

It was the last thing you expected him to ask. "What?" You blink.

"I don't want to do this without you." He says in a tone that makes your heartbeat stop. "And I want you to come with me." He repeats.

Your immediate reaction is to scream yes, let him take you away from all of this, but then you remember Howard, and your mother and feel the weight begin to settle on your shoulders again.

"Ben I can't." It breaks your heart to say it to him, to watch how his face falls.

“Why not?”

"Howard is-"

"Come on, you really think things are going to work out with that son of a bitch?" Ben shouts so loud you're afraid that he'll wake up your parents.

"He loves me-" You begin to say, the urge to cry coming back strong, burning against your eyes. Because now it was that you were choosing Howard over him, even though you didn't want to, it was what your mother wanted. The future she laid out for you.

"You don't know that." Ben snaps, rolling his eyes.

"Ben, he-" You struggle to find your words, taking in a deep breath to strengthen your voice. "He- he proposed. I mean it's been three years, we're both of age-"

Ben's eyes drop to your left hand and this time you uncover your hand so he can see the engagement ring. His shoulders tense and the muscle in his jaw clenches and unclenches.

"When did he ask you?" Ben says in almost a growl.

"Tonight. He came to dinner, my mother is so excited-" You successfully keep the tremor from your voice, but it quickly feels like you're running out of air.

"But you're not." Ben mutters

"Of course I am-" Your voice cracks with emotion.

"No you're not." Ben raises his gaze to look at you.  "I know you." The look in his eyes is unfamiliar, almost afraid.

But Ben isn't scared of anything. You try to remember a moment that he acted afraid, the only time is the memory of when you first met, when his father was looking for him and you lied to help him hide. Ben was fearless, it was something that you admired about him. You could always rely on him to have your back, be strong when you knew that you couldn’t be. To see him afraid was different.

"Ben-" You try again.

"Please." His jaw clenches together. "Don't marry him. Come with me."

"What?" You blink a few times to comprehend what he's asking.

Is he saying that he wants me to marry him? To run away with him?

"You're worth a hundred of him and I don't want to do this without you."

"Ben you're asking me to give up my future, my life-" You say trying to strengthen your resolve.

As unwelcome as Howard's proposal was, it was a future of sorts, what Ben was asking you was to dive into the unknown and you weren't sure if you were strong enough to do that. To leave everything you knew behind you and go with him. But apart of you was thrilled. Maybe it meant that Ben cared for you, needed you and this was the only way that he knew how to tell you. The three little words jump to the tip of your tongue again, the words you wanted to say when you danced together under the twinkling lights all those nights ago.

"You mean the future your mother wants for you." Ben sighs.

"Ben-"

"You’ve been trying to please her your whole life. Please don’t do this for her. Don’t marry him for her." Ben says, trying to catch your gaze, but you look down at his chest for a minute.

"But-"

"You are worth more y/n. And even if she can’t see your worth I can."

"Ben-"  You look back up at him, trying to find the courage to tell him that you love him.

He stares back at you, green eyes wide and honest before he takes your hands. They're warm and rough, familiar in the best way. "Tell me that you want him. You’ve never lied to me before and I don’t think you’ll start now."

Your words die on your tongue, because you know that you can't lie to him, you never could.

"Is that really what you want? To spend the rest of your life with him? If it is I'll leave, but I want to hear you say it." His eyes are filled with promises that make your voice catch in your throat, like two blazing green fires that see through you. Ben might have acted aloof with other people, but he always paid attention to you and knew what you were thinking.  No one knew you as well as he did, well except for the most obvious thing.

No it's not what I want. All I want is to be with you. The thought is immediate.

"But what about my mother-" You say, squeezing his hands.

"If you come with me, you'll never have to worry about her ever again." He says. By now tears are trickling down your cheeks, frustration and confusion building in your chest. Ben was promising you a future with him, but you couldn't understand if he was doing it because he wanted to be more or if he wanted you with him because you were his friend.

He drops your hands and instead brushes away your tears from your eyes. "I know you don't want to marry him."

"I don't." You whisper. "But I don’t know if I'm strong enough for this-"

“Do you trust me?”

Your hands come up to the front of his chest before you can stop yourself, feeling the warmth that surges underneath your palms. “Of course I do.”

His eyes are inviting, pleading, filled with emotion. "I swear that I will be strong enough for the both of us." His hands cup your cheeks. "I swear that I will look out for you like I always have.  I swear that I will never leave you. And I don't want to leave you behind. Please y/n. Come with me." The earnest look in Ben's eyes makes you cry harder, but you know that all you want is to go with him.

You don't want him to go and leave you here, where no one understands and the future that you see is cold, emotionless, and the path dark. You see the coming years with Howard, living together, having children, lunching with other women you hardly know and talking about nothing that mattered.

When you were with Ben everything you talked about seemed important, every moment with him was fused with wonder and expectation, you were never disappointed and were always excited about what you would do together even if it was something as mundane as sitting on a bench with Ben talking while you painted. You could imagine spending the rest of your life with him.

But could he imagine the same thing with you?

The future you see with Ben is warm, inviting, filled with promises you know that he’ll keep because he’s never broken a promise to you no matter what.

But you wonder if it's the promise that you want.

You stand there in the silence of his plea, hearing the ticking of the clock on your bedside table, the sound of cars outside your window, and the sounds of the night vibrate through you bones.

He wasn’t saying that he loved you. He wasn’t confessing his love. He wasn’t making a promise to marry you.

But maybe this was his way. Ben had never been the best at expressing what he was feeling, but the look in his eyes, the way his fingers hold your face to his-

It spoke volumes.

“Yes.” You whisper. “I’ll come with you.”

Ben’s smile breaks your heart as he pulls you tightly against him, laying his head on top of yours as he hugs you and sets every nerve ending on fire. Because the hug is different. It’s filled with the unspoken words between you, the memories you’ve shared, and the great unknown that stretches beyond both of you.

And you cling tight to him, the only part of your future that’s certain.

Or so you thought.

a/n: I know, I know there's a lot of unresolved tension.😂 I promise it will all make sense and that it is going somewhere. But I will say the next few chapters are kinda... rough and are painful to write, but I can't wait for y'all to read them.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444

[brigdh]

I want to talk about Izzy's rant to Ed in episode 10, the one that brings out the Kraken. I've seen a lot of different descriptions of what is going on in this scene – death threat, homophobic slurs, etc – and I don't think either of those are what's actually what's happening.

Let's look at it closely, line by line, and the way Ed reacts, from the very beginning of the scene.

Ed: Well, feels nice to tidy up a little. Can't believe I was living like this. Can you, Iz? Izzy? Izzy: I'm going to speak plainly. Ed: Wonderful. You know we share our thoughts on this ship.

Izzy, cont: This, whatever it is that you've become... is a fate worse than death.

Okay. So there we've got what some have interpreted as a death threat. But does Ed seem threatened? He's startled, certainly, put on his back foot – literally – but he doesn't look afraid or alarmed to me. He draws in a slow breath, assessing the situation, but overall seems more confused than frightened.

In fact he laughs it off with his next line:

Izzy then escalates the level of aggression in the conversation:

But Ed, again, looks more confused than anything. Check out that furrowed brow, that head tilt! This is a man going "what is your deal?", not a man thinking "uh-oh, you might kill me!".

Extremely noticeably, even when Izzy storms right up into his face, Ed holds steady. He doesn't run, doesn't lean back, doesn't hunch his shoulders or drop eye contact – there is no vulnerability or defensiveness in Ed's body language at all. Ed is in supreme control of this confrontation – look at the slow way he deigns to turn back to the paper Izzy's holding! As though he's making the point that he chooses when to turn, not Izzy:

Then we have the "homophobic slur". But watch closely:

Ed does not react to "namby-pamby", "silk gown", or "pining" at all. He doesn't even blink. He barely seems like he's hearing Izzy. His entire attention is on the picture.

Ed's body language and behavior changes at one word and one word only, and that is "boyfriend". As soon as Izzy says it, Ed's furious:

(It's even easier to notice when you actually watch the scene instead of using gifs, because Izzy really draws out 'piiiiiiining', putting a lot of time between the first half of the sentence and 'boyfriend'.)

Why is the use of the word 'boyfriend' so important?

Well, what has Ed been doing all episode? He's been crying in a blanket fort and singing sad songs, yes, but he's been keeping a careful level of mystique about why he's doing it. Ed often uses distanced circumlocutions instead of directly acknowledging his emotions, but he's doing it in this episode even more so than usual:

Here are the lyrics to his song:

(Version one, with Lucius) Hanging on By a thread Hanging on Shouldn't let go If I let go, all will fall Fingers bleeding down to the bone now Can't let go Nothing makes sense Hold on Hold on Hold... on

(Version two, performed for the whole crew) Just let go Make yourself let go Make it go away Away, away today Life's a hard sad death And then you're Deaaad

Notice something? There is no mention of Stede, or love, or break-ups, or abandonments, or relationships in general. All Ed discusses is a vague life-sucks attitude, which could apply to basically anyone under any circumstances. He seems pretty okay with people knowing that Blackbeard is having some sort of weird emotional breakdown as long as he convinces himself that no one knows it's specifically from having his heart broken

This is true of everything Ed says and does for this entire episode. He never once even mentions Stede's name, unless "Farewell, Bonnet's playthings" at the very end counts. The only thing Ed openly admits to feeling bad about is a fictional character who's having a hard time "holding on" (holding on to what? he never says). There are no allusions to heartbreak or romance anywhere in his dialogue.

