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readwritealldayallnight · 3 months ago

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(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight Series’)

For the first time in a long time, Simon feels as if he’s walking on eggshells

He’s 6’4”, easily over 200 pounds of bulking muscle, strikes fear into the heart of each and every enemy he comes across (should they live to tell the tale that is), and yet he feels as though he’s tiptoeing, practically dancing around the issue he refuses to address

Yet you make him feel this way

It’s been months now, of this dance you still haven’t realized you’re apart of, shining on centre stage under the constant spotlight of Simon Riley’s attention, rather than one of the background performers as you seem to believe

He feels as though he’s done everything he can to get the point across to you, other than literally getting down on one knee and asking you those four special words he can’t seem to get himself to speak out loud

As easy as it is to pretend you two truly are husband and wife ‘til death do you part, he’s instead having to watch you leave base in exchange for your lonely flat each night, reminded of the fact that he’s not ballsy enough to just come out and say it to you

You make the Lieutenant nervous for fucks sake, something he hasn’t truly felt in so long he’s grasping for straws, searching for a life raft in these uncharted waters to help him stay afloat

That’s part of why he’s so confused when Gaz finally joins him and Soap in the gun range, landing a friendly smack across the taller man’s broad shoulders, saying something about how he’s ‘really happy for you LT, finally properly asked her, aye?’

“What are you goin’ on about?” Ghost practically grunts out, readjusting the weapon against his shoulder as he glances through the scope of his gun, only partly interested in what the Sergeants answer is, that is until he hears him mention your name

“Just saw her at her desk, talkin’ about how she has a wedding this weekend-” Gaz has barely finished his sentence before Ghost is whipping his skull clad head around, shoving his weapon into Soap’s arms, and beelining out of the armoury towards you, leaving a pair of chuckling Sergeants behind him

They’ve never seen their Lieutenant so whipped before. And the fact that you don’t even know you have this beast of a man wrapped around your dainty little finger makes it all the more entertaining for them

They totally haven’t taken bets on how long it takes for him to break and finally confess his feelings, and Price definitely didn’t put money down on it either

Ghost may as well float into the room on a cloud he’s feeling so overjoyed at the idea of finding you sat at your desk all pretty, chit chatting away with colleagues about the wedding you’ve finally realized he intends to give you, taking all the pressure off of him

Instead, he rounds the corner and overhears the last tidbits of your conversation, pretending as though his stomach doesn’t drop out of him and onto the floor when he realizes you’re telling your desk mate about your sisters wedding this weekend

He should’ve know better, it wouldn’t be that easy

“-not that I’m embarrassed to go without someone. That I don’t care so much about.” He hears you explain, failing to have noticed him behind you quite yet. “God knows it’s been ages since I’ve gone on an actual date anyways. But this is the first time I’m a bridesmaid, and my sister keeps saying I’m apparently the only bridesmaid without a date-”

“Well aren’t you going to bring your husband?” Your colleague asks, cutting you off. Just like everyone else on base, she knows thinks you are in fact Mrs Riley, for all intents and purposes. You open your mouth to correct her and tell her you don’t have a husband, when a deep voice comes up behind you and speaks first.

“‘Course she is.” Ghost replies for you, coming to stand behind you in your chair, sneaking a gloved hand onto your shoulder to offer a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. You lean your head back to glance up at him, offering a soft smile that melts his heart more and more each time he’s lucky enough to see it, to be the reason for it. Sensing she’s now the odd one out, your coworker quietly excuses herself and goes to find someone else to talk water cooler gossip with.

“Oh Ghost! Hi!” You say, reaching your own hand up to squeeze his in return, smile widening when you notice the crinkles next to his eyes that you hope mean he’s smiling as well under the mask. “Oh, you really don’t have to. I mean- I wouldn’t want you to waste a day off just to sit through a stranger’s wedding for who knows how many hours. I barely want to go.”

You try to joke about it, but this really has been causing you unnecessary stress. Your sister apparently doesn’t have enough wedding planning on her plate as it is, seeing as she has enough time to constantly pester you about whether you’ve secured a date yet or not, despite your answer always being no. She knows it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone seriously, and that finding a date will be more of a chore than showing up without one and enduring your relative comments and questions.

Each time you told her no though, your mind wandered to the tall, dark, muscular man who liked to call himself your husband, imagining the looks on your family’s face if you were to show up with Ghost on your arm. But you never bothered to ask him, not wanting to force him into extending his kindness and charade of a happily married couple outside of work hours.

“I’d be with you for those ‘who knows how many hours?’” Ghost asks, quoting you, watching as you offer him a simple nod in return. “Then that’s the farthest thing from a waste o’ time in my books, love.”

As simple as that, the plan was set. Ghost would be your date to the wedding that weekend.

Now, Ghost was used to not having very much to look forward to in life. He could look forward to a hot shower occasionally, look forward to good pub food instead of mess hall dinners, look forward to a chance to sleep in a little later, simpler things of the sort.

But when you came into his life, he was suddenly looking forward to equally simple, but different things. He looked forward to reading your cute replies to his good morning and good night texts (he still never misses a single one, all these months later), looked forward to seeing your sweet smile greeting him when you arrived to work, looked forward to hearing your pleased hum when you took your first sip of whatever drink he prepared you that day. Essentially, he looked forward to seeing you.

Now though, he feels as if this weekend cannot come soon enough, finding himself practically giddy he’s looking forward to spending more time with you off base so much, feeling like a kid who’s itching to get their hands on their new Christmas gifts.

When he arrives at your flat almost a half hour too early (he just couldn’t wait anymore lovie, you can’t blame the poor man), and you open the door to greet him, he doesn’t think it’s fair to compare this to a gift under the Christmas tree.

No. It’s more like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

Standing before him, is the most beautiful, breathtaking vision he’s ever laid eyes upon in all his years. He half wonders if his knees are legitimately beginning to wobble where he stands, he feels so weak in the knees as he gazes upon you in your doorway. It’s still just you, the same woman he’s been seeing every day and dreaming of each night.

But you don’t look like you have every day these past months. Your hair is styled differently, your make up is a little more done up, and the thing that’s really got his mind reeling, is that instead of your regular work attire, you’re wearing a dress so stunning he half wonders whether or not you are the bride this evening. There’s no possible way someone so beautiful is expected to stand on the sidelines tonight, expected to be anyone apart from the star of the show, the centre of his the world.

You don’t take much notice of the way Ghost fails to greet you properly, standing outside your door and practically gawking at you, seeing as you’re preoccupied doing the same to him. His usual fatigues and black everything have been swapped out for black dress pants, a white button up shirt (your eyes definitely do not linger on the top three buttons being left undone, nope, not at all) and a black blazer, matching black surgical mask in exchange for the typical skeleton mask.

You two blushing, bumbling idiots in secret love manage to pull yourselves together enough to make the drive up to the venue, the car ride filled with laughter, stories, and too many stolen glances to count, each of you wishing you could pull the car over somewhere and jump each others bones instead.

At the venue, you go through the obligatory introductions with your family, simply so they couldn’t say you didn’t say hello at least once throughout the busy night, only partially intent on ignoring them later on. They’re left understandably stunned at the mention that the man beside you is your husband, and when your family members begin unloading question after question, the two of you manage to find a quick excuse each time to dash off, giggling and holding onto the other as you weave the growing crowd of guests, all too proud of your little inside joke.

You regretfully tell him that you’ll have to leave him to sit alone throughout the ceremony, though he insists you shouldn’t worry about it, lifting your spirits momentarily when he jokes that you should focus more on not tripping during your walk down the aisle, before the both of you are left bright red in the face at hearing him talking about you walking down an aisle, as if you don’t pretend to be married every day to begin with.

He truly doesn’t mind having to sit on the tiny foldable chairs that make up the seating for the ceremony, it’s only a small portion of the evening after all. And besides, his eyes certainly aren’t on the couple reciting their vows up at the altar. No, his gaze is on one person and one person only. From the moment the music kicked in and pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped out to walk the aisle in their matching attire and matching smiles, his eyes have been locked on you, just as yours have been locked on his.

