#you do that and I will have my thoughts we can be peaceful

[lostfracturess]

say it again — satoru gojo x f!reader

you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

You've managed to keep your marriage to Satoru Gojo under wraps for nearly two year now. It isn't that you're ashamed—far from it.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers simply comes with complications, especially given his clan's tendency to meddle in everything.

So you both agreed to keep it quiet. No flashy announcements, no public displays, just you and him. Sure, it means wearing your ring on a chain under your clothes and careful planning for your living arrangements, but it's worth it for the peace and quiet.

That is, until you slip up at the most mundane possible moment.

You're both at an official appointment regarding some property documentation. The clerk has been droning on about paperwork when she asks about your relationship to Satoru for the forms.

"Oh, he's my husband," you reply absently, still scanning the documents in front of you.

The scratching of Satoru's pen stops abruptly. You look up to find him staring at you with the most ridiculous expression—somewhere between absolutely delighted and utterly self-satisfied.

"What was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

You blink, realizing what you've just said. "I mean—"

"No, no, say it again." His eyes are practically shining now. "What am I to you?"

"Satoru," you warn, very aware of the confused clerk watching your exchange.

"Come on," he says, leaning closer. "One more time. What am I?"

"We're in public," you hiss, but you can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes at you in that ridiculous way of his. "For your beloved husband?"

"You're impossible," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Impossibly charming? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly perfect as your husband?"

The clerk clears her throat. "Should I... put down 'married' then?"

"Yes!" Satoru answers before you can. "Put down that I am this wonderful person's husband. Their spouse. Their better half. Their—"

"She gets it," you cut him off.

But Satoru isn't done. For the rest of the appointment, he manages to work the word "husband" into nearly every sentence. "As her husband, I think we should sign here." "My lovely spouse and I would like copies of that." "Do you need both myself and my better half to initial this?"

By the time you leave the office, you're ready to strangle him.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say as you walk to the car.

"Can you blame me?" He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "It's not every day I get to hear you call me your husband in public. Usually it's all 'this is Satoru' or 'we're together' or my personal favorite, 'yes, I do unfortunately know him.'"

You roll your eyes, but can't help leaning into him. "You know why we keep it quiet."

"I know, I know. The clan would be insufferable." He presses a kiss to your temple. "But maybe we should tell them anyway? Can you imagine their faces when they find out we've been married this whole time?"

"They'll have our heads for this."

"Perhaps. But you have to admit, the thought is tempting. No more sneaking around, no more hiding that ring." He catches your hand, thumb brushing over where your ring should be. "I want everyone to know exactly who you are to me. And what I am to you. What was it again?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Come on," he coaxes, "just say it once more."

You pretend to consider it. "And what do I get out of this?"

"My eternal love and devotion?" He gives you a long look. "And I'll do the dishes for a week."

"You're supposed to do those anyway," you point out, but he's already pulling you closer, that insufferable smirk of his growing wider.

"Say it again, love," he says, and the way he looks at you then—eyes soft and full of adoration—makes your breath catch in your throat.

All your defenses melt away under that gaze, the one he reserves just for you, the one that makes you forget why you ever try to deny him anything.

"Husband," you breathe, and feel him tense slightly against you.

"Just like that," he whispers. "Though I prefer when you add my name to it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"That's what I do best," he says. "Besides, my darling wife, I think you secretly love it when I am."

The way he says 'wife' sends a shiver down your spine—something you know he notices from the satisfied look in his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly yours," he corrects, and despite his playful tone, there's something sincere in his gaze. "What do you say? Ready to scandalize some elders?"

Looking at him now, you can't remember why you ever wanted to keep this secret. "With you? Always."

He doesn't wait for more, just leans in and captures your lips with his, and you think maybe going public isn't such a terrible idea after all.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[aventurineswife]

Can you do Aventurine, Sampo, Ratio and Jing Yuan react that reader has turned into a kitten?

At first, they didn't know that reader has turned into a kitten until reader tried to show the evidence

Cat-kitty-cat, Cat-kitty-cat

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Kitten!Reader, Soft Moments, Lighthearted, Playful Interactions.

A/N: KITTYYYUHHHHH!!!

The warm light of the floor glimmered off Aventurine’s rose-tinted glasses as he sat in his office, shuffling a deck of cards with practiced ease. The quiet knock at the door didn’t faze him; he expected one of his assistants.

“Come in,” he called, but the door remained shut. His brows furrowed. “Hello?”

A muffled meow answered, faint and uncertain. He rose, smoothing the fur trim of his coat before opening the door, only to find nothing. Another meow had him glance down, where a kitten with fur as soft as his fur trim stared up at him, eyes wide with urgency.

Aventurine crouched, an intrigued smile curling his lips. “Well, aren’t you a peculiar little gambler?” he mused, reaching out to pick up the kitten. It immediately pawed at the rims of his glasses, tugging them slightly askew.

“Hey now,” he chuckled, “those aren’t a toy.” But as the kitten batted at his bracelet with a strangely familiar persistence, realization struck. His smile faltered, replaced by genuine shock.

“...Wait. Is that you?” he whispered, his fingers brushing over your tiny head. The kitten’s insistent nod and another urgent meow confirmed it. Aventurine’s laughter broke the tension, a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Well, love, you’ve really raised the stakes this time. Don’t worry,” he said, cradling you against his chest, “we’ll figure this out. But first—how do you feel about poker?”

The merchant whistled a jaunty tune, inspecting his latest haul in a dimly lit backroom. A soft thud made him pause, his eyes darting to the source. There, amidst the scattered goods, a small kitten struggled to climb out of a wooden crate.