Now, Ed's not stupid. I'm sure he knows Izzy and Lucius and the rest of the crew can connect the dots and realize that something bad happened with Stede, even if Ed doesn't fill them in on the details. But Ed is also traumatized, and has a whole host of coping mechanisms set up to help him avoiding thinking about things that he doesn't want to think about. If he's not a murderer because "technically the fire killed those guys", then no one knows he's heartbroken because technically he hasn't acknowledged it.

Until Izzy says the word 'boyfriend'. Suddenly the secret is out, and Ed can't handle it. Izzy knows his weakness. That's why this word effects Ed more than anything else Izzy says in the whole scene.

At the end of the confrontation, he hears the crew calling for another song. Look at Ed here. He looks as haunted, as disturbed, in this moment as he does at any point in Izzy's rant.

This is an important part of the scene, not just a closing note. Because if Izzy (the Caribbean's most emotionally constipated man) can see through him, obviously the whole crew can too.

Obviously Lucius – who advised Ed on his and Stede's relationship, who played along with Ed's 'fictional character' claim, who wrote down Ed's lyrics – can do so most of all.

There's a direct emotional logic to Ed killing Lucius because he had a fight with Izzy, and it doesn't involve Ed having been threatened or hate crime'd at all. Ed doesn't deal well with his own feelings (from Stede), so he chooses to become Blackbeard/the Kraken and gets rid of all the witnesses who saw otherwise.

[bandana-enthusiast]

k tanaka is something that can be SO personal.

it hurts to relate to them, it hurts to know that yeah your impulsive actions DO have an effect on others and NO you can't save everyone because not everyone NEEDS to be saved and NO you don't know better. so you try and change and help people but the pressure is just so much and you never really had coping mechanisms because you never thought to take on this kind of work, and you basically grew up on a screen, but no one told you it was all FAKE! so you're disillusioned with reality and trying to do everything while still keeping it fun for yourself and others, only to find out that your behavior is CONCERNING and UNHEALTHY, rather than the norm you believed it to be. and the fun way of keeping yourself happy and sane actually wasn't benefiting anyone, it was only making things more complex. so you're back with your friends you haven't seen in forever (one of whom is your ex) and they're worried about you immediately. and in a way it's almost patronizing because you feel like you've been doing good work, and you feel like this is your norm, and you wonder if this is how your ex felt when you worried about him and tried to fix him. it makes you wonder who's really wrong, if anyone. so you get to do your little magical quest and it's the happiest you've been in FOREVER. you're back with your friends and your fixing magic and you get to lose yourself for just a while, but you shouldn't. things are bad and worse and you learn new things and you find a way to help, but people are worried about you again. except your ex, who thinks it's great that you're now a magic network router, and you don't know how to feel about that because you know what he's like, how "tragic" he is. you honestly wonder if he even likes you as a person after what you've done to him, what you've done to the group, what YOU put them through. and soon enough everything comes crashing down. you can't act like you're the hero, the main character, the badass who's up against the world and winning, because you're not. you don't know the first thing about an uprising because you're not living in reality. you don't know how to do these things, how to navigate life, it's just easier to get lost in the whimsy and the fight and the intensity. like how it's easier to watch a movie than read a book. how the music and the explosions and the action keeps you enthralled, how it makes you feel worthwhile. and yet, you aren't. your ex even says he doesn't know what to do after these adventures, but you're worse off. you get a simple "nice try, but not quite right" and you go back to it. you realize you do want to be surrounded by your friends, but the temptation of being a legend will never stop pulling at the back of your mind, so you're stuck. you do what you can. you live in mediocrity, in small moments, you fight where you can, and you help. you think sacrifice would be easier than solace. martyrdom over mundanity. but you keep trying, because you have to. because no one's with you if you don't.

[lou-0111]

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)

y/n doesnt believe in love, taylor, their best friend (who knows their view on love) tries to convince that luke would be a great boyfriend for them: bit of a long one today - 3.4k words

Love is stupid, ok? It’s pointless and there is absolutely no need for it. And no, It’s not just because I've had bad experiences, it’s the whole thing. Girls changing themselves for the boy they like. Boys being mean to people to get girls attention, the whole thing is just stupid.

If there's a prize for rotten judgement I guess I've already won that

I feel like I’ve made a series of poor decisions in my life, each one heavier than the last. This pattern of regret and self-reproach feels like it’s consuming me from within. It's become almost second nature to make mistakes because I've fallen into the habit of making them, and each misstep adds to the weight of my past errors.

No man is worth the aggravation

No guy at Camp Half-Blood is worth going through that emotional turmoil again. It’s simply easier to avoid falling in love altogether. The past is full of lessons learned—the kind where you thought you'd finally moved on, only to find yourself trapped in the same old cycles. The gods had their trials, and there's no need for us to repeat their mistakes.

That's ancient history, been there, done that

This happened to the gods in the past, it shouldn't be repeating with us again

Who d'you think you're kiddin'? He's the earth and heaven to you

“Y/N, you have to listen to me on this.” My best friend, Taylor starts, “Luke would be the perfect boyfriend for you. First, he’s genuinely kind-hearted. It’s not just something he puts on for show—he’s consistently thoughtful and considerate in everything he does. You’ve seen it yourself, right? How he interacts with everyone around him, always making sure people are okay and that they’re feeling included.

And let’s talk about his skills—he’s an exceptional swordsman. His dedication and proficiency with a sword are impressive.

But it’s not just about physical skills. Luke is amazing with the younger campers. He’s got this natural ability to connect with them, to mentor them, and to make them feel important. He treats them with such patience and respect. You know how much that matters, seeing someone who doesn’t just see the younger kids as a burden but genuinely enjoys helping them grow.

So, don’t let your past experiences cloud your judgement about him. Luke isn’t just another face in the crowd; he’s someone who genuinely fits what you need in your life. It’s worth considering that maybe, just maybe, he could be the one who changes your perspective on love.”

Everyday, every damn day, Taylor goes on about how me and Luke would be great together. But I don’t see it. Love is stupid, Taylor is stupid for thinking I like him.

Try to keep it hidden Honey, we can see right through you (Oh, no) Girl, you can't conceal it We know how you're feelin', who you're thinkin' of

We were walking back from training one day when again, she started the whole luke chat. “Y/N, I need to be real with you here. It’s becoming impossible to ignore how you keep watching Luke. You spend hours just observing him as he trains. It's not just casual glances; you’re practically mesmerised by how he moves with such skill and focus. Every time he picks up his sword, there’s this look in your eyes that I can’t ignore.”

Excuse me? He’s the best swordsman at camp, obviously I'm going to watch him, to get pointers on how to get better, nothing else. 

“And it’s not just during training. When Luke interacts with the younger campers, your attention is entirely on him. You’ve seen how he takes the time to teach them, to encourage them, and how he genuinely connects with them on their level. You watch him as he patiently helps them learn and grow, and there’s this soft, almost admiring look on your face. It’s clear that you’re moved by how he treats them with such kindness and care.” “I just think it’s sweet how he takes his time teaching them, nothing more, I'd be the same way if anyone else did what he does.”

“I know you’re trying to play it cool and act like it doesn’t matter, but let’s be honest—your feelings are showing. It’s like you’re trying to hide behind this façade that love isn’t worth it or that you’re not interested, but it’s obvious to everyone around us. We all see how your face lights up when he’s around, how you hang onto his every word and action.”

“Woah, you need to slow down, someone might hear you, my face doesn't ‘light up’ ok Tay? I’m a listener, sorry if i listen when people talk to me, I don’t like luke, never have, never will.”

Stop denying it. We can see right through you. It’s not just about admiring him from a distance; it’s about the way you light up when you talk about him or when he’s in the room. Your actions are screaming that you have feelings for him, even if you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise. It’s ok if you like him, if you’re in love, it’ll be good to put your heart out again.”

Where my heart can get hurt again. I mumble walking away. I do not like Luke.

You swoon, you sigh Why deny it? Uh-oh It's too cliché (Ah-ah-ah-ah) I won't say I'm in love

Being in love feels like a foolish, unnecessary risk to me. It’s as if admitting that I’m in love would be an act of surrender, a sign of weakness. I keep telling myself that I don’t need a man to complete my life or make me happy. My independence has always been my strength, and the idea of falling for someone seems like it would undermine that strength.

I’ve managed perfectly well on my own, navigating life without relying on anyone else to validate my worth or fill a void. I’ve built my own stability and happiness through my own efforts, and I’m proud of that. The thought of opening myself up to love feels like an invitation to vulnerability and potential heartbreak, and I’m not ready to risk that.