His size certainly helped you pick him out of the crowd with more ease, finding him amongst the familiar and unfamiliar faces instantly, as though gravity was pulling your gaze in his direction alone. Later on, neither of you could even correctly point out amongst the groomsmen whose arm you were holding on to as you walked, attention only focused on each other.

Even as you stood up front, listening to your sister and new brother in law profess their love for the other, you tried your best to appear as though you were paying them your full attention, considering you were standing up at the front and all. But it was as though you could literally feel Ghost’s eyes on you the entire ceremony, unable to stop your eyes from straying towards him more times than was surely appropriate, feeling the heat of a blush creep over your cheeks every time you saw how devastatingly handsome he was today.

By the time the newlyweds are marching back down the aisle past their cheering loved ones, wedding party in tow, your eyes are no longer pretending to look anywhere other than at him. And Simon is looking back at you, but his mind is growing preoccupied, thinking of how he can finally ensure you’ll let him walk you down the aisle now.

Because in the glove compartment of the very car he drove you up here in, only inches away from your knees the entire drive, he’s tucked away a small little box, containing the exact ring you chose from the jeweller all those weeks ago. He carries it with him everywhere, eager for the moment, the opportunity to be lucky enough to truly call himself your husband and slip the band over your finger as his wife.

And he’s decided that tonight is the night he tells you.

The night he tells you this has never been a joke to him, never been anything apart from what he really wants to be true from the moment he saw you.

To call you his wife.

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zshiftsrealities · 1 month ago

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MANIFESTATION, AND IT'S CORE

this isn't a FUCKING joke. all of this isn't some big lie just so people can mess with you.

it's not "too good to be true", it's not "one day I will", it's not "can I?", it's not it's not it's not. it's REAL, it's LITERAL, it's YOURS.

it's different names for the SAME FUCKING THING. IT'S ALL THE SAME. one's not harder than the other, one's not easier than the other. it's the EXACT same.

lucid dreaming is the same as shifting which is same as manifesting which is same as the void. it's all the same. THE ESSENCE OF IT IS ALL THE SAME.

and the FACT is that it's all yours. NO, you don't have the "power to do it" because YOU DON'T NEED THAT BULLSHIT. it's YOURS.

there's no "specific time", "special day", "the one moment", "the one word" that'll make you shift/everything else. there's no nothing. there's nothing that you'll find that'll "make you" shift. there's no secret formula, secret recipe, "oh, maybe I'm doing this wrong", "wait, maybe if I do this", "maybe if I try that". there's just you, and everything that's already yours. SO OWN UP TO IT. SAY IT WITH YOUR DAMN CHEST THAT IT'S YOURS. SAY IT SO LOUD THAT EVEN SOMEONE IN THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND IN THE HEIGHTS OF HEAVEN HEIGHTS CAN HEAR THAT IT'S YOURS. say it with such a sense of entitlement that GOD HIMSELF hears you, sees you, and acknowledges you.

IT'S YOURS, IT'S YOURS, IT'S YOURS. say it until you feel sick of it. say it until your brain's fried. say it until you're out of it. say it UNTIL YOU CAN MEAN IT when you say IT'S YOURS.

one assumption, one assumption is all it takes. one sentence that you don't question. hell, question it even. doesn't matter. even so, one assumption is what it takes to be the you who has it all. the assumption that you ARE the you who has it all.

don't even believe. don't. don't even think twice. don't bother at all. don't do nothing. you don't NEED to do nothing. because you already are the you who has what you want.

what you desire was already yours before it was even put in your heart. it has been yours when it appeared. its completely yours when you work towards having it. it's yours to enjoy when you finally have it. so enjoy it throughout. enjoy it when you're persisting that you have it. enjoy it when an intrusive thought arises. enjoy it when you question it's validity. because it was yours the moment the big bang happened, and it was yours before it happened, and it was yours when nothing existed, and it's yours when the world ends. it's yours from start to end.

if it wasn't yours, it would've passed you by, and you wouldn't even have any idea. if it wasn't yours, you wouldn't be here right now. if it wasn't yours, you wouldn't be trying even if you're doubting it. if it wasn't yours, it wouldn't have found you in a hundred lifetimes.

you cannot make this shit up. it's a FACT. you don't find anything. whatever is yours, finds you. you cannot escape what's yours. that is your blessing. take it. own it. live it.

you're NEVER chasing. your desires chase you. they WANT to be yours. you CAN live without them. you definitely can. they can't. but since they're yours, they move with you, and so in your frame, it looks like you're chasing after them. that you have to have them. SO WIDEN YOUR FRAME. WIDEN THAT FUCKING PICTURE. ZOOM THE FUCK OUT. SEE, that they continue chasing after you, trying to catch up. so own them. stop running. give yourself a break. take a breather. what are you chasing after anyway? when everything is yours since the beginning of the world, and even before that. you're making your life awfully like Achilles's. stop going so fast that you pass your desires and then end up behind them. stop running in circles. stop, and relax. you've reached the end line. you ARE the end line. let your desires come to YOU. that's what you deserve, and that is EXACTLY what you have.

you will have exactly what you intend. intention matters, and actions follow. so intend big, assume the "impossible", and watch it appear before you. the mind is a powerful thing. it always works in your favor, but only if you keep it under your control. do not let it even DARE to think it can control you. don't YOU ever think it can control you. sit down with it. tell it your desires. tell it that you already HAVE your desires. and most importantly, tell it that it has to work for you NO MATTER WHAT. because that is what it's supposed to do. that's it's purpose.

no, you're not GOD. you're YOU. that's your power. GOD has too much to take care of. the wind; it's direction, the water; its flow, the rain; where it falls, the leaves; when they wither, your next breath that you'll take, every single person on this once fully green Earth. he's constantly taking care of everyone else. do you have the time to take care of every single individual alive and breathing right now? honestly, no. you're not gonna sit here saying "oh, yeah. let me pay the debts of someone on the other end of the world who probably doesn't even know me". I know I won't. is that selfish? I don't care. I deserve everything that I want as much as anyone else in this whole wide world. so no. NO NO NO. you're nothing, but YOU. you don't "make it happen", you don't have to. you assume, it happens. you intend, its here. that's YOU. you don't have to sit down and plan HOW what you want will happen, you sit down and assume it'll happen, and it will.

anyways, yeah. you get the point. you are you, do not try to be anything or anyone else. be you, do you, for you. and everything will be yours. it already is. you are the CORE, the CENTER, the start and the end.

#shifting reality #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting blog #shifting realities #lucid dream #lucid dreaming #void state #void #shifting community #shifter #shifters #shifting motivation #loa tumblr #loablr #loassumption #manifesation #manifesting

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wickjump · 2 months ago

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ok i rambled a lot in the tags and there’s a STUPID TAG LIMIT so my thoughts are CONDENSED and LAMEand not smart. but i could be. i could be if i wanted to. also the second half of this is literally me just talking about krepicolor im So sorry i got so off topic and distracted. the first half is good tho and makes sense i think

