#b lb

[hak]

oh this is a lot. this is so sad..

[goldfades]

baby shower! | JOE BURROW⁹ [003]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your baby shower gets a little overwhelming for you and joe.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | pregnancy mentions/descriptions, doting mothers, arguments, slight hurt to comfort, joe standing up for you like the man he is, a sweet little heart to heart at the end there.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍, but the second you stepped into Maisie’s meticulously decorated living room, you knew it was going to be anything but relaxing.

“Where’s the punch? Who put the finger sandwiches there? They’ll block the dessert table’s aesthetic!” Maisie’s voice rang out like a battle cry, cutting through the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling notes of an instrumental playlist she’d personally curated. She zipped by in a blur of pastel pink and blue, her hands clutching a checklist that looked more intimidating than your OB-GYN’s appointment schedule.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the nausea that had plagued you all morning still simmering low in your stomach. The room, while beautifully decorated with clouds of balloons and a sprawling “Oh Baby!” banner, felt uncomfortably warm.

“Sit down, sweetheart!” your mom chirped, swooping in like a hawk in a lavender sweater set. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and guided you toward the plush loveseat near the fireplace. “You shouldn’t be on your feet too much, especially not with that glow,” she said, her tone sweet but with the underlying force of someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you assured her weakly, but it was pointless. Robin, Joe’s mom, appeared out of nowhere with a plate of fruit skewers and a cup of sparkling water.

“You need to stay hydrated,” Robin said with the kind of motherly authority that left no room for argument. “And these are good for the baby—full of vitamins.”

You offered her a tight-lipped smile, though the thought of eating anything right now made your stomach churn.

“Robin, don’t hover too much,” your mom chided playfully, though she was already fluffing a throw pillow and tucking it behind your lower back. “She’s got to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” you lied, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

The truth was, you were anything but comfortable. Your dress—a flowy, neutral-colored number Maisie had practically forced on you—clung in all the wrong places. Your lower back ached from the extra weight you were carrying, and the wave of nausea that had become your constant companion wasn’t helped by the sugary smell wafting from the dessert table.

Maisie stormed back into view, muttering something about the confetti placement being “all wrong.” She paused just long enough to point a manicured finger at you.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you need a fan? A bucket? A full-on evacuation plan?” she asked, her tone frantic but laced with genuine concern.

You forced a laugh. “I’m fine, Maisie. Promise.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes at you like she didn’t quite believe it, but before she could press further, someone called her name from the kitchen. With a dramatic sigh, she marched off, her checklist clutched to her chest like a lifeline.

“I don’t think she’s slept in a week,” you murmured to your mom, who chuckled softly.

“She’s excited,” Robin said, sitting down beside you. “We all are. This baby is going to be so loved.” Her expression softened, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of Joe in her—the same quiet intensity in her eyes, the same way her smile felt like a reassurance.

The thought of Joe brought a small pang of guilt. He’d been hesitant about the whole baby shower thing, mumbling something about how it was more of a “girl thing.” You’d convinced him to make a brief appearance later for the gift opening, but he’d spent the morning at the gym, promising to show up “cleaned up and ready to charm.”

A sudden wave of queasiness hit you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed, but of course, both moms were on you in an instant.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked, leaning forward.

“You look pale,” your mom added, her hand flying to your forehead.

“I’m just—ugh.” You rubbed at your temple, willing the sensation to pass. “I think it’s just the heat in here. Or the smell of those sandwiches. Or maybe the fact that I’m growing a whole human.”

Robin smiled knowingly. “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it? The shower, the attention… It can be a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, sinking further into the loveseat.

Your mom glanced toward the kitchen, where Maisie was now rearranging cupcakes with the intensity of a bomb squad technician. “Should we get you some fresh air?” she suggested.

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be okay. I think I just need a minute.”

Robin squeezed your hand. “Take all the time you need, honey. The important thing is that you and the baby are okay.”