Admitting that I’m in love would mean acknowledging that I need someone, and that’s something I’m determined to avoid. I don’t want to be in a position where my happiness depends on another person’s actions or feelings. I’ve seen how love can complicate things, how it can lead to disappointment and pain. It’s easier to stay detached and focus on myself rather than deal with the unpredictability of a romantic relationship.

I keep convincing myself that I’m better off without the emotional upheaval that love often brings. I’m self-sufficient and capable, and I don’t need anyone else to complete me or make me feel whole. Embracing love feels like it would disrupt the balance I’ve carefully created in my life. So, I put up a wall and tell myself that I’m not in love and that I don’t need a man to be content. It’s a way of protecting myself from the potential pain that comes with opening my heart.

I thought my heart had learned its lesson It feels so good when you start out (Ah) My head is screaming, "Get a grip, girl" "Unless you're dyin' to cry your heart out" 

I won’t put myself through that again. I’ve been burned too many times by love to let it happen once more. Each time I’ve opened my heart in the past, I’ve ended up disappointed and hurt. The cycle seems to repeat itself with every relationship I’ve been in: the initial charm and allure give way to a painful reality that shatters the illusion.

Every guy I've been with starts off presenting the best version of themselves—perfectly polished, attentive, and seemingly sincere. They act like they’re everything I’ve ever wanted, showing me a side that makes me believe in the possibility of a true connection. But as time goes on, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, they’re no longer the person I thought they were. The transformation happens so swiftly and so completely that it feels like a betrayal. One day, everything seems perfect, and the next, I’m left grappling with someone who’s changed overnight.

It’s as though these men wear masks, carefully crafted to win me over, only to discard them once they’ve achieved their goal. The facade falls away, revealing a reality that’s often disappointing and disheartening. I’ve come to expect that this pattern will repeat itself because it always has. Each time, my trust and hope are eroded, and it becomes harder to believe that someone can truly be genuine.

I’ve reached a point where my heart simply can’t handle any more of this emotional turbulence. The pain of investing my emotions into someone who ends up disappointing me is too much to bear. The cycle of hope and heartbreak has left me exhausted and wary. I’m trying to shield myself from further damage, to protect my heart from the predictable cycle of rising expectations followed by crushing disillusionment. The idea of putting myself through that kind of emotional rollercoaster again feels unbearable. So, I shut down, convinced that avoiding love is the best way to preserve my peace and prevent further pain.

You keep on denying Who you are and how you're feeling Baby, we're not buying Hon, we saw you hit the ceiling (Oh, no) Face it like a grown-up When ya gonna own up That you got, got, got it bad?

"Y/N, It’s becoming impossible for anyone who knows you to ignore the signs. Your reactions when he’s near, the way you talk about him—it all points to something deeper than just friendship or admiration. You might be trying to downplay it or act like it’s not a big deal, but everyone can see it. We all notice how you light up when he’s mentioned or how you subtly seek out opportunities to be around him.

"Well why don't you go out with him? Since you notice every small detail about him."

You’re not fooling anyone with your attempts to mask your feelings. The way you talk about him, how your mood shifts when he’s mentioned—these are all clear indicators that your feelings for Luke run deeper than you’re willing to admit. It’s written all over your face and in your actions. It’s not just a small crush or a fleeting interest; it’s something more significant, something you’re clearly struggling to acknowledge.

So why keep pretending? It’s okay to have feelings for someone, especially someone like Luke. The sooner you accept and embrace your feelings, the easier it will be to figure out what to do next. Hiding behind this facade of indifference only makes it harder for you to deal with the truth." "Taylor, I cannot keep having this convosation with you, it's getting on my nerves, please just drop it." I'm never falling in love, with anyone.

(Shoo, shoo-doo, doo-doo) No chance, no way I won't say it, no, no Give up, give in Check the grin, you're in love This scene won't play I won't say I'm in love You're doin' flips (Ooh-ooh) Read our lips, you're in love

The idea of opening myself up to another relationship feels like an invitation to endure more pain. The thought of investing my emotions again, only to face the inevitable disappointment, is almost too overwhelming to consider. My heart has reached its limit; it feels battered and fragile from past letdowns. The fear of another heartbreak is paralysing, making it hard to even entertain the idea of risking my emotional well-being once more.

I want to protect myself from the cycle of hope and disillusionment that has characterised my past experiences with love. The emotional toll has been significant, and I’m desperately trying to shield myself from further damage. The prospect of enduring another emotional upheaval is daunting, and my heart simply can’t handle the strain of another potential letdown. "Y/N, I know you don't like talking about it, but I csn't help it. Why csn't you see it? We’ve all see how you blush every single time you talk about Luke. It’s not just a subtle thing—your cheeks practically light up, and there’s this undeniable warmth in your voice. It’s impossible to ignore the way your eyes sparkle when his name comes up or how your entire demeanour shifts to something more animated and bright.

And let’s not forget how you watch him during mealtimes. It’s like you’re drawn to him in a way that’s hard to miss. You’re always glancing over at him, whether he’s chatting with the others, helping out with the food, or just enjoying a moment with his friends. You might think you’re being discreet, but it’s so obvious to everyone around. The way you steal glances and the way your gaze lingers just a little too long—these aren’t things you can easily brush off.

Trying to deny your feelings for Luke doesn’t change the reality of the situation. Your reactions and behaviour make it clear to all of us what you’re trying to ignore. We see through the act of nonchalance you’re putting on. It’s not just a case of mild interest; it’s something deeper. We can tell that you’re emotionally invested, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.

It’s time to face the truth about your emotions. The more you try to suppress or deny them, the more obvious it becomes to everyone around you. There’s no need to hide or pretend anymore."

Taylor says before walking off.

I keep convincing myself that nothing will come of this, and that denying my feelings will make it all go away. I’m certain that nothing will happen between us, and so I refuse to acknowledge my true emotions.

Despite my best efforts to conceal my feelings, it's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore them. I try to pretend otherwise, but my actions and reactions betray me. Deep down, I think I’m in love, but I can’t bring myself to say it.

You're way off base (Shoo-doo, shoo-doo) I won't say it (She won't say it, no) Get off my case (Sha-da, sha-da) I won't say it (Ooh-ooh-ooh)

I’m adamant about not admitting my feelings. It’s a protective mechanism to avoid vulnerability and potential heartache. I want to be left alone to keep my emotions private.

Girl, go be proud It's okay, you're in love

Admitting my feelings would mean exposing myself to the possibility of heartache, and I’m not ready to take that risk. The emotional turmoil that follows when feelings aren’t reciprocated, or when they lead to disappointment, is something I’m determined to avoid. I’ve learned from past experiences that letting my guard down can lead to deep, sometimes overwhelming pain. By keeping my feelings to myself, I maintain a sense of control and safety, shielding my heart from potential harm.

I want to be left alone to keep my emotions private because it feels like the only way to maintain my emotional stability. Sharing my feelings would mean inviting scrutiny and potentially having to navigate the complexities of another person’s reactions and responses. It’s easier to keep everything internal, to process my emotions in solitude where I can control the narrative and avoid the unpredictability of others' reactions.

This private handling of my emotions is a means of self-preservation. It’s my way of creating a barrier between myself and the risk of emotional pain. The prospect of vulnerability, of exposing my inner thoughts and feelings, is daunting and unsettling. So, I prefer to keep my emotions hidden, managing them in the confines of my own mind where I can protect myself from the uncertainty and potential hurt that comes with opening up to others.

However, Taylor did not agree with my choices.

"Listen, Y/N, it’s really important for you to understand something: it’s completely okay to embrace your feelings. Love, as complicated and intimidating as it can be, is not something to be ashamed of or to hide from.

You deserve to be happy. If you have feelings for Luke, acknowledging them doesn’t make you weak or foolish—it makes you human.

There’s no shame in being vulnerable; it’s a sign of strength and courage. It’s a step towards allowing yourself to experience love and all the happiness that can come with it.

Hiding from your feelings or pretending they don’t exist only prolongs the emotional struggle and prevents you from fully engaging with the positive aspects of life."

"Yeah, whatever Tay, I'll see you later."

She raises her eyes at me, noticing I don't tell her to shut up about the topic.

At least, out loud I won't say I'm in love

It feels ridiculous to admit that I might be in love. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t need a man to be happy and that I’m fine on my own. Declaring my feelings feels like an invitation to heartbreak, something I’ve vowed to avoid.

I do have feelings for Luke. I’ve come to realise that I am in love with him, but I can't bring myself to openly acknowledge it. I’ll keep these emotions to myself, hidden away where I can manage them privately.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll tell him?

Doubt it.

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Reaper Pov)

Heads up to everyone, this has a big chunk of exposition/notes at the start, so if you want to skip that, I'd reccommend it :,) I'll make the first line of the actual story bits a different color, probably purple, just to make it easier for everyone!

Also! @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens Hello! Hopefully the energy here is fun for y'all!

No edits, fuck it we ball!