Why am I chill with most color ships but eh or 😡 and 🙄 or 🫤 on most killer ships

#i think it’s probably due to how most killer ships have him under nightmare #whne was the last time you saw kist or butcherknife or kross or mtt poly outside of nightmare’s reign?#where they’re free from their abuser? And happy? and able to heal?#a lot of the time killer and the others stay stagnant. they can mentally improve over time but they’re always still stuck in that god damn #castle with nightmare controlling every aspect of their lives. even if the relationship itself is healthy #the enviornment isn’t #i only really like killer ships if they get to escape #i can enjoy killer ships where it’s acknowledged that the environment is unhealthy. that a lot of how the relationship works is to cope and #feel a brief moment of control in a way. at least for killer because ain’t nobody else having control over his ass without them dying #he has enough with nightmare thank you #i like exploring how killer functions under nightmare versus not. how relationships would work in that situation #the issue is that this is never acknowledged. nightmare’s abuse is toned down to focus on the ship #or god forbid the ship itself is purely abusive with no redeeming qualities (some versions of kist)#it’s just not a healthy situation for killer. he does not deserve that #you have seen how he can grow and improve and change and be happy with color. in a place where he’s free from his literal trafficker #color never had someone like nightmare abuse and condition and kidnap him. ships involving him don’t seem oppressive or like they’re trying #to brush off what he endures or try to glorify it #a lot of killer ships do #krepicolor save me. i think they’re literally the ideal ship. like literally perfect in every way #epic and color team up to save their love interests from nm and kiss along the way and cross and killer BEEN kissing. then they are allhappy #come on. it’s kross’ silly dynamic (cross is easily reactive and killer loves to figure out curiosities about him and learn buttons to push)#it’s colorkiller. it’s crepic. Need i say more on those two.#it’s epiciller. they are both funny. they both hide shit like it’s their life’s goal. they both put on masks to hide everything about #themselves to fit what they think they should be in the situation. they lose parts of themselves in the facade until they can’t tell who #they really are as easily. epic has played the nonchalant dork for so long that he doesn’t know how to be anything else. it’s not him it’s #to cover up the layers of guilt and trauma.#killer morphs himself to be whatever he thinks his abusers want him to be. he plays the role of their fool for as long as they wish. and he #forgets who he actually is under all that. what *he* wants. who he is. true self expression is something he’s been banned from for so long.#he struggles with the fact he isn’t nightmare’s slave or chara’s vessel anymore. he’s almost forgotten how to be anything else.#i think they’re neat. also i ran out of tags but trust me i have thoughts about epicolor too. krepicolor is forever peak

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seumyo · 1 month ago

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BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 9:33

Bakugou never believed he had room for love in his life. His world was defined by ambitions and goals he set upon himself—becoming Number One, proving what he can or cannot do, and making every moment count in the endless pursuit of the things that he thought would satisfy him for as long as he lived.

He knows what love is. He’d seen it in glimpses—his parents everlasting love, his friends falling over themselves for their crushes at UA back in high school—he knows.

But love wasn’t a luxury he thought he could afford, and even if it was, it wasn’t something he thought about often. Too caught up in the relentless wave of life.

At least, not until you.

He first met you on the job.

At that time, you were nothing more than his partner for this particular high-stakes mission. He initially rolled his eyes at the thought of working with someone new, but you managed to worm your way into catching his attention (and soon into his heart).

You weren’t too loud, flashy, or all bark and no bite like some of the heroes he worked with. You were sharp and methodical, always thinking two steps ahead, and your patience in the face of chaos was something he both admired and envied.

But admiration wasn’t love, not yet.

You were supposed to be just another hero to him—a capable one, sure, but nothing more than a colleague. Bakugou would never admit it aloud, but the way you carried yourself earned his respect quickly.

You weren’t one to back down, even when he demanded easy-fix solutions from you when it was nearly impossible given the situation. You’d meet his intensity halfway, standing your ground when you knew he was wrong—Bakugou thinks that the moment he met you, he’s never once been right.

It annoyed the hell out of him, of course, but it also earned his begrudging approval. It’s like meeting someone that could keep up with him.

He’s still getting used to that.

Still, it wasn’t love. Or maybe he was just in denial.

It started subtly, sneaking up on him like an enemy he couldn’t see coming—which is almost never because Bakugou’s been preparing for his whole life for as long as he could remember. So you were like a force that swept him off his feet, quite literally, when he remembers your first meeting, how you casually tripped him over all because he didn’t acknowledge your presence in the room.

Yeah, that one’s on him.

He began noticing things about you—little things he’d never paid attention to in anyone else. Like the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you were passionate about—like those little figurines you said were Hironos, or the way your voice softened when she comforted a frightened child.

He noticed how you always managed to keep your composure, even when the odds were stacked against you. You had this way of making everything seem manageable... no matter how dire the situation.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like the time you made coffee for the whole team during an overnight stakeout, remembering exactly how he liked his: strong, no sugar, just a splash of cream. You handed it to him with a knowing look, and for some reason, that simple act stuck with him longer than he expected.

“Coffee?” you offered.

Bakugou looked at you as if he were like a deer in headlights. “Yeah, thanks.”

He’s not a complete asshole, so he says thank you.

Or the time you were patrolling together, and he caught you humming under your breath. That pop song that’s trendier to the younger generation these days. It was such a soft, absent-minded thing, but it pulled at something in his chest. He didn’t even recognize the tune, but he found himself wanting to hear more.

It starts small. Then it comes all at once.

“You good?” he asks after finishing the given task.

You blinked up at him, nodding with a tired yet triumphant smile. “Peachy.”

That was when it hit him. The relief that washed over him wasn’t just because the mission was a success. It was because you were okay. And the thought of a world without you, even for a second, was unbearable.

Bakugou was screwed.

He started looking for excuses to spend more time with you. Walking you home after shifts, claiming he was “going the same route” even when his neighborhood was in the complete opposite way. Bringing you snacks during long patrols, muttering something about how he happened to have an extra. Offering to spar with you during training sessions, even though he hated sparring with people who weren’t on his level.

He hated how transparent he was being, how obvious his feelings were becoming. But for once in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The night Bakugou confessed, it wasn’t some big, dramatic moment. They were sitting on a rooftop after a long day, the city sprawled out below them, its lights twinkling like stars.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, the words gruff and unpolished, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

You turned to him, your brows furrowed slightly. “Depends.”

“I— you...” he muttered, staring straight ahead. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know what it is about you, but… you’re different. You don’t take my shit, but you don’t try to change me, either. You’re just… you.” He finally looked at you, his crimson eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

“And I don’t wanna imagine this—any of this—without you in it.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression softening as the weight of his words sank in. Then you smiled, your hand resting on your cheek fondly.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Katsuki?”

If he weren’t uncharacteristically nervous right now, he would have made a wittier comeback. Bakugou’s chest felt impossibly tight, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something warm and steady, something he never knew he needed until now.

“Yeah, so? Whaddya say?”

“I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you.”

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nereidprinc3ss · 4 months ago

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trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago.

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out.

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere.

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death.

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death.

Just… not yours.

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial.

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job.

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to.

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well.

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital.

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.”

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat.

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words.

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle.

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that.

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good.

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now.

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago.

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa.

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps.

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was.

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door.

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking.

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before.

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now.

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed.

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one.

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing.

The door closes as quietly as it opens.

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse.

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get.

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough.

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth.

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall.

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain.

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly.

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in.

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night.

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise.

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention.

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern.

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place.

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking.

“Hm?”

He hesitates.

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog.

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it.

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone.

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel.

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand.

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight.

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass.

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass.

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead.

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did.

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things.

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore.

And yet.

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful.

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever.

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour.

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now.

You doubt they ever could.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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kirammanswifey · 1 month ago

Note

I gotta say you're one of my favourite writers as of late and I've been re reading all your work over and over again on my trips to college, like ot just scratches my brain so so wonderfully 😩😩

Would you be open to write them Arcane characters and fem!reader's sleeping arrangements? Like who cuddles who, who has matching pyjamas, who reads in bed

arcane characters' sleeping arrangements x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i missed this so much, i haven't updated for a week, college is eating me alive, literally. hope you liked this dynamic, my favorite was ekko's, lately this man has snuck into my heart. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

The room is wrapped in a soft, relaxing atmosphere. The warm light from the desk lamp dimly illuminates the walls, and the sound of rain outside the window adds a layer of tranquility to the space. Viktor is by your side, and for a moment, you can see something few people ever have the privilege of seeing: his vulnerability.

It’s curious how, in his world full of inventions, calculations, and scientific advancements, there’s something so basic as the need for someone close to him that seems to overflow from the rigid facade he usually wears. You’re there, in bed, reading a book or simply listening to the rain when he suddenly drops his notebook next to him and turns toward you.