The baby. The words still sent a jolt through you every time someone said them, a mix of excitement and terror that hadn’t quite settled. Across the yard, Maisie was now directing a small army of family members and friends, her voice rising above the chatter. “No, the games go over there! Do you want to ruin the flow of the whole party?!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite your discomfort. “She’s really taking this seriously,” you said, nodding in Maisie’s direction.

Robin followed your gaze and let out a soft laugh. “She’s been texting me about this shower for weeks. I think she might have more anxiety about it than you do about the baby.”

Your mom leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s been calling me every other night. Last week, she spent twenty minutes debating the merits of a candy bar diaper game versus baby bingo.”

“God bless her,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. “She’s going to need a vacation after this.”

Just then, Maisie appeared at your side, clipboard clutched tightly to her chest. “Okay, so the photo booth is almost ready, but the props guy still hasn’t shown up, and I don’t think the centerpiece on the gift table is centered—”

“Maisie,” Robin interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath. Everything looks beautiful.”

Maisie’s eyes darted around the yard, clearly skeptical. “You think so? Because the balloons over by the cake table are kind of deflating, and I—”

“Maisie,” you said, cutting her off with a soft smile. “It’s perfect. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

She hesitated, then exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Okay,” she said, though she still looked unconvinced. “But if you need anything—literally anything—you call me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said with a mock salute, earning a small laugh from her before she disappeared again.

The laughter was short-lived, though, as another sharp pang of nausea rolled through you. You set the water glass down, pressing a hand to your stomach and trying to breathe through it.

Robin noticed immediately. “Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though the edges of your voice wavered.

Your mom frowned. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest.”

“Really, I’m—”

“Stubborn as ever,” Robin finished for you with a knowing look. “Joe’s going to lose it if he finds out you’ve been feeling like this all day.”

You shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position, and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

┈┈┈

The presents were stacked like a small mountain beside the chair they’d designated as your throne for the day. Wrapped in pastel pinks, yellows, and greens, each box and bag felt like a tiny piece of your future waiting to be unveiled. Joe stood beside you, his tall frame just brushing the edge of the canopy Maisie had insisted on. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, a small furrow etched into his brow as his eyes flicked over the gathered crowd.

You could tell he was overstimulated. The constant buzz of chatter, the occasional bursts of laughter, the sharp crinkle of wrapping paper—it was all pressing in on him, but he stayed rooted to your side. Every now and then, his hand would brush against your shoulder, a silent reassurance for both of you that you weren’t in this alone.

“Alright!” Maisie clapped her hands together, clipboard abandoned for once as she orchestrated the gift-opening session. “Let’s see what this baby is getting spoiled with!”

The first gift was handed to you by Robin, who looked as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. The pink and white polka-dotted bag was adorned with delicate tissue paper, which you pulled away to reveal an impossibly tiny pink onesie. Across the front, in glittering gold letters, it read: Daddy’s Girl.

The room collectively cooed, but you caught the way Joe’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile. He wasn’t a big fan of being the center of attention, but even he couldn’t deny how adorable the onesie was.

Robin leaned in, beaming. “I saw it and couldn’t resist. Something told me it was just perfect.”

“Thanks, Robin,” you said warmly, holding it up for everyone to see before setting it aside.

The next gift was from one of Joe’s teammates, and as you pulled apart the wrapping, you found a set of miniature footballs—one of them signed by Joe himself. A wave of laughter swept through the crowd, and Joe shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little more.

“Thought the kid should start practicing early,” the teammate said with a grin.

The gifts kept coming, each one a mix of sweet, practical, and downright extravagant. There were blankets so soft they felt like clouds, a high-tech baby monitor that you didn’t even know existed, and enough stuffed animals to populate a small zoo.

One of your aunts presented a ruffled pink dress with matching booties, holding it up dramatically for everyone to admire. “She’s going to be the belle of the ball,” she declared.

Maisie, standing off to the side with a skeptical expression, muttered, “Or he’s going to look like a very fashionable dude.”