Sampo knelt, laughing under his breath. “Aw, did I accidentally ship you in a box? Poor little one.” He scooped you up, but froze as the kitten squirmed, reaching for his face with a familiar urgency.

“...Hey, wait a second,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. The realization hit when you swatted his nose with deliberate intent. “No way. Is this some kinda joke?”

You yowled, smacking at the silver cuff on his ear. Recognition dawned, and Sampo barked out a laugh so loud it startled you.

“Well, well, this is a twist! You’re cuter than I expected,” he teased, holding you up to eye level. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this. For a small fee, of course. But hey, this could be great for business! Ever heard of the world’s only scammer cat?”

The library was quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional sigh from Ratio as he poured over ancient texts. He was lost in thought when a soft thump on the table pulled his focus.

There, atop his meticulous notes, sat a small kitten, staring at him with an intensity that rivaled his own. Ratio’s eyes narrowed. “What is this nonsense?”

The kitten didn’t back down. Instead, it batted at the straps of his arm braces, its persistence strikingly familiar. Ratio tilted his head, studying you with growing suspicion.

“You’re far too bold for a common feline,” he remarked, leaning closer. “Those eyes… Wait.” His tone sharpened. “Is that you?”

You responded with an annoyed meow, pawing at the jewel on his vest. Ratio’s brows furrowed, a rare flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First, ignorance plagues the universe. Now, this. Fine. Stay still while I calculate a solution—and stay off my notes.”

Jing Yuan was enjoying a rare moment of leisure, sipping tea. A soft meow interrupted the peace, and Jing Yuan turned to find a small kitten attempting to climb him.

“Well, what do we have here?” he said, his eyes warm with amusement. He gently picked you up, cradling you in his hands. “A brave little one, aren’t you?”

As you squirmed, pawing at on his hip, Jing Yuan chuckled. But then he noticed something—your eyes.

“...No,” he murmured, his smile fading. “Can it be?” When you gave a frustrated meow and nuzzled his palm, recognition bloomed.

Jing Yuan sighed, stroking your tiny head. “Ah, so this is what has become of you. How unfortunate.” He set you down gently, his calm demeanor masking his concern. “Worry not—I’ll ensure you’re returned to your proper form. But for now, consider this a lesson in humility, my small friend.”

He leaned back, a soft smile returning to his lips. “Though I must admit, you make a rather adorable kitten.”

[goldfades]

baby time. | JOE BURROW⁹ [007]

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

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your son's birth!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of birth (who would have thought!?), not too descriptive, joe being the sweetest baby daddy EVERRR, maisie being the coolest aunt, mentions of water-breaking, descriptions of contractions, idk what else but... it's pretty soft!

APRIL 9TH, 2022

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. The kind where the quiet hum of the fan filled the room and the soft rhythm of Joe’s breathing set a peaceful background to your restless tossing and turning. Pregnancy sleep was its own brand of chaos—you were hot, then cold, then uncomfortable, then starving. The baby wasn’t even here yet, and they already had your schedule on a tight leash.

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a small relief against your aching feet. The bedside clock glowed faintly: 3:27 a.m.

Joe stirred beside you, murmuring something incoherent before settling back into his usual sprawl. He looked so peaceful, one arm flung over his head, the other draped protectively over the empty side of the bed you’d just vacated.

You shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing a hand over your belly as if to soothe the little one nestled there. "Let’s not make this a nightly thing, okay?" you muttered. The baby gave a single, emphatic kick in response.

Just as you reached for the bathroom door, it happened—a warm gush that stopped you in your tracks.

For a split second, you froze, your sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Did I…? No, it couldn’t be. But the dampness spreading down your legs told a very different story.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

Your water had broken.

The realization hit like a bolt of lightning, and panic surged through your veins. You weren’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready. Nothing was ready.

“Joe,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood there, utterly frozen. Then louder, more urgent: “Joe!”

He shot up immediately, eyes wild with the disorientation of someone ripped from deep sleep. “What? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“My water,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely to the puddle on the floor. “It broke. It’s happening. The baby’s coming. Right now.”

Joe blinked at you, his brain clearly lagging behind your words. Then his eyes darted down, taking in the scene.

“Oh, shit,” he said, throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you said, though your trembling hands and rapid-fire breathing told a very different story. “I’m just… processing.”

“Processing is good,” Joe said, nodding like a man trying very hard not to freak out himself. “Processing is great. Let’s… uh, let’s get to the hospital.”

He darted to the closet, yanking out a duffle bag you’d packed weeks ago. Thank God for Maisie, who had insisted on the just-in-case preparations.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked, rummaging through the closet like it was a black hole.

“I don’t know!” you wailed, clutching the dresser for support as another wave of panic rolled through you. “Joe, I can’t do this. It’s too early. What if something’s wrong? What if—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, dropping the bag and crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped your face in his hands, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You can do this. We can do this. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His voice was calm, steady, and just grounding enough to slow the whirlwind in your head. You nodded, taking a shaky breath.

“Good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, let’s get you out of these wet clothes, okay?”

A flurry of activity followed—Joe helping you into fresh leggings and one of his sweatshirts, both of you scrambling to gather last-minute items. The whole time, you couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. Was this really happening? Right now?

By the time you made it to the car, Joe had shifted into full quarterback mode, his focus laser-sharp as he buckled you in and started the engine.

“You good?” he asked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the driveway.

You nodded, clutching your belly as the first faint contraction rippled through you. “I think so.”

The drive to the hospital felt both endless and impossibly fast. Joe kept glancing at you, his hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You okay?” he asked every few minutes.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered as the contractions grew stronger. “Just keep driving.”