"It’s strange... I never imagined I could feel so... calm," he says softly, as if evaluating his own feelings. He, the man who has devoted his life to science, to logic, somehow can’t explain how your presence makes him feel something he’s never experienced before. You try not to show it, but the tone of his voice reaches your heart.

Little by little, he approaches, moving cautiously, as if every gesture were a meditation. He doesn’t make abrupt moves. His hands, usually cold from being surrounded by machinery, are now gentle when they touch the side of your arm. It’s a timid touch, almost as if he fears invading your space. But you understand, because you know that, inside, he still struggles to trust these simple, human moments.

"Is it alright if...?" He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he lets the silence ask everything. His eyes, somewhat tired but filled with a serenity only you can provoke, look at you with a mix of desire and fear. It’s a constant game of insecurity in his mind: Should he get closer? Would he make you uncomfortable if he does? But there’s no need for words between the two of you, just the silent language of gestures. You, as always, understand without explanations.

Without saying anything, you move toward him, allowing your body to communicate what words cannot. Viktor sighs in relief, his shoulders relaxing, and once he’s next to you, he settles in, making sure not to invade your personal space completely. His fingers, without thinking, search for your hands and gently interlace them, almost as if it were an automatic act.

"How can you be so close to me without...?" His words fade into the air as your eyes meet his. He doesn’t need to say more; you know he’s acknowledging what he’s never been able to admit: the fear of closeness. The fear of losing control, of losing you. But in that moment, the only thing that matters to him is being close to you.

"It’s just a touch, Viktor," you murmur, with a soft smile. Your tone is calm, without hurry, with the same tranquility he needs. And without thinking, he pulls you a little closer, letting the distance that has always existed between the two of you fade away. His breathing becomes slower, as if simply having you close gives him a sense of peace that nothing else has provided.

"I need you here," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as if the idea of having you near is an anchor for his constantly occupied mind, always worried about the next breakthrough, the next experiment. But not today. Today, he only needs you.

As you both settle into the bed, a light draft of cold air enters through the window, but Viktor, almost instinctively, makes sure the blanket covers both of you. In his eyes, there’s a sense of protection, of wanting to take care of you even without saying it. As he settles in, his fingers find your hair, caressing it gently, feeling the texture, as if each movement were a way to calm himself.

At first, he stays still, focused on the sound of your breathing, on how your body relaxes in his arms. But as the minutes pass, he begins to lose himself in the warmth of your closeness. His hand moves to your waist, seeking not just physical warmth, but a little emotional comfort as well. Those small gestures, which for him seem simple, carry much more weight: he’s letting you in.

"I never thought something so simple could mean so much," he says, almost in a whisper. It’s such a simple comment, but it’s laden with emotion. A moment when science and logic fade away, and all that remains is human connection, the bond that is built over time.

Minutes turn into hours. Viktor, finally, falls into a deep sleep, his body slightly tilted toward you. He had always been the one willing to give everything for the future, for Piltover, for science. But that night, the future doesn’t matter as much. What matters is what’s in front of him. And what’s in front of him is you, calmly resting in his arms.

When he wakes up, your eyes meet his, a slight blush on his cheeks. "Good morning," he says, as if this small act of waking up together were something incredibly grand. And, in a way, it is.

Jinx

The flickering light of the neon lamps gently trembles in the air as she, with her boundless energy, is in her world, completely immersed in whatever has caught her attention at that moment.

Sitting on the bed, Jinx shakes a strange object she just got, making "bang, bang" noises with her mouth while pointing it at the mirror, her reflection smiling back with that deranged grin you know so well. Suddenly, she throws you a defiant glance, as if challenging you to enter her chaotic world.

"Come on, aren't you going to say anything?! I'm a destruction machine, wooow!" She laughs hysterically, clearly enjoying the moment.

You, watching her, can't help but laugh too, though in a more calm way, feeling that mix of affection and concern for her. You know that behind that laugh and overflowing energy, there's something deeper, something that sometimes gets lost among the explosions of her inner chaos.

At first, you try to let her do her thing, but you know the night is already quite late, and Jinx is far from ready to sleep. The chaos continues to spread around her, and despite your desire to sleep, you know that if you don’t act, there will be no way for her to calm down. So you decide to approach.

"Hey, sweets," you say softly, your tone calm but firm. "Don’t you think it’s time to rest a bit?"

Jinx turns toward you, her eyes shining with excitement. "No, no! I’m not tired! I don’t need to sleep... Not until you find something as incredible as... this!" And in a burst, she jumps to the other side of the bed and starts spinning around like a child, throwing objects into the air.

You know you won’t convince her with words. You get up with a patient smile and quickly reach her. "You’ll have to put that down for a moment. I promise we’ll have all the fun you want tomorrow," you say, moving slowly to give her a gentle tap on the shoulder, trying to gain her attention in a softer way.

But Jinx doesn’t listen. She stops for a second, looks at you sideways, and throws another object, as if challenging your patience. "I don’t want tomorrow! I want everything to explode now!"

This is the moment when you know you need to be more than gentle. You approach her with a calm smile, but one full of determination, and take her hand. "Baby," you say, now looking directly into her eyes, "I know you like chaos, but you also need to rest. Would you like...?" You pause, the idea of calming both of you down seems almost unreal, but you know it's what she needs most. "If you cuddle here with me, maybe we could rest for a bit? Just a little while, so tomorrow you'll be full of energy for all your crazy ideas."

Jinx watches you for a moment, her eyes shining with something between doubt and curiosity. "You... with me?" The idea seems strange to her, but something in your soft tone makes her stop, her body relaxing for a second.

Without saying more, she slowly moves toward you, her energy suddenly calmed by your presence. "No... I’m not tired, but... I can try," she murmurs. It’s strange to see Jinx so vulnerable, her impulsive attitude and need for attention seemingly subdued for a moment.

You let her get closer, and the moment she settles by your side, you feel that overwhelming desire to take care of her. Jinx settles into the bed, seeking your closeness as if, in some way, your presence is her refuge. She quickly cuddles up to you, without thinking twice, searching for the warmth that, for some reason, only you can give her. The chaotic energy from before begins to slowly fade as she embraces you.

"Promise, okay?" she whispers, her voice softer now, a tone you haven’t heard all day. Jinx snuggles even closer, her head resting on your chest, searching for that peace she so desperately needs, even though she won’t admit it.

"Yes, promise," you respond, gently stroking her hair, feeling how her tension gradually dissipates. It’s curious how, amid all her chaos and madness, simply being there with her, the calm begins to emerge.

Jinx sighs, and in that moment, all the noise and explosions from her mind seem to fade away. Her breathing becomes slower, more relaxed. You have her there, in your arms, so vulnerable, so unique. This is the moment when the chaos shuts off, and only she remains, with you.

"You’re... weird," she murmurs as she settles against you, already almost asleep, but with a little smile on her face. "I never thought I’d sleep so peacefully... thanks," she adds, and for the first time, her words aren’t a joke. It’s a sincere thank you, even wrapped in that strange way Jinx knows how to be.

You stay there, stroking her hair, feeling how she gradually falls asleep.

Vi is not one of those people who can sleep immediately. No matter how tired she is, she always has something on her mind or at least something she wants to do before giving in.

You find yourself sitting on the bed, already in your pajamas, wearing one of Vi's old t-shirts and your black underwear, the ones Vi used to love. You have a book in your hands, and as you flip through the pages, you watch as Vi stays in "active mode," rummaging through the drawer of the nightstand. She's wearing a sleeveless shirt and dark shorts. She glances at you from the corner of her eye, noticing your calmness.

"Don’t you want to sleep or what?" Vi asks with that cheeky smile on her face. You know that for her, the concept of "relaxing" is still something she's trying to understand. But it makes you smile.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just reading for a bit before bed," you reply, not taking your eyes off the book.

Vi sits next to you on the bed, giving you a sideways glance before flopping onto the pillow. "Pfff, reading? You’re always so chill… I, on the other hand, am already dying of sleep... But… I don’t wanna sleep yet."