   Reminder to self: Reaper has been ruling over his kingdom for decades. He's rule at least 2 generations prior to Nim's reign. His kingdom is on the edge of an ocean strait, enough that he can just barely make out the towers of rival castles across the water (like. Very American example here, but standing on the Michigan portion if Lake Michigan, sometimes you can see the Chicago Skyline across the lake, just barely. That kinda thing.) The only thing connecting him to those smaller cluster of kingdoms is a land bridge that connects the two closest points of the land. Several fishing villages live along it and it's stable, but it's a great funnel to cut off approaching armies. Reaper's kingdom has a powerful port, mountains bordering its land-border and seas on the others. A perfectly isolated paradise. (Also I think he inherited the throne from Life, who loves safely in the mountains among Nature)

   So, Reaper has been able to maintain peace for himself for ages, while the kingdoms on the other continent with less geographical advantages hadn't been as lucky. Conflicts, wars, usurpings, it all kept them at a disadvantage. Kept them *behind*. 

   Reaper was already a grown adult when he recieved the crown. It really shouldn't have fallen to him, but when Life 'died' she left in her will that Reaper (one of her advisors) was to take the throne. Of course, he did just that, and became insanely successful. (A lot of the other characters from his AU either aren't there or established their own kingdoms past the mountains.) 

   He's been able to watch the kingdoms apart from his own grow, listen in on their rumors and new problems. 

   For instance, he knew of the tradition of having a Court Wizard, their last one grew old and passed, and Reaper decided to write to the folks at magic academies across the several other kingdoms, saying he would visit to look for candidates. 

   He rarely left his kingdom, but considering he could dust people at will (well, if he removed his gloves) he wasn't exactly afraid of dying. So he left, abd he searched, and he met Geno at one of the academies. 

   Geno was a top student (set to become a new professor, if not for taking on the chance to be a Royal Wizard) and by then certainly an adult. He was making income for his brothers, and he was sure a Royal Wizard job would be cushy enough to send back Gokd for his brothers until he coukd move them in. Magic was natural to Geno, (inspired by Anchas AU here) a destructive sort, which could bend reality as it was. He often disguised it as other magic types, but he showed off to Reaper, admittedly. Reaper was the king of a prosperous kingdom. He needed this. 

   Reaper was impressed by Geno's control over magic, and he was certain he wouldn't find another wizard so skilled, nor so spirited. (Reaper attempted to say something and Geno rapidly started explaining his magic, completely absorbed in making sure Reaper got it right. He was bold.) But also. Reaper was a simple man. He thought Geno was the most handsome monster he'd ever seen in his years and years of rule. He liked the way Geno's voice sounded when he talked, he liked that squinting that his one socket did when he talked, he liked how fluidly Geno's hands moved when he summoned his magic, he liked it all. He was enamored. Down bad. 

   So, it hardly took a day before Reaper returned to the school to talk to Geno and offer him the position. Reaper was happy to agree to Geno's terms (the pay was to support his family, he'd said. Reaper ensured tye money would be delivered safely) and only after the contract was signed did Geno get to be excited. Openly excited. Because while he didn't hate the idea of teaching, being a Royal Wizard was thrilling. New. And Reaper liked to see that. 

   Geno had joined Reaper about a month later, coming by Ship and arriving with a new energy and passion. He was happy and so Reaper was happy. 

   And then, of course, Geno got word of Error being missing. Having gone missing in the center of Nightmare's Kingdom. 

   Reaper knew of Nightmare vaguely. One of a pair of twins, the sibling always pushed to the side and out of the limelight. Reaper had seen that ritual play out every generation, and he wasn't surprised to hear Nim planned to continue it. Though, he'd been shocked to hear that Nightmare had stolen the apple from his brother and taken the throne by force. What happened to the other twin was vague, none of his spies ever seemed to find much trace. Reaper kind of assumed he was dead. 

   And from there all he heard were bad things. That kingdom had been rough to start with, black markets and blood sacrifice and poor tax prices and poverty run amok, false religions preying on people, crime. It was horrible. So when Nightmare began to build his elite force openly, and fill it with criminals and gypsies (Reaper gets... skewed info sometimes, this I'd referring to Cross and Horror) he was amused by the boldness, and expected the kingdom to crumble in months. 

   But years passed, and things had... honestly gone silent. Sure there were rumors, but there was less harmful action directly from the crown. So Reaper had kinda let the news fade to the background. Until Geno brought up the kingdom to him. 

   Reaper agreed to send spies to search, but ultimately settled on devising a treaty, to see if he could get his people safe entry to do a more thorough search of the land for his missing sibling. 

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   Reaper had sent out his letter a month ago. Something in his gut had told him that, whatever Nightmare was scheming during his absence, it would be much better to establish a basic treaty before he acted. 

   He hadn't been optimistic, of course. Despite the years of relative silence, his spies had been reporting odd movements og Nightmare's elite knights. It spelled trouble. 

   That was why, upon recieving the response from King Nightmare, he'd retired to his personal quarters, asking one of his men to stay outside his door. If Geno came asking, he could not enter. 

   Geno had been looking a bit better since Reaper had sent his first correspondence, but he found that his Wizard was nowhere near the fiery man he'd hired. Part of Reaper urged him to take up a supportive role, let Geno lean on his shoulder, to tell him his brother was likely already dead. Keep him all to hinself. 

   But. No. Taking advantage of Geno was not what he wanted, he wanted to help him, and to see the weight lifted off his shoulders. So for now, it was best to keep these letters private. If Nightmare was volatile, if he declared war or refused, Reaper couldn't bare to see the look on Geno's face. If he read this alone, there would be a chance at damage control. 

   So, he held the letter in his hands, sat at a heavy, dark wood desk that had been carved with flowers and animals. A remnant of when Life claimed this room as her own, Reaper couldn't bear to see it removed, so he kept it around. He liked running his fingers along the carvings of the snakes and the squirrels. 

   The letter. It was originally carried in a simple box, wooden and falling apart. The inside, however, had been lined with nice cloth. Clever. Easier to keep it from being noticed and stolen. The paper was thick, and folded over onto itself. A deep black wax seal held it shut. 

   Tilting it against the candlelight, Reaper could just barely decipher the Royal crest of Nightmare's kingdom. A curling branch of an apple tree, tucked away inside the shape of a sword. Two unknowable bird-like shapes on either side of the blade, wings open. 

   He took his letter-opener to the wax, slicing it away from the thick paper with a clean swipe. Unfolding it, the first thing he noticed was the handwriting. 

   It was swooping, elegant, and had several embellishments on certain letters, as though the writing itself was a sort of art. Reaper was shocked by the careful spacing and clean document. Most kingdoms had a scribe scribble a response, then packaged it in a gold-guilded box that got the messengers killed. This was refreshing. 

   His eyes skimmed the page, and what he understood was that, yes, the king would be interested in such a treaty. He asked for more details, for another letter to be sent, and offered that, perhaps he had something to offer as well to make their deal more robust. 

   It was signed at the bottom, in an ink that Reaper had to double-take to notice was tinted a slight purple compared to the others. Nightmare's signature, completed at the end with what he thought might've been the abstract face of an owl. Did he do that for all his signatures? 

   Reaper lingered, and read it, and re-read it, and then called in one if his spies to see if they spotted any codes or hidden writing. Only when he was positive he had not missed a single bit of trickery, did he draft a reply, decide on terms, and send it out to the other King. 

   Something about it was strange. Reaper had never known anyone from that kingdom to send their own letters, let alone hold their own quill. There were rituals, rites, certain rules to every little action. Honestly, he was pleased to see it hadn't been written in blood asking for a pact. (Yes, Life once recieved a letter of that nature.) It was a bit jarring. 

   But, he was doing this for Geno. He would stop at nothing to help his Wizard return that smile to his face, and to perhaps get worry from his mind long enough to resume spoiling him in gifts and gestures so be mind notice how deeply enthralled he was. 

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   The letters, once Reaper sent his reply, came in more frequently, and with a certain vigor. 

   Reaper had only asked for a few things. A trade deal (purposefully vague) support if his kingdom ever went to conflict (unlikely, Reaper was very secure), and free passage of his people and soldiers to visit without prosecution. He had been honest in sharing that someone of importance had gone missing within Nightmare's borders, and he wanted to seek them out.

   Nightmare had sent his reply in the form of a fully detailed plan. What exports and imports each kingdom would benefit from, the best routes to take, which crops and productions were in cycle this season, and more. He admitted he was sure Reaper could handle himself, but magical weapons might be arranged for shipment, and he offered up his kingdom whole-heartedly for a search. His tone was almost remorseful as he explained he couldn't spare his own men to assist, but he agreed search parties would be welcome so long as they did not disrupt the flow of life in the kingdom. 

   It had been full of effort, Reaper had been unable to suss out any loopholes. No tricks. And, shockingly, there was a lack of the mention of any pacts or bonds that must be made between them for the treaty to progress. 

   In honesty, the plan detailed by this supposedly evil tyrant seemed to be tame. And... helpful.

   Reaper, in his next letter, had expressed gratitude, and had then carefully broached the topic of binding the contract. How Nightmare planned to proceed. 