You tried to stifle a laugh as you moved to the next box, this one from your mom. The neatly wrapped package revealed a handmade quilt, each patch lovingly stitched with little images—stars, moons, teddy bears, and tiny footballs.

“Mom,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “This is beautiful.”

She smiled, her eyes glistening. “Every baby deserves a little piece of love to keep them warm.”

Joe reached out then, brushing his fingers over one of the patches. “It’s really nice, Mrs.—uh, Mom,” he said, the slip into the familial title earning a few approving murmurs from the crowd.

The pile dwindled down to the last few gifts, including one from Maisie, who handed over a bag that was conspicuously neutral compared to the sea of pink surrounding it. You opened it to find a set of gender-neutral onesies in shades of gray and white, each one emblazoned with cheeky slogans like Mom’s Favorite and Future MVP.

“Finally,” Maisie said with a mock sigh. “Someone acknowledges that this baby might not actually be a girl.”

Joe let out a small chuckle at that, his first real laugh of the day. You glanced up at him, grateful for the way he stayed close even though the chaos was clearly wearing on him.

The last gift was from one of your mom’s friends—a pale pink rocking horse, complete with a little saddle and reins. The room erupted into a collective “aww,” but you couldn’t help but notice the way Joe’s jaw tightened just slightly.

It wasn’t a big reaction, but you knew him well enough to catch it. He was overwhelmed, overstimulated, and probably thinking too hard about everything that was happening and what it all meant. You reached out, brushing your fingers against his hand, and he looked down at you, his expression softening instantly.

┈┈┈

The room was still a hum of chatter and laughter long after the gifts had been opened, everyone lingering in clusters to admire the pile of baby treasures and speculate about the baby’s future. At first, it was endearing—watching the people you cared about get so invested in the new life you were bringing into the world.

But as the conversations grew louder and the attention lingered, a familiar unease began to creep in.

Robin held up the tiny pink dress your aunt had gifted, spinning it in her hands as though she were imagining a little girl already toddling around in it. “She’s going to be the most darling thing this side of Cincinnati,” she declared, her voice carrying over the murmur of voices.

“Or,” your mom interjected, “maybe he’ll be the most handsome boy in town.” She shot Robin a teasing smile, but there was a sharpness to the exchange.

“You really think it’s a boy?” Robin asked, eyebrows arched.

“Mother’s intuition,” your mom replied with a confident nod.

“Don’t you think the pink onesie says otherwise?” one of Joe’s aunts chimed in, holding it up like it was a smoking gun.

Maisie, seated on the arm of a chair nearby, caught your eye with a subtle shake of her head, as if to say Don’t engage. You appreciated her silent support, but the voices around you were getting harder to tune out.

“I’m telling you, it’s a girl,” Robin insisted, crossing her arms like she was laying down a bet.

“And I’m telling you,” your mom countered, “it’s a boy. We’ll see who’s right when the baby gets here.”

Other voices joined in, speculating wildly about who the baby might take after, what their personality would be, whether they’d follow in Joe’s footsteps or carve out their own path. The noise was starting to press against your temples, the endless back-and-forth making the air in the room feel too thick.

Joe, still standing beside you, had gone silent. His hands were back in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor, and you could tell he was holding himself together for your sake.

“Alright, alright,” one of his teammates piped up with a grin. “How about a little wager? Fifty bucks says it’s a girl.”

“Make it a hundred,” someone else called out, and the laughter that followed was the final straw.

The knot in your chest tightened, and your hands clenched in your lap. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm. The room felt too bright, the voices too loud, and the well-meaning opinions too much.

Before you could say anything, Joe’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Enough,” he said, his tone sharp but steady. The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to him.

Joe looked up, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with frustration. “This isn’t a betting pool. It’s not a game. Can everyone just… be considerate for once? She’s already dealing with enough without you all making it worse.”