It’s then that she turns to face you, a slight grimace of discomfort crossing her face. "You know what I want? I want you to cuddle me," she says. And although her tone is playful, you can hear the genuine tiredness in her voice. You know that Vi has a steel personality, but even she can’t escape the embrace of calmness when she feels safe. And apparently, that safe place is with you.

Without thinking much, you smile and adjust yourself on the bed, opening your arms to welcome her. Vi doesn't waste a second, immediately nestling against your side with a satisfied smile. "I thought you didn’t want to sleep," you tease softly.

"Too much talk," she responds, resting her body against yours, her shoulders pressed against yours, her breath near your neck. "Just let me be here for a few minutes."

Vi rests her head on your chest, and you relax, feeling how she snuggles in closer. The touch of her skin against yours and the way she settles, fitting perfectly, makes everything feel comfortable and natural.

"You know what the best part of all this is?" she asks, her voice soft but with that playful spark that never leaves her. "Having you here next to me, with those panties that drive me crazy. Why are you so sexy, babe? It's not fair to my mental health." She chuckles, her fingers shamelessly tracing the lace of your underwear.

"You’re also too sexy, babe, sometimes way too much. Look at those abs, they’re like steel," you reply, gently touching her delicious and muscular abdomen as you look at her, realizing how easy it is to make her blush with something so simple.

Then, you take control of the moment and hold her a little tighter, enjoying the closeness and how her body gradually relaxes in your arms. Vi remains restless, but as the minutes pass, her movements become gentler. A couple of times, you hear her mumble something, but it’s nothing coherent, just sounds that let you know she’s falling into a state of relaxation, the one she rarely shows others.

"Hey, why don’t you stop moving?" you gently complain, although you know Vi is always like this, even when she's tired. But you make a small adjustment, settling her between your arms and whispering in her ear. "Relax. You’re safe here."

At first, Vi doesn’t know what to do with your words. But after a few seconds of silence, she responds in a calm, low tone. "Alright, alright. I’m here." And with that, her eyes slowly close.

It’s curious, because even in the simplest moments, Vi has her own way of relaxing, but it’s never like what you’d expect. She feels more comfortable when she's close to you, when she can be by your side without needing to always be alert. Slowly, her breathing becomes deeper and more relaxed.

In that moment, you start to notice that the book you had started reading no longer interests you. With a small sigh, you let Vi settle in your arms, and she falls asleep with a smile on her face. You watch her, gently stroking her hair, feeling that in her arms, though strong, there is a peace you hadn’t seen before.

Caitlyn

The night has fallen, and the hectic workday has finally come to an end. It's time to relax, and as always, you have your little nightly ritual with Caitlyn. After dinner, you both get up, stretching lightly after the meal, while Caitlyn gives you a look that clearly knows what's coming next.

"Shall we brush our teeth?" Caitlyn asks with a calm smile as she heads toward the bathroom. You follow her, leaving the table clean and quiet, the silence of the night surrounding you both.

In the bathroom, you both stand in front of the mirror. Caitlyn looks at you in her reflection, her hair still tied up in a soft ponytail. "I think I'm winning in speed," she says playfully, but you just smile while brushing your teeth. It's a simple moment, but one of those that becomes part of the everyday, like a small shared gesture of complicity.

After a few minutes, you finish brushing your teeth, and Caitlyn, always with a little more patience, takes her time.

When she finishes, Caitlyn opens her drawer carefully and pulls out matching pajamas: a cotton set, comfortable, in dark tones, but with small embroidered details, as if you'd chosen it especially for her. You look at it, smiling to yourself.

"Another night with matching pajamas, huh?" you say as you put yours on, and Caitlyn can't help but laugh.

"I know, I know," Caitlyn responds, with that soft but amused look. "It's kind of silly, but I like it. It's our tradition."

It's a simple gesture, but it carries a deep meaning: amid all the problems that surround both of you, finding these small moments together is what truly makes it all worthwhile. Caitlyn gives you a knowing look as she watches you finish putting on your pajamas, a kind of silent challenge to see who fits the set better. She always teases you a little because she knows how much you enjoy seeing her in these quiet moments, and how well she looks in the set.

You both finish getting dressed and head to the bed, the silence being replaced by a shared calm. Caitlyn slides under the covers, settling carefully, but as always, she looks at you first, waiting for you to take the initiative.

"You know," Caitlyn murmurs, turning to look at you, "the usual. I think that position is the best for sleeping." Her tone is low, with a slight smile.

Without saying another word, you position yourself behind her, wrapping a strong arm around her, the small curve of her body against yours. Sometimes, it feels like the whole world disappears when you embrace her, when the warmth of her body mixes with yours. Caitlyn curls up between your arms, knowing exactly how to position herself so that the feeling of safety is mutual.

"It's a good way to end the day," Caitlyn whispers, settling into your embrace as her hands lightly grasp yours, seeking the physical contact that she knows calms her. You love how she lets go in these moments, leaving behind the strong and determined woman who can handle anything, and becoming that person who, at the end of the day, just needs the comfort of your arms to feel good.

Your arm wraps around her waist firmly, while you, being the dominant one in this moment, hold her protectively, your body aligned behind hers, letting her hair fall softly over your chest. "I’ve got you," you say quietly, almost like a whisper, and Caitlyn responds with a soft sigh, letting go completely in your arms. In that instant, it's as if the world shrinks down to just the two of you, to that embrace which is the only thing that matters at that moment.

Caitlyn turns her head slightly, seeking your lips to steal a gentle kiss, while your fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, as if you wanted to make sure that, for once, everything is right. "I love you," she whispers against your lips, with a tone more vulnerable than the whole day.

You both remain silent for a few minutes, just the sound of shared breathing in the room. Those moments of tranquility are worth more than anything.

Jayce

The night slowly falls over Piltover, and after a long day of work, Jayce finally arrives home, a slight furrow on his brow. He's always thinking about the next project, the next invention, or the last tweak to his latest creation, and the idea of resting seems to be the last thing on his mind. But this time, there’s something different, something that makes his step slower as he arrives home: you.

You, in your comfortable pajamas, waiting for him with a cup of tea in your hands and a couple of blankets on the bed. The simple act of seeing you seems to disarm him. "Today was... long," he says with a tired smile, removing his work cape, revealing what looks like his more comfortable clothes for the night: a simple cotton T-shirt and long pants. But despite his fatigue, his eyes meet yours, and a long sigh escapes his chest.

"I can tell," you respond with a gentle smile, welcoming him. You know that Jayce is someone who doesn’t know how to completely relax, and that gives you a little challenge every night.

After a day filled with ideas and thoughts, Jayce approaches you and sits on the bed. "You know how to make work feel less heavy," he comments, looking at your cup of tea, always one of your quick fixes to calm him down.

With a touch of tenderness, you offer him the cup. "This will help," you say, noticing how his shoulders drop slightly when he takes the first sip. "I promise. Tonight, you rest, love."

He looks at you for a moment, skeptical, but can’t help but smile at how warm your smile is. He finally gives in and lays down. As you watch him, you know Jayce is always the first to want to take control, but in this space, it’s your turn to guide him.

When Jayce comes out of the shower, he lies down next to you on the bed. He feels a bit more relaxed, but you can still see that his mind is running at full speed. You know this is the perfect moment to make him truly unwind.

"Would you like me to read something for you?" you ask softly, with a look full of tenderness. Even though he doesn’t say it directly, you know that sometimes Jayce just needs to disconnect and be carried away by a peaceful story, something to take him away from the constant pressure of innovation.

"You know, you make me feel like a kid?" he replies with a playful smile, but his tone is softer than usual, as if he really appreciates the gesture. "But, yes. I’d like that."

You settle beside him, opening the book you always keep on hand for these moments. It’s nothing too elaborate, just a light novel you know helps him disconnect. As you read aloud, Jayce settles into the pillow, eyes closed, listening to your voice. Occasionally, he looks at you, but his eyes aren’t as full of tension as before. In fact, he feels lighter, more at ease.