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everything blurred into a chaotic rush—nurses, wheelchairs, bright lights, and a flurry of paperwork that Joe handled while you focused on breathing through the increasingly intense waves of pain.

“This is it,” he said softly as the nurse wheeled you toward a delivery room, his hand warm and steady on your shoulder. “We’re going to meet our baby.”

And just like that, the panic ebbed, replaced by a strange, calm anticipation. Because no matter how unprepared you felt, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t doing this alone. Joe was there, and you were a team.

The hospital room was a blur of sterile white and cold tile floors, softened only slightly by the hum of machines monitoring your every breath and beat. You hadn’t even been in the room for an hour, but it already felt like days. The contractions were still mild, coming in waves that tightened your belly and sent a ripple of discomfort through your lower back.

Joe stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his face tight with concentration. The fluorescent light overhead cast sharp angles on his features, making the exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced. He ran a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time, a nervous tic that betrayed the calm front he was trying to keep up.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “Her water broke a couple hours ago. We’re at the hospital now.”

You could hear Robin’s voice on the other end, shrill with concern even though she was hours away in Athens. Joe flinched slightly, pulling the phone an inch from his ear as he glanced back at you.

“She’s okay,” he assured her, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the monitors beeping steadily by your bedside. “It’s early, but the doctors aren’t worried. They said everything looks good so far.”

You shifted on the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make your hips feel like they were being pried apart. Easier said than done. Joe noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as he mouthed, You good?

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true.

“Mom, I gotta go,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’ll keep you updated, okay? Love you. Bye.”

He hung up and exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hand found yours automatically, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm.

“My parents are driving up right now,” he said, managing a small, wry smile. “Mom’s freaking out, of course. Told me to tell you she loves you and to hang in there.”

You smiled faintly, though your heart clenched a little at the thought of your parents, who were currently halfway across the country on a long-awaited vacation. Timing really was everything.

“They’re gonna feel so guilty about missing this,” you murmured, wincing as another contraction started to build.

Joe squeezed your hand. “They’ll be here soon enough. And Maisie’s on her way—she’ll probably get here before I even figure out how to fold that damn swaddle blanket.”

That managed to pull a weak laugh out of you, even as the contraction peaked, forcing you to close your eyes and breathe through the sharp wave of pain. Joe immediately sat up straighter, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your leg like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “That one was just… a little stronger.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Should I call the nurse?”

You shook your head, exhaling shakily as the contraction ebbed. “Not yet. They said this could take a while.”

Joe’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound of the door opening cut him off. A nurse bustled in, her smile professional and calm as she checked your vitals and updated the monitor.

“Everything’s looking good,” she said brightly, glancing between you and Joe. “First babies can take their time, though, so try to relax as much as you can. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.”

Relax. Right.

The door had barely swung shut behind her when Joe’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “Maisie’s downstairs. I’ll go grab her, okay?”

You nodded, watching him go with a mix of relief and unease. As much as you appreciated his constant presence, the nervous energy radiating off him was almost suffocating. Maybe Maisie would help diffuse some of the tension.

Maisie arrived like a whirlwind, her hair pulled into a messy bun and a to-go coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to your side. “You look… okay, actually. Better than I thought you’d look after your water broke in the middle of the night.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the ache in your back.

Joe reappeared behind her, carrying a paper bag you could only assume was filled with the snacks Maisie insisted on bringing every time you so much as sneezed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, plopping into the chair Joe had vacated and immediately taking over the hand-holding duties. “Is it bad yet?”

“It’s… manageable,” you said, though another contraction building in the distance made you wonder how long that would last.

Joe stood by the window again, arms crossed as he stared out at the dark parking lot below. Maisie glanced at him, then back at you, lowering her voice.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

You sighed. “He’s trying. But you know Joe—he doesn’t like not being in control. And this… well, this is definitely not something he can control.”

Maisie nodded knowingly, squeezing your hand. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. To distract him and annoy him until he forgets how stressed he is.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was cut off by the sharp onset of another contraction. Maisie’s grip on your hand tightened, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination.

“Breathe through it,” she coached, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Joe turned from the window, his eyes darting to you as if he could feel the shift in the room.

“Another one?” he asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, focusing on the slow, measured breaths Maisie was guiding you through. When it finally passed, you leaned back against the pillows, utterly drained.

Joe brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch gentle. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You managed a tired smile. “I’m just trying to survive the night.”

Joe glanced at Maisie, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. For once, they seemed to be on the same team, united in their shared mission to get you through this.

And as the clock ticked past four in the morning, you realized just how long this night was going to be.

┈┈┈

Time in the labor room felt elastic, stretching and warping with every contraction that rolled over you like a storm. By now, the initial nerves had morphed into something heavier, grittier, as the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. The monitor beside you beeped steadily, a metronome marking time in an endless loop as the contractions grew stronger and closer together.

Joe hadn’t sat down in what felt like hours. He hovered near your bedside, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he was ready to throw a block or tackle someone if it would make this easier for you. His hand was a near-permanent fixture in yours, and though he winced every time you squeezed too hard, he never once pulled away.

The nurse entered again, her calm professionalism a steadying presence in the chaos. “How are we doing?” she asked, pulling on gloves as she approached.

“How does it look like we’re doing?” you managed, the bite in your voice softened by the sheer exhaustion that clung to every word.

Joe rubbed soothing circles into your back with his free hand. “She’s hanging in there,” he answered for you, though his voice was tight with worry.

The nurse smiled, unbothered. “Let’s see where we’re at.” She glanced at the monitor, then moved to check your progress. “You’re about six centimeters now. Things are definitely moving along, but we’ve still got a little ways to go.”