   Nightmare, to Reaper's utter shock, denounced the old ways of his kingdom. Of his mother. The writing was a bit less neat, but Reaper could practically feel the frustration oozing off the page through the extra dots of ink that had no-doubt been flung from his quill in his furious writing. 

   He was polite, but reassured Reaper that he was not intending to complete any of the old peace-making practices, and instead would be following Reaper's customs for a treaty. A simple signed contract. Two copies, each the same, each signed by both of them. 

   Again, it almost felt too good to be true. 

   Over the course of several more letters, Reaper learned to begin taking this seriously. Nightmare seemed to be powerful, and skilled, biding his time to make major changes. 

   Nightmare added no clauses preventing Reaper from acting against him, or sheltering his enemies. No talk of war at all aside from a mention of defensive weaponry which was being produced by his own Royal Wizard. The King seemed entirely interested in truly growing a bond.

   And then he asked to meet in person. 

   Invited Reaper to his kingdom, as a show of good will and trust. To prove that things were different now. And Reaper, against his better judgement, agreed. He would bring himself, and Geno, and a few of his men. To sign the treaty, to arrange searches, to begin establishing the trade routes. 

   To see Nightmare, the tyrant his people feared, in the flesh. 

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   Reaper arrived to the border in the dark of night. He had been delayed by duties for a few hours, and had sent a messenger ahead to inform whoever would be waiting to intercept his caravan. He and Geno were tucked together in the carriage towards the front, comfortable, but still weary. At least, Geno was. He was on-edge. Worried about his brother more deeply than usual. 

   He could see through the window as a pair of men approached on horseback. They only spoke to the front of the caravan, but Reaper knew who they were merely through the rumors his spies had delivered to him. 

   By the moonlight and a few torches, Reaper could see them. 

   One sat atop a beautifully white mare, his armor a similarly gleaming off white and dark steel, his face was covered by a mask, a snow leopard, with intricate spots adorning the gleaming surface. 

   By his side was another, riding a significantly sturdier horse, it might've been a mottled grey. He was draped in a cloak, but wore the Visage of a lion. It seemed to be stuck in a silent glower, the red eyrlight beyond the eye-holes giving it an air of warning. 

   Reaper had always wondered about the tradition of masks. They had been seen elsewhere, but they originated from this very kingdom. No other location took them quite as seriously or held them with such a high regard. Supposedly, the idea of a masquerade originated from here, though it would be seen as sacrilege from its people. 

   It was obvious that Nightmare had sent some of his elite soldiers to guide them. The presence of those four had been felt across the continent, Reaper had little doubt he and Geno would arrive safely to their destination. 

   And so the carriage rolled onwards. Several times, Reaper and Geno drew the curtains over their windows, but even Geno's anxieties weren't strong enough to keep him from admiring the views of the countryside from the carriage, or from letting Reaper joke with him about a few things. From speaking optimistically about finding his sibling. Of meeting the king. Of things being okay. 

   The castle was imposing, just as Reaper had heard in the rumors. 

   Much of it's walls and gates, and even the building itself, was carved. Stone slabs erected, then chiseled into the weaving lines of tree bark and intertwined branches. A few fences even appeared as petrified hedges, carved in such a way Reaper wasn't sure the gods hadn't created a plant made of stone, specifically fir this land. 

   The towers resembled twisting trunks, rooves resembling canopy. It was almost unsettling how glorious it was, just from the outside as they rolled forward. 

   When the caravan finally stopped, Reaper and Geno had composed themselves, and the door opened just as Reaper had experienced hundreds of times. His steward announced him, and he floated easily out of his ride. His feet did not touch the floor, merely hovered a few inches above it, but he didn't miss that even the path seemed to writhe with smoothed stone roots, overlapping into a beautiful pattern of grey. 

   Geno followed him, and only when they were stood side by side were they finally approached. 

On either side of the grand entrance door, guards stood at attention, but their greeting came from where the lead of the caravan had parked. 

   The two masked figures who had guided them here rounded before Reaper and bowed deeply. The snow leopard-masked knight was fad more stiff and formal. The lion had the guts to meet Reaper's eyes. 

   "King Reaper, we are two of King Nightmare's Royal Knights. It is an honor to be your escort," Spoke the snow leopard. Cross if his sources were correct. "If you would follow us, our King awaits you and your companion in the grand hall." 

   They both rose from their bows, and Reaper chuckled lowly as his caravan slowly dispersed from behind them, servants helping to guide the others who arrived with them. 

   "By all means, please lead the way, good knight." He agreed. 

   Cross set off at an even pace, Reaper and Geno remaining at eachother's sides. The lion-mask, Horror his mind supplied him, followed behind them at a lumber, not yet having spoken a word.

   Sometimes (often) Reaper found it hard not to keep his eyes on Geno. From what he knew, Geno was raised without a family, practically raising two little brothers while also raising himself. He had no formal training in politics, or ettiquitte, and certainly no experience beyond his magic academy, and yet in moments like these, among the wonders of the world, being treated as one of the important people, he managed to keep such composure. He was stoic, and so handsome. 

   He had to draw his dark sockets forward again. Focus on the task at hand. In just a few minutes you're facing the monster of negativity and darkness himself. He told himself. He was not afraid, but he didn't know what to expect. It couldn't hurt to be cautious. 

   And so in silence they walked, down halls that felt more like a forest stroll steeped in morning grey, before they came to an open arch. 

   Beyond it, stood a large hall. At the farthest point sat thrones. Two large ones, two small ones, the usual amount, though Reaper imagined it must be lonely when he others are so woefully empty. 

   As they approached, Reaper could spot the figures there. Three, stood just before the thrones, at the base of a few steps which separated floor from seat. 

   One, was a skeleton who was clearly a servant. They stood with an empty silver platter tucked under their arm. Soft white eyelights turned to the approaching party, before they disappeared as the servant bowed. This drew the attention of the other two figures, before the servant was dismissed without a word. 

   The other two were... quite small. Reaper likely towered at least a head over both of them even without floating. The one wore the mask of a black panther, the only details striking from beneath his shawl being striking white eyelights. They were bright, and focused on Reaper without fear. Dust no doubt, one of the criminals, murderer and smuggler.

   Then the last. He held a cane in one hand, and was draped in wonderfully tailored fabric. A cloak perhaps two sizes too large for him trailed on the ground, and one simple Cyan eyelight protruded from behind an owlish mask as he turned to observe their approach. 

   It was only as they were a few paces away, as Dust bowed and as Reaper thought of who this might be, that the pieces lined up. 

   An owl mask, Cyan magic, dark clothes. This was the King of this kingdom. 

   As they came to a hault, Cross circled around to stand with Horror, neither of them giving a second glance to, who Reaper could only assume was, their King. 

   "The King Reaper, delivered as promised. It's a pleasure." Dust practically mumbled, his voice not bothering to show so much as an inflection at the words. 

   He raised from his bow naturally, and remained still as a statue as Nightmare, small, small Nightmare, closed the distance. 

   "Reaper. It is a pleasure to see your trip was smooth. It's truly an honor to have your presence here today." Nightmare did not bow fully, but it was enough to show respect. "As well as your Royal Wizard. I do hope that you will be able to locate that who went missing." He then said, directly addressing Geno, who stood silent at Reaper's side. No doubt just as taken aback.

   He took only a moment to ponder just how young the king sounded. His voice was not deep, nor imposing, nothing he had expected from the rumors and allegations. It was bordering on the type of uncertain pitch developed by acne-ridden teenagers, though he did well to control its tilt. 

   He hoped his surprise didn't show through in his empty sockets. That his mouth hadn't twitched in confusion upon his realization. 

   "It's an honor to be invited, Nightmare. I have been eager to meet you and finalize our discussions." Reaper replied easily, "Not to mention, in all my years I've never had the pleasure of visiting your land, let alone your castle." 

   I'd didn't need to be said. It hovered in the air between them, clear as day. Clear as the sun that rose over the castle hours ago. That no one had visited this land on purpose in decades. That they'd isolated themselves besides a few strenuous allies. Reaper never had reason to visit before now. 

   "Well, I imagined that we might finalize our contracts tomorrow after breakfast. For now, I'd like to offer you a tour of the castle and have you see I intend to be true to my word." Nightmare offered, extending a hand outwards. For a shake. 

   Reaper, after not a moment of hesitation, took Nightmare's outstretched hand. His hand, buried beneath a dark glove not unlike Reaper's own, felt small. His shake was firm and confident, and their eye-contact didn't waver, but Reaper couldn't help but feel that something was deeply wrong. 

   Those bones were frail. Thin. He imagined if he even squeezes his fist a bit more they might snap between his fingers. 

   They couldn't have been the same bones of the king who the public had known. A tall, dark, imposing figure with tendrils of darkness and an aura of doom dripping in his wake. The king who could hold off crowds of people at a time, who was given the powerful magic of the ritual. 

   And just like that he took his hand back, and he grinned loosely. Nightmare watched him, before nodding. Almost to himself. 

   Nightmare steadied himself with his cane, before turning to a door off to the side, which seemed to be opened now. 