When you finish reading the chapter, you know it’s time to take the next step. Jayce is always a bit reluctant to the idea of sleeping, because he feels there’s always more to do, but you don’t let him go. "Now, relax. You’re fine," you tell him as you curl up behind him.

Jayce turns toward you, and at that moment, without planning it, you position yourself next to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You adjust yourself so that he’s leaning against your chest while you wrap a strong arm around his torso protectively. He’s a bit surprised, but doesn’t say anything, letting the contact envelop him with a warmth that, for the first time all day, makes him feel like he doesn’t have to be in control.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice low and calm, as you gently caress his back, making sure he’s comfortable.

"Yes... It’s... perfect," he whispers, finally relaxing. It’s not something he says often, but you know that, in these moments, he really lets go. You continue to softly stroke his back, letting him stay in your arms, relieved by your presence.

Jayce falls asleep quickly, without trying to escape your embrace. His breaths are soft and deep, and for the first time, he seems to find some peace. You, however, stay awake a little longer, watching how his face, so full of determination during the day, is now serene in your arms.

Ekko

Ekko curls up on his side of the bed, but he's not ready to sleep. You know he has an energy that doesn't turn off easily, and as always, you're about to see that playful side of him.

"Did you know we're supposed to be sleeping now? We've got important stuff to handle tomorrow," you say, settling between the sheets, but glancing at him, hoping he'll relax.

Ekko, always with a mischievous smile, gives you a playful, challenging look from his side of the bed. "Sleep? Nah, I thought you were staying awake with me for a bit," he says, quickly reaching over to your pillow and tapping you with it.

"What are you doing?" you ask, laughing, knowing this can only end one way: a little pillow fight.

"Nothing, just seeing if you have a good defense," Ekko shrugs, giving you a teasing look before lifting himself slightly off his bed, ready to continue his attack.

Before you can react, Ekko taps you on the head with the pillow, and you can't help but let out an incredulous laugh. "Hey!" you protest, diving toward him with your own pillow in hand. The air fills with laughter and the sound of pillows hitting everything in their path.

"That's not fair!" you exclaim while trying to defend yourself, but Ekko is agile, always anticipating your moves. Somehow, he dodges your strike, and with a cheeky smile, taps you on the shoulder.

"Ah, I'm done being the good guy!" he says with a playful tone, getting up to attack you once again, but this time, he slides behind you with a move that leaves you unable to do anything.

"No!" you laugh as you try to turn around, but as always, Ekko outplays you. With one last pillow strike, the battle ends with both of you laughing, messy in the bed, the air filled with the fun energy he always brings.

For a moment, everything goes silent, both of you breathing heavily. Ekko, however, can't help but let out a satisfied laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Never underestimate my skills," he says, settling more comfortably on the pillow and stretching a little. But now, his tone has shifted to something softer, more relaxed, like that little burst of energy was what he needed to truly unwind.

"Please, I was about to beat you. You're out of your league," you respond with a mischievous smile, getting comfortable again in the bed.

But before you can say anything more, Ekko gives you a tender look, and with a gentle impulse, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug with a more peaceful smile. "That was fun, huh?" he asks, and in his voice, you can hear the more relaxed tone that makes you smile.

You, feeling the softness of his embrace, can't help but laugh again. "I'll admit it, I had fun. But you won't beat me so easily next time. You caught me off guard, that was practically cheating."

"Are you done crying?" he jokes with a sideways smile.

But before you can say anything, Ekko has another mischievous idea in mind. In the blink of an eye, his fingers are at your side, giving you a little poke with the tips of his fingers. It's nothing you couldn't have anticipated.

"No, no, no!" you shout, laughing, but it's too late. Ekko has already started tickling your stomach, a quick move that makes you squirm and laugh with all your might. "Ekko, stop! I swear I'll kill you!"

But he doesn't relent, knowing exactly where your weak spots are. "What, have you already surrendered?" he says, enjoying every laugh that escapes your lips. Your hands try to push his away, but you can't stop laughing in the silliest way, a mix of fun and surprise.

"I can't... stop... laughing!" you manage to say between gasps of laughter.

After a few seconds, he finally stops, seeing how comical you look with your red face and flushed cheeks from all the laughter.

"See? You can't beat me at anything," he says, smiling as if he's won the battle, even though both of you know that, in reality, no one is winning or losing.

"I hate you!" you say between laughs, but the tone is entirely playful, with no malice. And when you try to catch your breath, his fingers finally move away from your stomach, and his hands fall softly to your sides.

The mood shifts quickly, and the laughter fades into a sigh. Ekko, still smiling, settles closer to you, his eyes now softer, less playful, and much more affectionate.

"Admit I'm better than you," he says, though it's clear he enjoys the way you've given yourself to the moment.

"Never," you reply with a smile, unable to stop looking at him, feeling how the warmth between you both grows even more.

In a calm movement, Ekko slowly leans in, bringing his face closer to yours. His eyes, always so full of energy, now shine with an unexpected sweetness. No words are needed; you both feel what's about to happen. And before you can say anything, he kisses you, gently, in a slow way that takes you by surprise.

It's a soft kiss, full of affection, as if he's saying that the good things in life are these little shared moments, like this one, without any worries. The kiss is brief, but enough for all the noise of the pillow fight to fade, leaving only a peaceful hum between you two.

When you finally pull apart, both of you lie in silence for a moment, feeling how the warmth of Ekko's closeness wraps around you. He looks at you with tenderness, and you respond with a relaxed smile, as if, in this moment, the whole world could wait.

"You need to improve your techniques, babe, I'm getting tired of winning all the time," he whispers, and his words make you laugh softly, because you know that, in that instant, the only thing that matters is that you're together, sharing something beyond jokes and tickling.

Finally, you settle back into the bed, and Ekko snuggles up next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Legs intertwined, you both feel calmer, safer. The space between you is no longer filled with laughter or games, but with a comfortable, comforting peace. Your breaths sync as sleep begins to approach, but not before exchanging one last look, one that says more than words ever could.

"Good night, loser," Ekko says with a playful grin.

"Good night, cheater," you reply, gently stroking his arm, while you both stay there, surrounded by the warmth that only comes from being with someone you truly understand.

Silco

The candlelight flickers gently in the room, illuminating the hard contours of Silco as he settles into the armchair near the bed. The atmosphere is thick with the kind of tension that only exists between two people who share something complicated, yet, at the same time, seek comfort in each other's presence. The room is silent, almost as if the outside world doesn't matter in this moment.

Silco, with his cold, calculating gaze, watches you from the corner of his eye as you prepare for bed, moving through the room with a calmness that, though peaceful, carries an enveloping energy. He doesn't speak much, but his presence is intense.

"You're not going to sleep?" you ask softly, slipping into your pajamas with a curious gesture. Silco isn't known for his ease in relaxing, and you've noticed that he often needs a push to let go of his constant vigilance.

Silco, without looking away, replies in his low, gravelly voice, "Don't you know I'm not one for sleep?" It's a typical comment from him, one that, in other moments, you would have taken as a barrier. But this time, there's something more. Something that draws you closer.

"I know, but we all need rest, even you," you say as you approach the bed. Without waiting any longer, you lie down on the mattress, feeling the softness of the sheets around you. Despite Silco's distant demeanor, you know he's watching every move you make. There's something in his gaze that says he can't help but care, even if he doesn't voice it.

After a few moments, he rises from his chair and steps toward you, his movements deliberate but slower, as though he's weighing each step. The air becomes a bit heavier, yet more comfortable.

"I don't need rest," he says, but his voice is less firm now. It's almost as if he's speaking more to convince himself than to you.

You look at him, noticing the small gestures that betray him. The way his eyes, usually so cold, soften when he looks at you. He looks like a puppy asking for affection. You decide to take the initiative, sitting up a little to move closer to him. At this moment, it doesn't feel like a power struggle, but more like an invitation to something more personal.