Six centimeters. You wanted to cry, both because of how far you’d come and how much farther you still had to go.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asked, his tone almost desperate.

The nurse tilted her head thoughtfully. “Walking can help speed things up, if she’s up for it. Otherwise, we’ll just keep monitoring and let nature take its course.”

Walking sounded like the most impossible thing in the world, but the thought of lying in this bed for several more hours wasn’t much better. You nodded weakly.

Joe sprang into action, gently untangling your hand from his to help you sit up. The shift in position sent a sharp wave of discomfort through your lower back, and you sucked in a breath.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm but careful as he steadied you. “Take your time.”

Maisie appeared at the foot of the bed, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “You’re a warrior, babe. Let’s do this.”

With their help, you managed to swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, though your knees wobbled like a newborn fawn’s. Joe wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding most of your weight as you shuffled toward the door.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit in the eerie way only hospitals managed, and you could feel the curious stares of passing nurses and doctors. Every few steps, a contraction would stop you in your tracks, forcing you to cling to Joe as you breathed through the pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his lips brushing your temple.

You didn’t have the energy to respond, but you leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

By the time you made it back to the room, the contractions were coming hard and fast, leaving little room to breathe between them. You collapsed onto the bed with a groan, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the nurse reappeared to check on you again.

“You’re at eight centimeters,” she announced, giving you an encouraging smile. “We’re getting closer.”

“Closer,” you echoed faintly, as though the word had lost all meaning.

Joe crouched beside you, his hand brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “You’re almost there, babe. Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Maisie snorted from her seat in the corner. “He’d probably pass out if he had to do half of what you’re doing.”

“Not helping, Maisie,” Joe said, though his lips twitched upward for the briefest moment.

The tension in the room ebbed slightly, replaced by a flicker of warmth. But it didn’t last long. Another contraction ripped through you, stealing the air from your lungs and making you cry out. Joe immediately shifted closer, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his eyes filled with helplessness. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, on the grounding sensation of his hand in yours, but the pain was relentless, all-consuming. By the time the contraction finally subsided, you were trembling, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s grip on your hand tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this.”

Maisie appeared at your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve already done the impossible—this is just the final push, literally.”

You managed a weak laugh through your tears, though it quickly dissolved into a sob as another contraction loomed on the horizon.

Joe leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna meet our baby soon,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Just hold on a little longer.”

And so you did. With every ounce of strength you had left, you held on, clinging to Joe’s steady presence as the hours stretched on. Time lost all meaning, the only markers the intensifying contractions and the quiet reassurances of the nurses who moved in and out of the room like clockwork.

By the time the nurse announced you were fully dilated and ready to push, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but there was a spark of determination in your chest.

Joe’s hand never left yours, his voice never wavered. And as you braced yourself for the final stretch, you knew that no matter how long or painful this night turned out to be, you weren’t facing it alone.

And finally, the time had come.

The world seemed to narrow to a single, blinding focus as you pushed, every ounce of energy you had left poured into this final effort. The voices of the medical team swirled around you—encouraging, instructing—but all you could truly hear was Joe.

His voice was steady, firm but soft, like a lighthouse in a storm. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re so close. I’m right here.” His hand gripped yours with unwavering strength, grounding you when you felt like you were splintering apart.

Another push. The room tilted slightly, your vision swimming as exhaustion tugged at your every muscle. But then—then—there was a shift in the air, a crescendo of activity from the doctors, and suddenly, the sound you’d been waiting for burst into the room.

A cry.

A wail so raw and new that it seemed to rip through every other sound, anchoring you firmly back to reality.

Joe’s breath hitched beside you, a sharp inhale as he straightened up, his eyes wide and unblinking. “He’s here,” he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s here.”

Maisie, who had been pacing like a caged animal near the back of the room, let out a sob so loud and unrestrained it made one of the nurses jump. “Oh my god, oh my god! It’s a boy! He’s really here!”

Her tears came in rivers, and she pressed a tissue to her face, smearing mascara into a black mess. “I’m never going to be normal again!” she wailed, though her voice cracked with joy.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt the weight of your baby being placed on your chest. The tiny, warm bundle shifted against you, his cries tapering off as he rooted instinctively. His skin was pink and wrinkled, his hair a dark tuft of softness.

You could barely see through the tears streaming down your face, but none of that mattered. “Hi,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Hi, baby. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Joe leaned over you, his face inches from the baby’s, his own tears spilling freely now. His hand trembled as he brushed a finger against the baby’s tiny fist, which curled immediately around it. “Hey, buddy,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

It was 7:09 a.m., and the sun was rising outside the hospital window, casting the room in a golden glow. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the three of you cocooned in a bubble of love and relief.

Maisie sniffled dramatically from her corner. “He’s going to be the quarterback of my heart forever.” She clutched at her chest like she was physically overwhelmed. “I’m gonna buy him so many tiny football jerseys, you don’t even understand.”

Joe let out a wet laugh, shaking his head as he kissed the top of your hair. “Maisie, give it an hour before you start planning his draft.”

“Nope. I’m in it for life,” she shot back, though her voice wavered with emotion.

The baby stirred against you, his little nose scrunching up as he adjusted to the strange, new world. Joe pressed another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes shining as they met yours.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe you did that. He’s here, and he’s ours.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe it either. Look at him, Joe. He’s perfect.”

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening as another wave of emotion hit him. “Yeah. He really is.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, the chaos of the world outside fading into nothingness. It didn’t matter that you were exhausted, or that your body ached in ways you hadn’t known it could.