   "We'd better be off, then. The castle is large." He prompted, letting Dust take the lead as he fell into step beside where Reaper floated. Horror and Cross trailed them as they exited. "I hope you will excuse the escort. My elite knights, Dust, Horror, and Cross. I've asked them to keep a close eye on the lot of us during your stay, to ensure nothing goes awry." Nightmare supplied. 

   Reaper gazed ahead at Dust for a moment, never letting his easy grin fall from his face. "No harm in a little extra security, I can see the appeal." He reassured the king, and noticed, just barely, and Night's shoulders relaxed. They'd been tense beneath the cloak. That big, heavy cloak. 

   Something was wrong here, he was sure of it, but whoever this was, this was who he'd been speaking to over letters all this time. He was sure of it. 

.

   The day to follow consisted of Nightmare and his knights leisurely guiding Reaper and Geno from place to place. The site where the Royal Guard trained, the library, the armory, the Court and the extensive advisors (who were, very notably, largely peasants), back to the library, and in and out of the dining room to eat meals. 

   Over the course of these visits, Reaper noticed quite a bit on his own. 

   He noticed the way that Nightmare always had one of his knights to his back. Not on purpose, he imagined, they seemed to seamlessly slide into position if they noticed he had a blindspot. And speaking of his knights, Reaper noticed he was one short. Killer. The first. His mind had informed him. Serial killer, the most violent and unpredictable of the four. Missing. It was unsettling. 

   He also noticed the servants. Nightmare seemed to know every person who served him. By name. And absurdly, he thanked them. Summoned them that way. Monsters and humans alike, Nightmare spoke to them amicably. Last Reaper knew, servants might as well have doubled as sacrifices in this place. 

   Along that same thought, he noticed a very specific servant. One who seemed to tend to Nightmare directly. The knights, Reaper, and Geno all seemed to have servants at random. Nightmare was cared for specifically by that same servant who'd been in the throne room. Food, it was at every meal. Strange. 

   At at meals, the others removed their masks, each revealing their skulls without hesitancy. Nightmare only lifted his enough to take a bite. Reaper only caught a glimpse of pearly white bone. 

   Nightmare did not share this sentimentality with his guards. At least, not as far as Reaper could tell. His men, aside from the Knights, seemed contented to stay far from their King. 

   This was their King, though. He was certain now. 

   After dinner, Nightmare said he had better retire early, and informed them that they were welcome to roam as they pleased, and that Horror would watch over their quarters whenever they chose to turn in. 

   Nightmare had exited, leaning heavily on that cane of his. Reaper wondered to himself, then to Geno, whether the dark king had been injured. It seemed likely. Perhaps he had taken the treaty as a claim to secure power even as his health declined... but no, he seemed so young. Younger than should have been possible. With how he had been so enthusiastic about his vast collection of books, or as he described the trade routes overtop a large updated map of the continents. 

   They had the night, and Reaper knew he would not be breaking this treaty, no matter how... underwhelming Nightmare was in size and power. He seemed to be making headway for change. No sigils, no rituals, no blood pacts. Nightmare had ambition that not many had anymore. He respected it fully. 

   It was after breakfast that they would sign the treaty, and lock Nightmare's copy safely away. Then, Reaper would work to send out his first search party. After, of course, Nightmare introduced the two to his Royal Wizard. 

   The man had come up in many of their letters as a fire-power expert, and Nightmare seemed to take pride in him. Reaper only hoped Geno would get along with him. Maybe it would get his mind off of the impending search. 

[leidensygdom]

Ok, I'm gonna start a post idea I had been pondering. If you're either mentally or physically disabled and you have opinions about representation, this is the thread for you!

So, I've been seeing more people trying to tackle the topic of autism in their stories, but I've felt some of it tries to woobify a bit what is to live with autism, or just focus on the more socially acceptable quirks of it. And as someone with autism/ADHD (was suspected of it for most of my life, got it finally diagnosed by my therapist (who specializes in autism and ADHD) last year), sometimes I'd like for people to acknowledge the more unsavoury parts of it, the weird quirks, etc.

So, this post is going to be about that- If you wanna help people understand how your disability/neurodivergency affects your life, feel free to add to it! Just mention what do you have (no need for a full list, just what you consider relevant to the post) and some experiences, quirks, anecdotes or such that you think that are not often seen in stories or media, and that you consider an important part of it. They don't need to be huge things! I encourage people to share just whatever they feel comfortable. My list is gonna be a mix of stuff, but yours can be very different. Let me start!

Clothes and how they feel was surprisingly one of the most disruptive parts of my autism. As a kid, if I was forced to wear something that caused me some bad texture/sensitivity issues, it would significantly affect my behaviour and performance. It took me many years to be allowed to use mostly sportswear. (And it turns out being a "girl" (not anymore) wearing only sportswear tends to cause a whole lot of bullying)

This happens even nowadays. I've found out that non-heeled boots are more comfortable to me than sport shoes, because feeling something against the back of my foot makes me feel overwhelmed. I tend to wear yoga pants under actual pants, because they keep the actual pants' seams from causing sensory issues. There's almost a sort of ritual on how do I need to combine clothes to be able to function "normally", mostly consisting on reducing how much they annoy me.

On that topic, hygiene is actually a huge thing too. As a kid, I wasn't allowed to shower daily. Days I didn't shower, no matter how much I tried to keep my hygiene in other days, were "bad days" to me. I would literally plan hanging out with friends or eating out around the days I was allowed to shower. I could physically feel the difference between the day I showered and the day I didn't (even if I washed my face, armpits, used the bidet, etc).

This is true even nowadays. I can thankfully now shower daily, which isn't recommended by a lot of experts (specially because it can damage your hair and skin), but it's more worth to me than having days where I feel like I shouldn't be seen in public.

Being overwhelmed sucks! Meltdowns are mostly associated with kids, mostly because adults either learn to mask them, or do everything they can to AVOID having that meltdown. I've mostly figured out routines and such. There's this one place we go eat out every other Tuesday- And in the hours we go in, there's a sort of silent corner that is always free. This week's schedule was a mess, so we went yesterday to that same place, and the silent corner was filled with a very loud group. I got extremely overwhelmed. But enough masking drilled to me means I just sat there unable to talk for maybe 30 minutes.

Autistic adults still do have autism and experience often the full spread of traits, they've just found ways to mask, or avoid being in situations where they do need to do that. I've adapted my life and routine to that. But sometimes I land on situations out of my comfort zone that will make me feel just like when I was a kid. I want to freelance online because I'm fully aware I can't perform properly in a public facing job.

Group projects sucked so much. I know they suck for most people, but most times it was easier for me to do the entirety of the project by myself and add the others' names to it than dealing with chasing people for their parts. My college had a 6-months-long massive group project in the last year, with a 7 people group, which obviously I couldn't do alone. The whole experience was so harmful in so many ways I've had several full therapy sessions talking about it :'')

One of the reasons it's because mental flexibility is HARD with autism. If i set a schedule, I expect that schedule to be followed. If people agree to do a part, I expect that part to be delivered (unless there's a proper reason) on due time. People hate this a lot usually! It will tear group projects apart!

Stimming can be harmless, or it can be very annoying to some. I tend to shake legs and play with something in my hands. I could easy this off drawing in classes- My high school found out that I was paying more attention when I was allowed to draw in classes, and my academic performance was pretty much perfect, so they gave me permission to do that.

However, I had a teacher in middle school that did forbid me from drawing. I stimmed during a class with pens- She got so mad she sent me home with a note to my parents they had to sign. Fun!

Not exactly an anecdote, but I am ace. I hate the discourse about "making an autistic person be aro or ace is infantilizing autism". Aro/ace people can have autism. That's just how it is. I've been infantilized a lot for being ace- Which only got worse because I am autistic, and people perceived some of my special interests as child-ish. The combo didn't make things easy.

On that topic, people will often be very patronizing of your opinions or takes for being autistic. I've had people debate my sexuality (or lack of thereof), my gender identity and presentation, my hobbies, my preferences for everything, down to "what do you want to eat tonight?". This isn't too different to shitty takes about how "autistic people are more prone to being affected by the trans activistsTM", because people assume autistic people can't choose on their own. Trust me: We can.

Anyhow, I'd love if this post could be a good compilation of these sort of anecdotes! I think it could help people who wanna learn more about what is it to live with specific disabilities (and how to better portray them in media)

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

Nobody likes being criticized, but guess what? It's a part of life that we all have to deal with sooner or later.

Not all criticism is argued in bad faith, some of the criticism I've seen of Viv and her shows has come from her own fans.

It's easy to just cherry pick all the bad faith arguments and lump everyone who isn't a fan of Viv into the "hater" category, but that's just being disingenuous.

That's like saying that anybody who's critical of Steven Universe is just as bad as Lilly Orchard.

I'm not going to sit here and defend Viv's antis, as a lot of them seem to be looking for any excuse to start petty drama with her or her fans.

There's a very good reason why I try my hardest to distance myself from Viv's critics, it's because I have no intention of getting roped into petty bullshit.