"You and I both know that's not true," you murmur, offering him a calm, almost reassuring smile.

He doesn't respond immediately but takes a step toward you. For a second, the silence between you both seems heavier, and for an instant, you think he might pull away. But instead, he takes hold of your wrist with a firm, yet gentle hand. His fingers close softly around your skin, as if it's the only way he knows how to communicate.

"I don't need you to take care of me," he says, though his tone isn't as certain.

But you don't pull away. "I never said you would. But I want to," you respond, and in that moment, you can see his expression soften, even if only for a brief second. Silco isn't someone used to receiving this kind of affection, yet here he is, allowing you to touch him.

He sits on the bed beside you, saying no more, but there's a sense of understanding between you. As if the simple act of both of you being in the same room, together, was enough to create a deeper connection. Somehow, neither of you need words to understand that something more exists between you two, something that even he can't deny.

Finally, he lies beside you, but not in the way you might expect from someone who usually keeps their distance. His posture is stiff, but close, his body aligned with yours, even though his eyes remain alert, as if waiting for something to happen.

Then, without thinking too much, you move closer and wrap your arms around him, hugging him protectively. Silco seems surprised for a moment, but doesn't pull away. Instead, there's a moment where his breathing slows, becomes more measured, and you can feel his body, so tense inside, begin to relax. His nose buries into your hair, inhaling your sweet fragrance.

"I'm not going to let you face the world alone," you whisper, and Silco, despite himself, doesn't reply, but his hand rests gently on your back, as if letting the calmness finally take over him.

After a few seconds, his lips brush your forehead in a gesture so soft it surprises you. "You're foolish," he says, but there's no malice in his voice. Just a quiet acceptance of what's happening between the two of you.

You settle down beside him, and his hands wrap around your waist in a nearly protective manner, as if wanting to pull you even closer. At this moment, Silco, the man who’s always preferred to maintain distance, doesn’t need anything more than this simple gesture of closeness.

"Good night," you murmur softly, holding him just a little tighter.

"Good night," he replies, his voice gentler, before falling into silence. You both lie there, intertwined in the darkness, needing no more words. The world outside can wait; in this moment, it's just the two of you.

Mel

Mel sits on the bed, her back straight but her shoulders relaxed as she watches you prepare for the end of the day.

The day has been long, but now that you're together, everything seems to slow down, as if only this small space of peace exists. The sound of the wind seeps through the slightly open window, and for a moment, Mel allows herself to rest, away from the demands of the outside world.

"I owe you an apology," she says softly, as her fingers glide through her curly, voluminous hair, slightly messy from the day. "I had no idea how much being distant from all this was affecting you." Mel hasn't slept at home for days; she's been too busy with work and hadn't spent too much time with you lately.

The look in her eyes reflects a mix of vulnerability and gratitude, and even though Mel doesn't express it aloud, you know she's grateful for your presence. You know this is an important moment for her.

"Don't worry about that now. This is a good time to relax," you reply, smiling softly as you move closer to her. With a smile, Mel lets herself fall back onto the pillow, closing her eyes as if she can finally let go of that constant perfection she always maintains.

You sit next to her, silently taking a wide-toothed comb from the nearby table, specialized for curly hair. Mel stays still, trusting you completely as you take a strand of her thick, tightly curled hair. You begin to gently untangle it, careful not to damage her curls, every movement meticulous, an act of love and patience. The sound of small pulls is soft, and you can see how Mel closes her eyes in response to the touch.

"I'll never get tired of this," she murmurs, her tone relaxed as you let the comb pass slowly through the curls that, though naturally voluminous, are soft to the touch. Each strand seems to move with a life of its own, and the scent of her shampoo mixes with the calm of the atmosphere.

With each step, the tangles and knots unravel, and Mel seems to sink deeper into the tranquility of your movements, her breathing becoming slower and more relaxed. After a few minutes, her hair is completely free of knots, and you can see how her mane takes on its natural form, falling into thick, perfectly defined curls that cascade down her back softly.

"I love how you make me feel," she confesses quietly, turning her head toward you, her eyes shining with warmth that she doesn't always show the world.

"It's my pleasure, Miss Medarda," you reply, giving her a sincere smile as you continue brushing her hair. The intimacy of the situation doesn't escape you; it's not just a beauty ritual, but a gesture that shows how much she trusts you.

Once you're done brushing her hair, you take a scented cream from the table. With delicate hands, you begin to apply it to her shoulders, rubbing gently to relax each tense muscle. The sweet, floral scent of the cream mixes with the room's atmosphere, wrapping the space in a sense of warmth and softness. As you work, Mel's skin becomes even softer, and you feel the tension in her body start to dissipate.

"This is so perfect. I don't know what I'd do without you, without your magic hands," Mel whispers, letting out a low laugh, almost as if she's discovering the peace that only you can give her.

"You don't have to worry, neither I nor my magic hands are going anywhere," you reply gently, enjoying the moment. Mel's closeness, her trust in you, makes you feel like you're part of something deeply intimate.

Once you're finished with the cream, Mel settles back into the bed, and you follow, slipping under the sheets with her. The room remains enveloped in silence, but now there's a sense of comfort surrounding you. Mel snuggles next to you, her head resting on your chest as she settles into your arms.

"Thank you for all of this," she says softly, as if it's a whisper just for you. "Today was a long day, but with you, it feels much shorter."

"It's the least I can do," you reply, holding her a little tighter, seeking the warmth of her body. You both settle in the bed, with Mel wrapping her arm around your torso. You feel how her breathing becomes slower and deeper, as if she's letting go of all the weight she carries on her shoulders.

Sevika

The room was dimly lit, with the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. The cool air in the room wasn’t enough to counter the heat radiating from Sevika. You found yourself tangled up with her, your naked bodies under the same blanket, but somehow, the quilt always ended up on Sevika's side, leaving you exposed to the cold air.

It was a routine that repeated itself. Sometimes, her carelessness when it came to sleeping made you smile, but this time, the cold started to seep into your bones. The breeze caressed your skin, and you curled up more, searching for warmth. But Sevika, unaware of your discomfort, stayed pressed to her side of the bed, invading your space with her large body.

As the minutes passed, the warmth of her skin became overwhelming. The weight of her body on top of yours, though pleasant, started to become too much, leaving little room to breathe. Her deep and steady breathing lulled you, but gradually, you realized the air was getting thicker and you were running out of space.

"Babe..." you murmured softly, trying to move her arm that was resting over you. She didn’t respond. "You're covering me completely... I can't breathe."

The only movement she made was a low sigh. She didn’t seem aware of how much she was crushing you. You raised your voice a little more, with a hint of complaint in your tone, pushing her shoulder.

"Sevika... seriously, you're suffocating me," you protested, trying unsuccessfully to push her away.

Finally, Sevika stretched and mumbled something incomprehensible in her sleep. The quilt had completely disappeared to her side, and you were trapped, frozen in the middle of the bed. Frustrated and with desire building up, you decided to push her more firmly.

Sevika finally woke up, her large body lifting slightly as her gaze focused on you. The spark in her eyes ignited instantly, and she moved toward you with a sideways grin that made it clear she had already noticed your discomfort.

"What's wrong? Complaining about something else, little one?" Her voice was low and rough, laced with a touch of teasing, but also something more.

You felt her body slowly slide toward you, as if she somehow knew exactly how to get you back under her control. Without much you could do to stop it, Sevika moved over you, her body perfectly fitting against yours, pressing you gently into the bed. The sensation was... contradictory, both uncomfortable and delicious.

"Does it bother you that I’m getting this close?" she murmured, her face so close to yours that you could feel her warm breath.

The weight of her body covered you completely, leaving you breathless and immobile. For a moment, all you could do was look at her, noticing the way her eyes sparkled with a glint of provocation.

"What are you going to do about it?" Her voice became a seductive whisper as one of her arms wrapped around you, pinning you in place.