What mattered was the tiny life cradled against you, the miracle you and Joe had created together.

Your son.

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

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

[tritoch]

the warrior of light as a game-breaking force of violence

there's a moment, relatively early in dawntrail, that establishes succinctly how out of place the warrior of light (as the savior of eorzea and main character of four successive final fantasy game plots) is in what is essentially the story of fresh new final fantasy protagonist wuk lamat. and it sets up quite nicely how the framework of fantasy video game conflict pulls the warrior of light forever towards violence as the expansion goes on.

spoilers through 7.0 follow

consider wuk lamat's kidnapping and rescue. bakool ja ja holds his blade to wuk lamat's throat, taunting you. his lackeys line up against your party in neat little ranks suspiciously reminiscent of a classic final fantasy encounter screen.

and it simply does not matter to the warrior of light. you stride right through their combat setup because you are beyond that by now. the warrior of light has absolutely no respect for the "we are about to do ATB combat" lineup. the camera even jumps the line for you in one continuous rotating shot, crossing the axis of action as though to emphasize through the disruption of visual convention how far outside the game's boundaries you are.

this is how far you are above the problems of dawntrail's first half. you cannot even be bound by the normal rules of cinematography and video game combat. everyone else here lined up for a good old-fashioned scrap and the warrior of light said haha nope actually. i'm going to stroll through here like a god of war astride this tiny battlefield. your henchmen cannot even raise a hand to me. i don't even have to engage in violence directly anymore. my mere presence is enough.

in fact, not only can bakool ja ja's henchmen not raise a hand to you, he's not even worthy of your direct intervention. he kidnaps wuk lamat and steals her keystones and frees valigarmanda and kidnaps hunmu rruk and none of it warrants the warrior of light so much as raising a finger. he's wuk lamat's recurring villain, that's not your problem. you're just here to take in the scenery.

zoraal ja spends his whole life aspiring to be thought of as his father's equal and a worthy successor to the dawnservant as the "resilient son." all it takes for gulool ja ja to acknowledge you as a warrior on his level is like a five minute sparring match. the acknowledgement from gulool ja ja that zoraal ja hungered for his whole life and would eventually go full cyborg supervillain to get via regicide is something the warrior of light receives casually in a throwaway line after their level 93 solo duty on the way to more important plot conversations.

it really seems for a second, in the first half of dawntrail, like you are strong enough and the problems simple enough for this to be a clean and easy adventure. bakool ja ja? power of friendship'd. mamook? successfully reintegrated, no worries about the crimes against humanity. rite of succession? handily won. nothing can stop you. even duty finder queue times have been conquered: you can do all your duties with trusts now.

all of which only makes it better when the second half has sphene ask you and wuk lamat directly: could your strength have been enough to save alexandria? could you have found a different way?

i know some people get very annoyed we don't intervene in the gulool ja ja fight. now personally i think if you see arthur and mordred squaring up it's rude to intervene, but beyond that, it simply wouldn't have mattered. by the time zoraal ja's forces arrived in tuliyollal, alexandria and tural were already on a collision course and doomed to conflict. your hands alone could never have averted this conflict. sphene was always bound to do what she did—and certainly a gulool ja ja without his reason would not be any more inclined to peace than wuk lamat and koana were.

there's a great little moment just before living memory where estinien, champion at reading the room, is like "okay so if thancred and i stay here that frees up you up, aibou, to do what you do best and save the world and have epic fights. woo!!!" and immediately afterwards you basically have to apologize to alisaie because part of the sort of unspoken premise of this whole trip in the first place was that you were, finally, not going to plunge into mortal peril to save the world. you were finally going to take it easy. you were finally done with that. and she has to sort of ruefully be like nah it's fine bro. i was trying to get you to take it easy and not do insane risky world-saving violence. but y'know these things (interdimensional invasions) happen.

by the time you reach the very last trial, all pretense that the warrior of light could have ever been beyond these problems has vanished. you were, very emphatically, not strong enough to hold onto all that was dear without sacrifice. gulool ja and otis and cahciua died. yyasulani was irreversibly changed, physically colonized and culturally decimated by another dimension. you systematically shut down each part of living memory, and all its friendly, charming, loving ghosts, with your own hands. with your own clicks.

not even the vaunted strength of the warrior of light is enough to overcome sphene's inexorable logic of conflict. and so, in the end, she plucks you out of the crowd and says, explicitly for reasons of your strength, that you are going to have to do a boss fight now. you are going to have to kill her and you are going to have to do it in a proper 8-on-1 trial, and she forces you to affirmatively state that you understand you're going to kill her.

did you think you were above it all? did you think you could get away from here with your weapon undrawn, with your hands clean? that for you and you alone the logic of conflict comes undone? wrong. wrong. wrong.

your strength cannot redeem you, says sphene. your friends cannot make these sacrifices for you. if you would play the hero then you must play the hero. no half-measures.

back to the duty finder with ye.

[bloomzone]

Feeling Overwhelmed? You're Not Alone. Let's Talk About It..

I know we all go through it. You’re balancing school, friends, family, and everything else, and suddenly, it feels like you're carrying the weight of the world. Lately, I've been feeling burned out, overwhelmed, and like everything is piling up at once. With school stress, exams, and the constant pressure to keep up, I sometimes feel like I can’t breathe. It's exhausting, and I'm sure some of you feel the same.

It’s so easy to get stuck in the cycle of trying to do everything perfectly. Every time you think you’ve got it under control, something else comes at you, and you’re back to square one and YES THIS IS ANNOYING!!!. It's like there’s a never-ending list of things to do, and no matter how hard you work, you never seem to catch a break.