The weight of his words lingered in the room, and the silence that followed was heavy but blessedly calm. Your mom looked sheepish, Robin muttered something about “just having fun,” and even the most boisterous of Joe’s teammates had the decency to look a little ashamed.

You glanced up at Joe, your heart swelling at the way he’d stepped in for you, even when you knew he was barely holding it together himself.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustle of the room.

He looked down at you then, his expression softening as he saw the gratitude in your eyes. He gave you a small nod, one of his hands brushing against your shoulder again as if to remind you he was there.

The moment was brief, but it was enough to ground you. Even in the midst of all the chaos, Joe had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay.

The house finally quieted as the last of your guests shuffled out the door, their voices trailing into the evening air. Inside, Maisie and Ja'Marr were clinking dishes together in the kitchen, tackling the mountain of cleanup like the MVPs they were. You’d tried to protest earlier, but Maisie had waved you off with a glare sharp enough to make you sit back down.

Now, you stood on the back porch, the cool night breeze brushing against your face. The chaos of the day felt distant here—muted, softened by the hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves. You leaned against the railing, one hand resting absentmindedly on your growing belly, and let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for hours.

Joe was a quiet presence next to you, leaning on the railing with his forearms, his broad shoulders slightly slumped. He’d changed into a soft hoodie and sweats after the last guest left, his game-day persona stripped away, leaving only the guy you knew best—the one who rarely said much but whose silences spoke volumes.

“Hell of a day,” he muttered after a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the last streaks of sunlight bled into the dark.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

He glanced over, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “You okay?”

The question was simple, but the way he asked it—soft, almost hesitant—made your chest tighten. You hesitated, trying to figure out how to sum up the whirlwind of emotions.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice quiet. “Just… a lot. The attention, the opinions, the arguing. It gets overwhelming, you know?”

Joe nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Yeah, I get it.”

You tilted your head to look at him, studying his profile in the fading light. There was a tension in his jaw, a lingering weariness in his eyes, and you realized he was still carrying the weight of the day too.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For stepping in earlier. I know you’re not big on… all of this, but it meant a lot.”

He shrugged one shoulder, but the way his lips pressed into a thin line told you he was more affected than he let on. “It’s my job to take care of you. Both of you.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a hint of something raw beneath it—an edge of vulnerability he rarely let show.

Your hand drifted to his arm, fingers curling gently around his sleeve. “You already do, more than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the quiet stretching out between you like a warm blanket. The air smelled faintly of grass and the lingering sweetness of cake from inside, and you let yourself sink into the stillness.

“You ever think about how different life’s gonna be?” Joe asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Different how?”

He straightened, leaning back against the railing as he turned to face you. “I mean… everything. A baby changes everything. There’s no going back to how it was before. And as much as I’m ready to be a dad…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes it just… hits me, you know? Like, are we really ready for this?”

The honesty in his words tugged at something deep inside you. “I think it’s okay not to feel ready all the time,” you said, your voice gentle. “I don’t think anyone ever really is. But we’ve got each other, Joe. That’s enough.”

His eyes met yours then, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours before curling around it, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’re gonna be an amazing mom,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard against the wave of emotion. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”

Joe chuckled, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll try. Guess that’s all we can do, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, your fingers lacing with his.

The night deepened around you, the stars beginning to poke through the inky sky, and you stayed there together, leaning on each other in the quiet. Inside, you could hear Maisie bossing Ja’Marr around as they finished up the cleanup, her voice a familiar, grounding presence.

For now, this moment was yours—just the two of you, standing at the edge of a new chapter, not knowing what lay ahead but knowing you’d face it together.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[theweeklydiscourse]

We’re going through this phase of fandom right now where people willfully ignore the sexist implications of female characters being shafted into housewife/mother roles or disempowered by the end of their stories. If you dare to criticize such writing decisions, you will be accused of sexism and be hounded for not “respecting their choices” as though these characters are actual people and not tools of storytelling. As if the cliche of female characters “sacrificing” their powers or having them stripped away exists in a vacuum and isn’t influenced by any larger cultural factors.