Her size was imposing, but instead of overwhelming you, there was a sense of protection in her proximity. Even though you knew she was dominating you, you also felt an invisible connection between you both, a spark that intensified the desire to be closer, to explore that space you had created together.

Sevika tilted her head toward you, her breathing faster. However, she didn’t rush. Her gaze was fixed on yours, intense and confident, knowing she had you under her control but also savoring the tension you both had built.

"Are you tired of me kissing you every time you complain?" she asked with a teasing smile before slowly lowering herself to your lips.

The brush of her lips against yours was soft, almost as if she were testing you, but the desire between you both became undeniable. The intensity of her kiss grew as you clung to her, feeling her body surround you, confident and firm, but at the same time, incredibly tender.

As the kiss deepened, Sevika pulled back slightly, but her gaze never lost its intensity, direct and unwavering, as if she were exposing parts of you she had never seen before.

Finally, the cold seemed to vanish under the weight of her body, the heat of her presence filling you and burning under your skin. The blankets that had bothered you no longer mattered. The air seemed enough as the two of you submerged into the warmth of the night and each other's embrace, still carrying the lingering challenge between you both.

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lawofangie · 2 months ago

Text

not sure how many times i'll need to keep saying this. so, i am going to break down the law of assumption as much as possible (as much as i have the patience for lol). i need you guys to understand for once and for all. this is simple. manifestation is simple.

the law of assumption is a law that requires you to MAKE ASSUMPTIONS. not to hope, not to wish, not to want. to assume.

and what is an assumption? something you believe to be true without proof. in the context of manifestation, something you believe to be true prior to receiving the proof (your manifestation materializing) in order to receive the proof.

making an assumption is not restricted to just whatever you want to manifest. why? because "manifestation" isn't fundamentally real. it's a word used to describe utilizing assumptions in a conscious way in order to "make something happen" externally.

this means that assuming has no bounds. and it doesn't. if you can assume anything is true, then your belief has no bounds. therefore, you can manifest anything. not just your desires, but things being difficult, things taking time, needing something or else ____.

an assumption is just an assumption. all given meaning aside, it's just an assumption. something you believe to be true, the "without proof" is just used in the context of what we call "manifestation", and manifestation just means the appearance of something. we are making assumptions in order for them to appear. there are no conditions, restrictions, rules, etc. you can believe absolutely anything to be true.

this way of using this ability to assume in order to make something materialize was just given the name "manifestation". its not some magical thing. it's just done in a conscious way and someone chose to give it that name.

but anyway, you are always going to be the one doing the assuming. it is always going to be up to you because nobody outside of you is doing the believing/ assuming here. YOU have to be the one to assume. you can't ask someone else to do it for you. nobody else is physically capable of doing it for you.

trying to ask someone for their input is useless. they're going to be affected by whatever biases you had about them prior anyway (ex: "they're smart" "i have to listen to them" "this person is unreliable"). everything is affected by whatever bias, assumptions, beliefs you have about it/them prior to experiencing them in your reality.

no matter how much you want to, you can't give up the control you have over your reality. you can't look to someone or something for permission, control, etc. all you have is yourself. all you should want is yourself. could you imagine how scary it would be if someone or something else truly dictated the course of your life? you'd be like a sim. that person or thing could literally do whatever they wanted to you. they could choose what you do and don't deserve. they could choose what happens in your life. why would you even want this? why are you so adamant on deciding this is true?

you have to acknowledge the fact that you are willingly or blindly giving up control because you are a coward. you're too scared to take control of your life and accept the truth, so you basically delude yourself into thinking that all these things have some kind of control over you.

it's like you guys never realize that all these conditions have to first be conditions in order for them to be conditions. they don't fundamentally exist.

if something doesn't fundamentally exist, that means it isn't real. it was created by us with something we were given (ex: our ability to communicate using language and creating "rules", and instilling the rules into the minds of others.)

they have no reason to exist if there is nothing to condition. if these things were fundamentally true, you wouldn't need to be conditioned. you wouldn't be able to change your mind, you wouldn't be being told to change your mind and adopt a new way of thinking. you wouldn't have the freedom to choose what you want to believe. you wouldn't need to accept it as true. it would just be true. like how we all know we need oxygen to survive. there's no question about it. it's not drilled into your head. its a proven fact with actual consequences. logic tells you it causes immediate discomfort and can cause fainting, therefore, you need to breathe.

logic doesn't tell you that you aren't in control of your reality. it's just something someone got you to believe. and you'll realize that your beliefs feel so real, that you don't question them, even when you know logically that you're being a little irrational. it's because belief is fundamentally real. it's an ability we all have, that we all use daily.

belief doesn't have feelings or emotions. belief is indifferent. you, the believer, are the one believing and deciding things are true. you, the believer, are the one assigning meanings and feelings to each belief. you, the believer, are the one believing things are true without proof. you, the believer, are the one receiving the proof of whatever you believe (blindly or not).

what is there to believe without you? what is there to condition without you? what meaning is there without you? without you there is nothing. again, this is your life. your human experience. yours. not your mom's, not your teacher's, not your boss's. yours. without you, it doesn't exist. you must be aware of things first in order for them to exist in your reality.

you only have one awareness because you are one person. you are only conscious of being one person. you are only conscious of your own life. you only experience one reality because you have one consciousness. but it is not permanent. you have the freedom of choice to choose a new reality, to be conscious of something new. your imagination does not restrict you to feeling only what is in front of you. if it did, what would be the purpose of imagining anyway? why would you even be mentally capable of imagining?

since only you can be conscious, and since only you can be conscious, we are advising you to take advantage of that and "manifest" what you want. no one and nothing can stop you, again, unless you allow it to. but you'll realize, you always have the choice. we as humans aren't set in one way of thinking. we are human beings with depth, feelings, desires, emotions, goals, dreams, fears, doubts, and competence. we have the ability to take in new information, form new thoughts, and grow. we are perfectly capable of and competent enough to form our own beliefs and assumptions.

and you can't turn off this ability to imagine. you can't stop believing, you can't stop assuming, you can't stop being aware (except for when you're asleep). the "law of assumption" doesn't care about your feelings. the law of assumption isn't a living thing. it's just something that's there, that's a part of life. we just happen to be competent enough to have the choice to consciously use it and to be aware of it. nothing is being taken from you, maybe information is has been withheld from you, but that's about it.

so, what is manifestation? how do i manifest? assume you have it.

yes, i broke down that entire thing just to tell you to just assume, to just decide. why? because that's all there is to it. just assume it is true regardless of what you see. because your external reality is nothing but a mirror. it can't prove anything to you that you haven't already proved to yourself.

all anyone in this community can do (thankfully) is regurgitate the same information in different ways until you guys understand it. the law is simple. "the law" isn't fundamentally real, it's just a title created by someone.

also, please don't misunderstand me here. the law of assumption isn't fake. it works. the "law of assumption", referring to the title, is a "law", but is a concept that was built on, with terms that were created by others. this is just to say that you guys give external things so much power over you just because of some title, some created authority, when in actuality, it isn't fundamentally real. all these terms make it all feel unnatural. the law of assumption isn't an unnatural thing. it's simply making assumptions.

so, if you can follow, what i'm saying is: just because the law of assumption is called "the law of assumption" or mentions an instruction, doesn't mean it's some foreign, scary thing. there isn't any separation. this isn't anything new. don't treat it as something it's not. this is just to remind you, that while you abide by them, they aren't above you. they don't change anything about who you are as a person, there is nothing to fear, nothing to learn, nothing to put on a pedestal. it's just a guideline, if you want to call it that. a step. you should be indifferent to it. treat it as a necessary step and nothing more.

the law of assumption is simple. make an assumption. believe something is true and it will materialize. but don't wait for it, otherwise you aren't assuming it is true. you have to believe even if it doesn't physically look like it's possible. because anything is possible. the law of assumption promises you that it is. you have to have some faith in yourself. if you had to choose to do so, i would say this is something you should spend your time blindly believing.

and you should be grateful that the law is this simple, otherwise, your stress would be caused by something other than you.

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