And the worst part? The pressure from others. Whether it's friends, classmates, or even family, there's always someone asking you for help. Sometimes I feel like I’m the go-to person for everything—assignments, questions, last-minute requests. And don’t get me wrong, I want to be helpful, but it can get draining. Especially when you're trying to hold it together and just need a little space for yourself

For example:Today I couldn’t catch a break already stressed about exams, and in desperate need of rest. Just as I sat down to breathe, the calls and messages started.

One of my classmates began spamming me with messages, asking about a history and geography exam date that we ALL already knew. Then, another classmate began asking for English assignment answers. She wouldn’t stop. She kept sending, “Hi, hi, hi, hi…” over and over until I caved and responded.When I finally sent her the answers, her response? “Ahh, what would I do without you? You’re a lifesaver!” And while I know she meant it kindly, it felt so heavy I feel guilty. What about MY life? What about my peace?

In that moment, I realized how much I was giving to others and how little I was leaving for myself. I was pouring all my energy into helping everyone else while I was running on empty

And plus I’ve been in those moments when you’ve studied hard for an exam, thought you’re finally catching up, and then suddenly—a change happens. A test gets rescheduled, an assignment gets pushed to the last minute, and it feels like everything you worked for was just... wasted. I get it. And it’s okay to feel frustrated and angry about it. You’re allowed to feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.

But here’s something I’ve been reminding myself lately: I am not responsible for everyone else's stress. It’s okay to say no, it’s okay to take a break, and it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

Here 5 Tips That Are Helping Me Cope with Stress and Burnout

1. Set Boundaries and Protect Your Energy: I’ve learned that it’s okay to say no. If someone’s asking for help, and you’re already feeling stretched thin, it’s okay to tell them, “I can’t right now.” You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you deserve your time and energy as much as anyone else does.

2. Don’t Overload Yourself—Take It One Step at a Time: Break your tasks into smaller, more manageable chunks. Don’t try to do everything at once—focus on one thing at a time. It makes the workload feel less daunting and more achievable. One task, one hour at a time.

3. Rest is Not a Luxury, It’s a Necessity: Sometimes we push ourselves too hard because we think we’ll get behind if we take a break. But if you don’t rest, you’ll burn out. Give yourself permission to step away, even for just 10 minutes. Watch a comforting youTube video, take a walk, or close your eyes. A little time for yourself can give you the energy to come back even stronger.

4. Talk About Your Feelings—Don't Bottle It Up: If you’re feeling overwhelmed, don’t keep it inside. Talk to someone, whether it’s a friendu trust family member, or even just writing in a journal like I do ..Putting your feelings into words can make a huge difference. It clears your mind and helps you see things from a new perspective.

5. Make Time for Self-Care: It’s easy to forget to take care of yourself when everything is going wrong. But self-care isn’t just about face masks and bubble baths (although that helps!). It’s about doing things that recharge you—reading, listening to music, or even just doing nothing. Find what makes you feel lighter and make time for it.

Let’s Take the Pressure Off Ourselves.

I know the world often tells us we have to be constantly productive, constantly moving forward. But the truth is, you don’t have to hustle all the time. It’s okay to slow down, take a breather, and focus on your well-being. The world will still be there when you're ready to take the next step. You are not a machine pookie. You are human, and you deserve peace.We’re not alone in this, even though it sometimes feels like we are. Everyone’s going through something, and sometimes just knowing that you’re not alone in your struggles can make a huge difference.Remember, it’s okay to not have it all together. It’s okay to be tired, to feel burnt out, to not always know what’s next. Life is hard, but you’re still here, still fighting, and that’s something to be proud of. I'm so proud of you

© bloomzone

[umathurwin]

i’m the girl you’d die for

kiara carrera x rafe cameron; nsfw 18+

summary: Kiara and Rafe are locked in a Barbados villa together. Tensions are high. They share a bed. We know where this is going.

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Rafe, bored out of his mind, made multiple attempts to start a conversation with no success. Kiara remained committed to keeping her mouth shut, but she nervously stared at him like prey. He considered mocking her for this, but given everything he’s done to her friend group, he instead chose to let her continue ogling him and only smirked when their eyes met. Which was often.

Still, he was generous. Undressed slowly, flexing when his torso was exposed until her cheeks were red.

When the moon casted beams across the room, it was glaringly obvious to both that they needed sleeping arrangements that would invite the least amount of discomfort. “I’m a feminist. I can take the floor,” Kiara offered, breaking her silence while enviously staring at the luxurious king-size occupying the majority of the room.

He scoffed. “No, you can have the bed,” Rafe said and tossed a pillow on the ground. Kiara twisted her face up in confusion. “Are you surprised? If I banished you to the ground, my mother would turn in her grave.”

“No one’s ‘banishing’ anyone anywhere, I just think sharing would be— kind of weird, no? I’ll take it tomorrow night,” she suggested, then winced at the idea that they’d be here another day. Rafe had a similar physical reaction but said nothing, instead creating a pallet with the spare blankets and pillows.

Nothing else was said for the rest of the evening.

***

Kiara sat up, a scream still fresh on her lips. She kicked and clawed around the empty sheets, fighting off an attacker that lingered only in her dreams.

Rafe jolted awake and looked at the door, ensuring it was still shut and locked. “Kie, are you okay?” he asked, using the bedpost to bring himself to standing.

She hadn’t caught her breath yet, but still tried to explain herself. “The plane— Jimmy, he’s— fuckin’ hell,” Kiara pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to scrub the imagery out of her brain.

He was by her side in an instant, dipping into the bed on his knees. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe. It was just a nightmare.” His hand reached out to console her but he jerked back in fear of overstepping a boundary while she was still vulnerable.