They’ll say: “Not every character has to be a girlboss!!” Or “Let women be soft and traditional!!” As if that’s some revolutionary way of thinking and not the norm. It’s an extension of choice feminism, dismissing any dissent about the quality of the narrative to make it make sense and avoid the uncomfortable truth. Diminishing the agency of female characters and cramming them into traditional roles is a common occurrence in many stories, and we should be allowed to criticize them without being silenced.

[sarah-cam]

"he was the best friend we ever had"

[larsnicklas]

baby barky ♡

[stolenkissesdiaz]

ofc after seven fucking szns the one time eddie’s gay ass listens and does something for himself is when a hot priest that resembles buck tells him to after seeking him out and flirting with him. like jfc diaz have some couth???

[malinaa]

"you will die alone. and i will die in her arms." MY GOD THAT SHIT IS SO ROMANTIC AND ALSO THE SEXIEST THING TO EVER COME OUT OF MAL'S MOUTH

[v8mpvrse]

THIS is what the cup is all about. unrestricted public (physical.) affection. PDA IF U WILL!!!!

the lighting makes it look soooooo coming of age ‘life lesson is that it’s all about the friendship of it all’ movie core *sniffles*

[morgansyorkie]

Some BTS snaps from team photo day for the TL. 📸

[zukosadvisor]

freddy carter is playing kaz’s trauma with his whole kazussy

[hak]

kinda love how sarasa taking on tatara as a part of her has this very interesting fallout of her being so comfortable being a boy despite sometimes (mostly at the start) having gender dysphoria. like it’s kinda nonbinary of her sometimes when she doesn’t mind it at all esp when everyone like asagi even thinks of her as a guy in his head. though I predict once this ends she’ll put tatara to rest for good

[goldfades]

meeting hayes. | JOE BURROW⁹ [008]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first couple of days with your little bundle of joy.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet, domestic!joe, fluffy as a little pancake, mentions of pregnancy, babies (yaya!), joe being the sweetest, best dad husband ever, idk what else

APRIL 2022

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖. It wasn’t just the faint, powdery scent of baby lotion lingering in the air or the tiny clothes folded in drawers that made it so. It was quieter but also fuller—like the walls themselves were adjusting to the weight of this new chapter, reshaping to cradle this fragile little life.

You stood in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows in golden beams, and shifted your son higher on your shoulder. His soft breaths puffed against your neck, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’d fallen asleep after his morning feeding, milk drunk and blissfully unaware of the exhaustion etched into every inch of your body.

Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cradling a mug of coffee and the other absentmindedly running through his hair, which still stuck up wildly from sleep. He was watching you with that soft, faraway look he’d developed since you came home from the hospital, the kind that made your heart clench because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen, “he’s got my ears. Poor kid’s doomed.”

You laughed softly, the sound carried on a yawn. “I think he’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re biased.” Joe stood, stretching in that lazy, unbothered way of his that made even mundane movements look effortless. He walked over, leaning down to press a kiss to your son’s head and then to your temple, lingering for just a second. “You need to sit. You’ve been up all night with him. Let me take him for a bit.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“Y/N.” He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in that teasing but firm way that always made you cave. “Go sit. Or better yet, nap.”

Reluctantly, you handed over the baby, watching as Joe adjusted him with a level of care that never failed to amaze you. For someone who spent his Sundays being tackled by grown men, he handled your son like he was made of glass, his big hands cradling the baby’s tiny body with infinite gentleness.

You sank into the couch in the living room, intending to just sit for a moment, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Joe pacing slowly around the room, swaying slightly as he hummed a low, tuneless melody to the baby.