No, I don't think that every single person who has ever worked on Hazbin/Helluva is as bad as Viv, a lot of the people she ends up hiring are just young impressionable fans who want to work on her shows.

And I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I don't think Viv is the worst person working in the industry today.

See the problem with tackling anything related to Viv is that you're always going to risk alienating her hardcore fans or haters.

Her fans and haters really want you to know how they feel about her, and nothing you say or do will change their minds.

Truth be told, I kind of hate the fact that some folks think I'm a Viv hater because I'm critical of her and her shows.

Like I said many times before, I only use the critical tags because they make it easier for folks who want to find a specific post.

Point is, no person or piece of media is above criticism. And you shouldn't let other people's opinions ruin your enjoyment of a thing you like.

[pro-cee-yonlotor]

๑Superficial Love. Goldenratio (Ratio x Aventurine). WC: 1.2k [to note: not proofread !]

Aventurine wasn't one to actively express what he was feeling. Think of it like a kaleidoscope, converting sunrays into different shapes and colors to distract you and bring your focus away from the source. In his case it was always much easier to showcase various different emotions and wear them like a mask. When he needs people to pity him he'll craft a perfectly pathetic face one to easily deceive. When he needs to get on someone's nerves a small quirk of his lips into a smug smirk is all it really took. So he didn't see the need for expressing himself when he can easily shift into something that'll cater to the other party, like a masked man raising the stakes of the game every time just for the player to realize that he had nothing but a bad hand. A master of deception who knows how and when to use it. It took years of practice to get him where he is now, years of observing people from the shadows, analyzing facial expressions when he'd play poker, and mimicking them perfectly to suit the facade he was trying to build. So imagine his surprise when all of it comes crumbling down the moment he becomes tangled with the esteemed Dr. Veritas Ratio. When face to face with another masked fool it was easy to tell, like a predator realizing that it's one of their own, alike to the point where the mask becomes undone for a split second; a moment of vulnerability. But a split second will stay a second. It was a barely there crack in one's facade, one that can't be seen by the naked eye unless up close.

"you're deflecting." Bored. Casual. But there was something, a small pinprick of emotion—that barely there crack and Aventurine was ready to hammer it down.

"responding to that serves quite difficult Veritas." He could see the small pinch in the others fine brow, an indication of annoyance, he always hated when Aventurine called him that. A small tell being the way the others jaw would tighten only for it to be forced into a relaxed state.

"with a mind like yours. It shouldn't be." Treat it as a yes or no question and you'll find yourself more likely to pick none. Except the question proposed was far more complex, sticky with emotions that Aventurine has spent years trying to bury deep in the alcoves of his soul, never to be felt again.

"you said I love you." Aventurine repeats as if saying it again makes it more digestible, more fathomable, more like a test instead of a declaration. It did no such thing, If anything saying those three words made his tongue numb and his head ache. He maintained his calm exterior, mirroring Ratio's own one.

"I did" his words mechanical, Aventurine almost found it comical. From gathered information one could easily tell this was probably the shittiest confession ever, in movies confessions are usually done over the pouring rain preferably with tears spilling from their eyes and voices screamed raw. There was no screaming, there were no tears, even the weather outside his apartment seemed cheerful.

"well thank you" that was dumb even Aventurine had to admit it. What's even worse than a shitty confession was an equally shitty answer. You say thank you when a gentleman opens the door for you, or when you receive a glass of water from the waiter, not when the supposed love of your life (Aventurine is still debating if that's the right term for Ratio) is confessing their unyielding feelings for you with a stone cold face.

"thank you?" The quirk in Ratio's brow was the only indication of his amusement. Aventurine could feel the steam of heat rush to his cheeks. That mask he so cleverly designed now getting dismantled with ease. This wasn't fair. Ratio was doing this on purpose .

"thank you for your confession. It must've taken a lot of courage to say that." Aventurine can't save himself now but he could at least try to play it out. In the game of feelings (at least with Ratio) the only loser is the one that folds.

"quite. I had an entire speech planned." Aventurine choked on his spit, he imagined it: Ratio hunched over his work desk trying to find the perfect synonyms for beautiful.

"the effort is admirable" only for the speech to be reduced to three simple words. Yet those words tangled deep within his heart strings, tugging and knotting itself orchestrating the loud thump thump thump in his chest. Honestly he'd prefer the grandeur speech instead, he'd rather Ratio go on and on about how his hair looked sun spun and how his eyes reassembled those irritatingly bright graffiti stencils on brick walls.

Ratio didn't even try to speak. His eyes said it all: 'deflecting' and a small hidden part of them seemed to say 'say it back, I'm begging you'

Aventurine laughs his tone a bit pitched—panic. "Such a thoughtful confession deserves time and thought put into it" he needs time. He needs time. He needs time. He needs time.

He can't do this right now and so he allowed himself a calculated slip up, a moment of vulnerability all for the sake of buying himself more time.

A slow blink was Ratios reply as if it just occurred to him that not everything is warranted an immediate answer, an immediate solution. Aventurine could see a small crack, ruining his flawless porcelain facade—shame perhaps?

A speck of guilt. He knew the agony of waiting for an answer to something the type of feeling that roots itself inside of your brain to fester doubt and insecurity. But if he knew Ratio (and he did) he wouldn't allow things as feeble as that cloud his focus, he'd snip every single one in a heartbeat. If anything he would warrant Aventurine as much time as he needed because Ratio was a sensible (albeit emotionally constipated at times), meticulous man. He wouldn't want a rushed answer let alone a forced one.

Aventurines assumption was confirmed when he felt gentle hands envelope his own ones. He couldn't help the small flinch he let out at the contact, something he wasn't used to despite hanging around the scholar almost everyday. His gaze met Ratios and he was surprised to find them warm and sincere, eyes like honeycomb encased in amber. He didn't like the look of sincerity in the others face.

He watched as Ratio slowly brought his two hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles with the devotion that would bring preachers to shame. He didn't expect to spark such a reaction, he didn't know what mask to put on. A miffed look crossed Aventurines face.

"take all the time you need. I won't go anywhere." Ratio mutters softly, it was out of character, it was unusual, it was making Aventurines heart malfunction and his mind muddled.

"you-"

"I'm sorry" what why

"I don't want you to answer for my sake." Ratio explained, another kiss to his hands. Aventurine remains silent, shocked. This was Ratio. The person behind the porcelain mask. Raw and vulnerable and so utterly smitten.

For me? Aventurine swallows thickly but he could feel that small panic from earlier thawing. An indiscernible feeling replacing it.

"Aventurine, anaticula. I love you." Ratio says and this time it wasn't to demand an answer, it was to inform, it was to declare, it was the type to be whispered under shared sheets in the dead of night.

Honestly Aventurine wouldn't mind that thought.

The blonde sighs softly with a small smile drawn on his lips "what am I going to do with you Veritas" he mutters, moving so that his forehead could rest against Ratios, his brows scrunch a bit as the words repeated in his head.

I love you

I love you

I love you

AN: gonna separate my writings actually. Fanfics for my OTPS will be here, x readers on the other account + Anyways take this ratiorine drabble that I wrote on a whim (so sorry if it's messy) because I'm so high on both of them + Fun fact: anaticula translates to 'little duckling' AND IK ITS LIKE KINDA CRINGE AND SHIT BUT IDC LALALALALA + They're both emotionally intelligent but constipated when it comes to each other me thinks. I honestly love this ship so much (it hurts) and I'd definitely write for them more.

[chimerahyperfix]

You are a scientist. You like testing theories, making hypothesis. Working with dangerous materials that get you scolded. You are a scientist, and you are also a writer! You’ve swung at a few things before: sappy poems, work papers, crab, you’ve even attempted a horror short at Mirabelle’s inquiry. You’re favorite thing to write, though, are just basic letters.

You like to write letters. It's easier, to you, to write your thoughts on a piece of paper and hide it somewhere the recipient can find than to tell them what you think face-first. You’ve done it for years, long before you even came to the House to learn about the Change religion. A childhood habit that’s rolled over through your life like a wave on the sea.

So, of course, when time begins to loop, you write. Many, many letters. They all get lost to time when it twists back, and now, many loops in, that leaves a hole in your heart and a spot in your brain you can’t itch, for the words of each letter are mostly forgotten before you fight the King. It’s… fine, you guess? You can word things as many ways as you need to. Anything described can be described some more, after all.

For the first handful of loops, you wrote the same letters. Rather sappy, lovey things, your specialty. The furthest depths of your heart smeared onto a page for eternity, for you love and love and love, and you want those around you to know it.

Though as time trudges on, the same twenty four hours over and over in a nice single circuit built for it to run through, built by wishes and stars and twisted leaf-baring branches, so do your thoughts; therefore your letters move so, too, to adapt. More theoretical things. Questions. Ifs, ands ors buts and whys. Sadder ones after the bad loops, wailing and endlessly upset and mourning those who froze and those who were killed for standing in the King's way.

They get angrier as time goes on. More enraged. Wrath melts into the corners, edges fold and tear and warp under the weight. You stop delivering them, because you're here in this time loop hell to protect the ones you love, and you'd just make it worse if you gave them a letter like that.