“No shit, Rafe,” she bit, then looked up with wet eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine. I’ve gotten worse. Are you alright?”

“Please stay with me.”

Now that he didn’t expect. Guess the weirdness be damned. “I— uh, of course. Just… try to get some rest, yeah?”

He slipped between the silk sheets, letting the plush duvet settle over his figure. Kiara remained tense until he finally placed a soft hand on her shoulder. Rafe felt her physically deflate, and his eyes widened when she rolled over and rested her head on his bare chest.

Unsure of what to do, he lay rigid as her breaths evened out into soft snores. He brought a hand to the back of her head, lightly stroking her hair as they both drifted off to sleep again.

***

She woke for the second time that night, this time without the forceful tug out of slumber. No, this time it was something much different that pulled her from her now-peaceful dreams.

His dick.

No fucking joke, she could feel him pressed up against her ass. They seemed to have shifted in the middle of the night to a spooning position, and his semi-hard cock was perfectly caught between their bodies. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of him having a pleasant enough dream to get like this, and the devil on her shoulder won.

Ever-so-carefully, she shifted backwards in an attempt to increase their contact. Once their bodies were entirely flush, she grinded back. One of his arms was tossed over her waist, and she slotted her hand over his to hold him in place.

His cock twitched, she could feel it. She knew this was really wrong, messing with him in his sleep, but she couldn’t stop. Eventually she dared to reach back and stroke over his boxers, which only made him harder.

She wasn’t sure what the endgame would be. In fact, she wasn’t really thinking at all, given that her brain had entirely shut off the moment she felt him pressing into her. Kiara figured she could keep going until she was tired enough to fall back asleep, and was perfectly content with this choice.

That is, until the man behind her started to push back against her hand. She froze like a spooked rabbit, breath catching in her throat. Kiara tried to pull her arm away, but he pinned it to her side with a grip around her waist.

Rafe snickered, pulling her snug against him. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

Fuck. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Think I’d wake up? S’pretty stupid, doll,” he hummed, sleep still rasping his voice.

Her body flamed with embarrassment, thinking she would never hear the end of this. That is, until she realized he was tugging his boxers even lower to fully free himself. This is just another dream , she thought to herself. Surely Rafe isn’t about to fuck me.

Then he lined himself up with ease, simply pushing her panties to the side and gliding the tip along her wet folds. “Hope you know that if you wanted this, all you had to do was ask. Didn’t have to go violating me in my sleep.” He groaned as he guided himself inside her until the tip of his cock had disappeared within her walls. “But I won’t complain about this.”

A pathetic whine ripped from her. She pushed back to get him even deeper, and he matched her movements until his balls pressed against her clit. She clenched around him and suddenly it was him groaning, digging his fingers into her sheer nightgown.

The angle was perfect, and with every thrust he was directly hitting a spot that made her cry out. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around her body reached around her head to clamp over her mouth. “Shh, pretty girl. Don’t want the guards running in on this, do you?”

Kiara shook her head desperately.

He laughed at her whimpers, thoroughly enjoying the way she trembled in his grip. “You act like you hate me,” he chided, completely stilling his hips to her dismay. “Ignoring me. Giving me forced glares. You think I don’t see the way you look at me? Can’t believe it took you this long to do something about it, you little slut.”

She was overwhelmed to the point of tears spilling down her cheeks, and he smirked when he felt the droplets hit his hand. “Not sure why you’re crying, baby, you’re the one who wanted this.”

Kiara reached up to pull his hand from her face, just enough to choke out the words, “Rafe, please, move.”

“Now she has manners,” he teased but obeyed anyways.

He fucked her until she came, legs shaking and back arching. Rafe had to cover her mouth again to keep the noise down. He didn’t stop, even when she tried to cry out from overstimulation. The hand tucked around her waist trailed down until it was just above her mound, and he pressed in firmly.

“Feel that, doll? S’all me, making you feel so good. That’s it,” he purred, still thrusting and enjoying the feeling of her clenching and shivering in his arms.

He finished inside her, not that Kie expected any less. His hips stuttered and he dropped his head to her shoulder, trying to cover his own moans by digging his teeth into the flesh there.

They returned to silence, this time without the thick tension between them. The room seemed much cooler, despite the sweat beading on their bodies.

And with that out of their systems, the duo fell back asleep, more comfortable than either could’ve imagined.

[divatakesontruth]

Why do people teach this?

First of all I’m not a teacher or anything like that, I’m simply someone who wishes to share her experience

Now there was something Sri sarvapriyananda said

It’s a story so I’ll say it.

There was a town behind a wall, the town was drowning in poverty, there was no color in the world , everyone was so sad and were all round just suffering , and that was all they ever knew ; they didn’t know anything like joy existed.

One day three men decided to look over the wall, and they found a beautiful paradise, green, healthy , happy. It was basically heaven on earth . They were so happy to have found it

The three of them made one choice each

One decided to climb over the wall and live in that paradise.

One decided to go tell others of this beautiful paradise so that they too may find joy

While the last one decided to keep living in the old town but from a completely different point of view. The world he thought he knew was not so limited anymore and he found peace in that and that was enough for him.

All of us are just like those three men trying to look over the wall and see (the true nature of our being )

This seeming plot line doesn’t cease when you awaken , no it’s still very much here

Many awakened people can decide to live knowing they’re not a person but however still continue to live in this seemingly wicked world

Some may decide to spread the news (like Ruper spira, Sri sarvapriyananda, Ramana Maharshi, being is it, @ko-existing @i-amyou @clochettesworld etc and all the people we seemingly learn from)

While some can decide to live in paradise

It doesn’t matter as long as Self has been revealed then , Nothing can be wrong

Why? Cause what determines wrong and right? Self is all that is and whatever seemingly appears is an energetic expression of this radiance.