When you woke, the house was quiet except for the distant hum of the washing machine. You stretched, groaning slightly at the ache in your back, and wandered into the nursery, where you found Joe sitting in the rocking chair with the baby cradled against his chest. Both of them were asleep, the baby’s head tucked under Joe’s chin, his tiny hand fisted in Joe’s t-shirt.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking it all in. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The crib sat untouched—Joe always claimed he’d put the baby down, but more often than not, you found them like this, tangled together in peaceful sleep.

You didn’t want to wake them, but the sight was too sweet to resist. Quietly, you crept into the room and placed a kiss on Joe’s forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

Later that day, you all ventured outside for the first time since coming home. Spring had arrived in full force, the backyard bursting with new blooms and the soft buzz of bees flitting lazily between flowers. Joe spread a blanket on the grass, and you sat with the baby nestled in your lap, his tiny hat slightly askew on his head.

Joe stretched out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the baby with a soft smile. “Do you think he’ll like football?”

You snorted. “I think he’ll like whatever doesn’t involve being tackled.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to adjust the baby’s hat. “Fair enough. But if he doesn’t, Maisie’s going to have a meltdown. She’s already planning his college career.”

The thought made you laugh, but it was also comforting in a way. You couldn’t imagine a future where Maisie wasn’t involved, where she wasn’t there to be the chaotic aunt who spoiled your son rotten.

The afternoon passed in a haze of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of day that felt like a balm to your soul. Joe dozed off in the grass, his arm draped protectively over you and the baby, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

This was your season, a time of blooming and growing, of finding joy in the simple, quiet moments. It wasn’t always easy—there were still sleepless nights and overwhelming days—but as you sat there, your little family wrapped in the warmth of spring, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d found your place in the world.

The day melted into evening, the golden hues of sunset fading into the deep indigo of night. The baby had been bathed and fed, his tiny body swaddled snugly in a soft blanket. You and Joe found yourselves in the living room, the baby nestled in your arms while Joe sat beside you, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table.

The glow of the TV provided a muted light, though neither of you were really paying attention to the movie playing. It was just background noise, something to fill the silence while you both lingered in the haze of new parenthood.

“He’s out like a light,” Joe said softly, his voice low and warm as he leaned in to brush a kiss against the baby’s downy head.

You smiled, glancing down at your son’s peaceful face. His tiny lips were slightly parted, and his delicate lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks. “He’s probably the only one sleeping in this house right now,” you teased, your voice equally quiet.

Joe chuckled. “Not my fault he inherited your sleep schedule.”

“You’re hilarious.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. The weight of the baby in your arms and the steady presence of Joe beside you felt grounding, like the world had shrunk to just this room, just this moment.

“We still don’t have a name,” Joe said after a while, breaking the quiet with a small sigh. He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve got to pick something, babe. He’s going to start thinking his name is Little Man.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and tired. “I don’t know, Joe. Nothing feels right.”

“You don’t think Maisie’s suggestion of ‘Captain Joe Jr.’ has a nice ring to it?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Mm, tempting,” you joked, “but I think I’ll pass.”

The conversation fizzled out again, the two of you content to just sit in the quiet, letting the baby’s soft breaths fill the space.

Then, something small and unexpected happened.

A soft breeze stirred through the room, coming from the cracked window that let in the cool spring air. It carried with it the faint scent of freshly mown grass and the distant, earthy aroma of the fields beyond your backyard. The curtains shifted, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, the faintest shimmer of something caught your eye.

You turned your head, craning to see. There, just outside, the moonlight illuminated the grass in silvery hues, creating a soft, glowing haze over the backyard.

“It looks like a painting,” you murmured, your voice tinged with awe.

Joe leaned forward, his eyes following your gaze. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice just as soft. “Like one of those fields we used to drive past at night, back home in Athens.”

You blinked, smiling at the memory. The rolling hills, the mist that settled over them in the evenings, the way the moonlight would transform the fields into something almost magical.

“Haze,” you said absentmindedly, the word falling from your lips as if it had been sitting there all along.

Joe turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Haze,” you repeated, this time with more intention. “Like the mist, the way the light makes everything soft and dreamy.”