You write a scathing letter, once. You write it after an absolutely abysmal loop, ending with blood and tears and probably the loudest you've ever screamed. It flows onto the page easily, and you leave it out on your desk, because you were hungry and hadn't eaten that loop with how beside yourself stressed you were.

Mirabelle finds it. Asks you, quite worried, if you're okay. You must've said something, and it had to be bad, because she flinched away from you like you'd tried to light her ablaze.

You panicked. Time looped.

Never again.

You hide them, after that. Shoved in your pillowcases or in piles of books, stacks of other papers. In the barrels. When you write only one or two you shove them in a bottle and push them to the back of your potions.

You're a shedding snake, a leopard changing its spots. Time is your prisoner and you are it's, and that melts into you as a human being until you are flesh and blood and twenty four hours that shouldn't continue.

Words spill from you, your mind, onto the page. You don't read them anymore. Just write and write and write, and tuck them away and pray no one finds them. You long for the days you could sit and write sappy love letters-- and sometimes, you still do them, but they're tinged with something, regret or rage or the absolute despair you feel, they're wrong, so they're tucked away as well. Letters just wrong, noticeably so. You’d be asked what’s wrong. Cornered. You can hear it now, “What’s wrong? What does this mean?” And all you can think of is the horrors you’ve seen.

One of these loops, whenever you get out, you expect to have a pile of ramblings with time-burnt letters and tear-stained edges. Whenever you get out, if there are any, you'll burn them. As a rite of passage, or something. A Change. Because time changed you, and the less people have to know about it the better. You can't get rid of your rotten voice or the tiredness in your bones or the way your brain has twisted to think, but you CAN get rid of letters.

You like to write. The horrors you write, of twisted time and dying and what being frozen in time is like— it can go. No one needs to know. No one WILL know. It’ll all fall on you, like every other crabbing thing in the time loops. And that’s okay, it’s enough.

[mystycalypso]

I'm gonna go on a mini rant here.

TW: p3d0ph1lia, and child s/@

God, I shouldn't have to put a TW like that on a blog where I post Hello Neighbor content with my bff, but I need to just- let off steam about this because it's something that seems to happen every time there's a franchise centering around kids facing a big bad adult where- people assume that said big bad s3xually @ buses one or more of the minor characters.

A main big example of this is obviously FNAF, with the P3d0philia William Afton being popularized by PinkiePills with her comics to the point where a large chunk of the fandom believes that it's canonical. Despite that not being the case.

The example that has pushed me over the edge to talk about this today is Theodore Peterson. I have been worried since Episode 6s release that people were going to claim that Peterson S/@ ed Nicky. And today, low and behold I see a post (not gonna name drop them for obvious reasons) saying

"At this point it's obvious what Mr. Peterson did to Nicky" with the teaser image tinybuild recently posted

Now, at first my autistic ass said, "...What?" And I couldn't figure out for the life of me what they were referring to because I mean, we don't even know when this shot is from

Then I open the comments and see people talking about whether or not it was infact s/@ . I know I said I was expecting and dreading this, but it still shocked and bewildered me because- there's genuinely nothing in the show that actually makes it seem like this.

Thankfully, a lot of the comments were openly disagreeing with this idea and sentiment. But- I need to discuss why it's a problem to me, ESPECIALLY with this franchise, which I've already explained is very near and dear to me.

But good FUCKING GOD, especially with WTRB

THIS IS A KIDS SHOW

Is WTRB able to go much darker than most kids' shows because it isn't run on tv or owned by a network? Absolutely. But would TB go that far? FUCK NO.

I've seen this person using moments from the show like this

To call Mr. Peterson, a p3d0phil3, and I need to clearly explain the purpose of this image. It is to show the power he has built in his lies. Trinity witnessed Mr. Peterson kidnap Nicky before her own eyes, but he has built up such a persona as this pathetic old man in the town that even when she can see behind his lies and see his actively horrific behavior, no one else can.

We see this same back and forth in all their interactions in episode 5. From the moment he offers cookies based on Nicky's goggles to the framing of him looming while her parents work the printer. He believes he has won and can flaunt it because there is no one in Ravenbrooks who believes these kids. No one even notices or is suspicious of Nicky going missing in the first place.

And if Trinity was also an adult or even if Mr. Peterson was say- a woman this wouldn't be coming up or a theory/hc. It is only because Theodore is an older male antagonist.

Now, why is this a problem? Why do these hcs and theories urk me so much every time I see them?

It adds nothing. All they do is make the story "edgier" and "darker" in a way that's so- flat and dimensionless. There's nothing gained by saying "oh Nicky was s/@ ed" if anything you have taken so much from the actual story of Hello Neighbor and the themes of feeling helpless to the horrors you see going on around you. You're not taken seriously as a kid, especially after doing something others see as a slip up like Trinity or by not being the model student type like Nicky. You're young and can see through the lies of others easier but no one believes you.

Not only that, but the supernatural theming of Hello Neighbor is lost because of this. The Guest, The Thing, the Cult, everything is lost or disregarded all to make the series dark on a very surface level.

I'm tired of actual themeing and good writing getting thrown to the wayside for hcs that do nothing for victim representation and do nothing to add to the story and I say this with utter genuineness

If you believe in these p3d0 hcs and theories, do not interact with our work.

Kaydin and I are both VIOLENTLY disgusted by the things we saw written by that poster and by the comments agreeing with their sentiment and we don't want to be associated with the parts of the fandom that twist the series that way.

Thanks for reading.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Since Easter is coming soon, how about S/O plans a special Easter egg hunt for skeleton. The skeleton has to find a special egg that has a mystery item inside for them!

Main ten plz

Undertale Sans - That sounds like a lot of work but he's doing it for you. He's more enthusiastic about the chocolate eggs though. That's the longest time you've seen him in the yard since you moved in you think. You kinda feel like you're taking your skeleton for a walk :')

Undertale Papyrus - You regret your decision when Papyrus says that you know he likes puzzles and so you obviously didn't make things easy. That's when he takes a shovel and starts digging holes. In the entire yard. You're hyperventilating at this point. The egg is right there, on a very visible spot, but Papyrus said it's too easy and so that it's a trap and he refuses to take it. You're not sure how you're going to explain this to your landlord.

Underswap Sans - He's excited and starts to inspect every corner of the yard. What doesn't help are the chocolate eggs he's eating as he looks for the special egg, which sends him into a sugar rush. Blue has way too much energy now and he starts to have zoomies, randomly running to you, picking you up above his head, and running around with you like this as you hold for dear life. Honey signs a "I told you so" from behind the window.

Underswap Papyrus - He's like a child. He comes running to you, excited, at each egg he finds. He wants to show you. When he finds the special egg, you hear him scream in victory from the other side of the house. Best game ever!

Underfell Sans - What do you think he is? Five? He's too old for this. So what's the gift? He's mad you won't tell him. He's so bad at hunting eggs that he gets frustrated very quickly and keeps asking you to show him the egg already. You refuse. It's not an egg hunt if you don't hunt the eggs.

Underfell Papyrus - You kinda realized Edge never did this before as he runs outside a spear in hand to hunt for the egg. Since he can find it, he calls Undyne for backup. Your two idiots are going to trash the yard, hunting for an invisible enemy, as you're watching in disbelief with Alphys from the patio.

Horrortale Sans - He's not too good at this, but he's having fun. You try to help him a little when you see him search in the same spot for the third time. This little game is actually good for training his memory as well. He's in a good mood all day after this, proud he found all the eggs by himself. Good luck to get him to share now lol. That's his eggs. There's a high chance he's going to hide them somewhere in the house so no one touch them.

Horrortale Papyrus - You say nothing and simply watch as he discovers weird eggs have grown on the trees. Willow is so confused about this and keeps asking if you're seeing this. Who would put chocolate eggs in a tree? That's silly. After finding some in the chicken coop, he grows suspicious though. You didn't do that, did you? You play the innocent one, but you can't fool him for long. He's excited when he learns about Easter, and now he wants to organize an egg hunt for you too!

Swapfell Sans - He can tell the special chocolate egg is very expensive and he's a little embarrassed about it. You shouldn't ruin yourself for him. No, but really. He's not a big fan of chocolate lol. He still going to eat some to please you, but most of it disappears inside of Rus's non-existent stomach. You're pretty sure Rus didn't even notice the difference with his garbage bad-quality chocolate eggs. It's just chocolate.

Swapfell Papyrus - Well, cool, because he did the same inside the house. You two are competing to see who will find all the eggs first. Rus is surprisingly good at this. What he doesn't say though is that his smell is actually more developed than normal so it's not really difficult.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He doesn't understand why would humans hide chocolate in the yard when you can really put them all in a basket on the table. It seems way easier to eat them? He's not going to question it. You can see he's judging you so hard though, and congratulates you every time he finds an egg so you feel contented or something. Humans are so weird.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's overexcited by this game. He wants Easter to be every day of the year! It rained chocolate in the garden, that's crazy! You hear him scream in excitement every time he finds one. He's so happy!