He tilted his head, considering it. “Haze… that’s kind of nice.”

A pause. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, you both looked down at the baby. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his little hand poking out of the blanket to rest on your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hayes,” Joe said, testing it aloud. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking something sacred into existence. “With a Y. Hayes.”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his expression. “Hayes,” you echoed, and the name felt like a breath of fresh air, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

Joe leaned in, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. “Hey, Little Man,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet affection. “Looks like you’ve got a name now.”

And just like that, under the soft glow of moonlight and the warmth of shared memories, your son became Hayes—a name born not from deliberation or debate, but from the quiet magic of a simple moment shared between the three of you.

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[pocketgalaxies]

"SUUUUZY! listen. i'm here with braius. he's a SHELL of a man. he misses you sooo much. but...he's become important! AND suuuuuper powerful! kay?"

[teardroops-world]

Avril Lavigne 🖤

[normalgoalie]

I’m crying at Brad’s drawing of Bergy

[theweeklydiscourse]

This is an interesting line for several reasons, the biggest of which is Mal’s choice of hyperbole when expressing his love for Alina. The implications of this passage are sexual in nature, this is made most obvious by the imagery of “dancing naked” and Mal isolating aspects of Alina into “parts”.

He says “even the part of you that loved him” which to me, indicates a certain level of discomfort Mal still has with Alina’s sexuality and attraction towards the Darkling. This discomfort informs his division of Alina into parts, distinguishing his perception of Alina from “the part” of her that stepped outside of that role. When this is placed alongside his insinuation of Alina’s sexual attraction, it becomes clear that Mal has difficulty reconciling the two versions of Alina that have appeared.

It’s not a coincidence that the most exaggerated example he can conjure is dancing naked on the rooftop of a palace. Referencing the Little Palace functions as a symbol of Mal’s perceptions of Grisha, where the palace is a grand example of their perceived decadence and priority to the monarchy. Throughout the book, readers will see ordinary folk expressing resentment towards the seemingly better treatment that the Grisha get. Sometimes, the Grisha are portrayed as overtly spoiled and haughty individuals as well (even though they have less freedoms and are at a great disadvantage) To Mal, Alina dancing on top the Little Palace is meant to evoke a sense of careless hedonism and excess that he resented her for earlier in the book.

The “dancing naked” part is obviously a euphemism for sex, and it predictably aligns Alina’s relationship with the Darkling with her sexuality. The Darkling comes to be associated with maturity and sensuality, he fits into the archetype of the “dark older lover” who awakens Alina to a new world. Despite the fact that they never have sex or confirm their relationship under any title, the erotic nature of their relationship is in stark contrast with the comparatively chaste and childlike relationship Malina represents (Pretty ironic considering that Mal and Alina have sex in R&R)

This fits into the narrative of purity in Shadow and Bone. Alina aligning herself with the Darkling would mean embracing pleasure, power, and sexual desire, and that is something that the narrative deems as immoral or “greedy”. Inversely, going with Mal becomes the “pure” and humble option where she forgoes power and fame for Mal’s sake. This is where Alina is divided into two halves (in Mal’s view) there is the Repressed Alina, who he knows from childhood and wants to stay with, and the Sun Summoner Alina, whose maturity and newfound strength draws her further away from him.

The former was committed to staying with Mal at the expense of herself, while the latter found fulfillment and realized desire elsewhere. Repressed Alina is characterized as a sort of virtuous and humble person (even when that is quite the opposite) whereas Sun Summoner Alina is characterized as greedy and prone to corruption. This serves the narrative of purity culture in the trilogy by eventually framing Mal as the voice of reason in response to Alina’s supposed corruption.

According to the narrative, the worst thing Alina could be is similar to the Darkling. She can’t desire power or sexual fulfillment (from anyone other than her predetermined husband) and is left in a state of immaturity once she loses her powers. She will stay in the garden of childhood with a man that could never truly recognize the multifaceted nature of her identity.