Rupert spira has mentioned a few times that once you take these pointers and focus on the light of awareness, when Self shines through, you can go back to experiencing the world but now the way you seemingly experience it will change.

First of all you would regard everything as an appearance and the intensity with which life held you, will no longer be there .

A particular anon has been spamming my inbox insulting me and saying I copy being is it and koda . Haha I learnt from both of them so if there are similarities they are not intentional. You were curious about a lot of things and I hoped to have answer them here , also if you really are so intelligent (as you said one time) why bother sending things like that hm? If you know it’s all not real why do you send such hate for seeming people that are all one with you ? Don’t you regard your seeming intellectual dominance as another farce created by the mind?

Anyways if you keep sending asks, i could keep reading them if that will please you so but I won’t acknowledge you anymore

For everyone else , Notice

[zablife]

The List

Tommy Shelby & Ada Shelby

A/N: Ada visits Tommy to discuss the list he's given her, requested by @look-at-the-soul. Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Warnings: drinking, mention of a weapon, mention of death Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

Tommy never looked up from the cigarette he was attempting to light, even as Ada was announced at the threshold of his office. "Did you do what was on the list?" he mumbled anxiously as he cupped his hand around the flame.

With great annoyance at his lack of hospitality, she rattled off a more appropriate overture. "Hello Tom! Hello, Ada! How are you?"

Tommy only continued sifting through the papers on his desk, the brisk movement of his fingertips a warning against his agitated state. "Fuck's sake," he muttered before losing all patience. "I've things to do. Now tell me, are you going to help me or not?"

"The fucking list," Ada scoffed, failing to conceal the resentment in her voice. "You have the nerve to ask what I've done for you?" She shook her head, voice dropping darkly as she added, "After what you've done."

Exhaling a deep sigh, along with a cloud of smoke, Tommy acknowledged his sister for the first time. Looking straight into her eyes he began, "Ada, look, I know you're upset over what's happened. Bad business it was...."

Charging forward to confront her brother, Ada's chest heaved as she slammed her palms against his desk with fury. "Ben Younger's death was fucking business?"

Tommy shook his head, "Of course not, I didn't mean to imply..."

"That you were involved," she spat, finishing his sentence with finality. Silence hung in the air between them as they considered one another and all the things left unsaid the day the colonel died. By all accounts, Ada had been inconsolable afterward, taking to bed for the better part of a week as she processed the news.

"You're angry and I understand," Tommy ventured, crossing the room to pour them a drink.

Ada's eyes followed him as she warned, "Some whisky and conversation won't change anything." Even with the distance between them she could tell he was clenching his jaw in an attempt to be civil. However, she had no intention of playing along.

The clink of the crystal decanter against the rim of the glass was the only reply to her statement, Tommy badly in need of a drink to face whatever she was going to say next. Taking a long swig, he crossed the room to his sister and offered her the other glass as a gesture of goodwill. However, she failed to reach for it, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

"C'mon, take it. We can talk, alright?" he persisted with a raise of his eyebrows. Gritting his teeth when she made no move to accept his peace offering, he slid her glass onto a nearby table. It wobbled precariously on the wooden top as he finished off his drink with one, large gulp. "What's this about, eh?" he gestured absently between them.

"I can't drink with you, Tom...because I'm pregnant," Ada stated with an aching sadness laced in her voice. She reminded herself to stay strong and concentrate on her purpose in coming here, but the ability for rational thought was rapidly fading in the wake of her grief.

Smacking his lips, Tommy took a seat by the fireplace and stared into the flames for a moment before asking the question he already knew the answer to. "Younger's child?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, realizing that now both of Ada's children would be fatherless. Placing his head into his hands, he suddenly felt the weight of his decision settling upon his shoulders like a yoke.

"So now you know I didn't come to discuss the list because I won't be part of this any longer," she revealed in slow, even breaths. "The cuttings, the beatings and fucking black star days were bad enough..."

Tommy wheeled around with anger flashing behind his eyes. Cutting her off mid sentence he spat, "Never heard you complain when you were draping yourself in furs and wearing expensive lipstick."

"Because everything's changed! The moment you began this alliance with Mosley everything's turned to rot! Can't you see? God, everything you touch..." Her shouting devolved into a horrific scream that rang in Tommy's ears like a blaring siren of pain.

Red faced he bellowed in return, "Giving up is no way to win a war, Ada! When others retreat, you advance!"

Ada's face fell as she realized he would never accept responsibility. All she could think of was the black and white photograph delivered to her home earlier that morning. She couldn't erase the image from her mind of her brother stood at the window of his office as the twisted metal of Ben's car burned three floors below. She'd never been more certain that her older brother had known the implicit danger to Ben Younger, choosing to trade the man's life for a few contracts.

"What is it you want from me?" Tommy demanded, off balance without his sister's support. Reaching into his holster, he withdrew the small revolver at his side and brandished it before her eyes in a dramatic flourish. "This?" he asked, placing it into her open palm with a wounded look.

"Tommy..." Ada uttered through a shuddering breath. She felt her heart racing as she held the cold steel in her hand, fingers tracing the outline as though she hadn't already made up her mind.

"I used to believe people deserved justice..." she mused as she began to raise the gun toward her brother's heart. "Now I don't," she added, her statement punctuated by the sharp click of the safety being removed.

"You gonna use it?" he nodded toward the gun, the hardened lines of his face deepening as he scowled at her. "With me dead, you can go back to being who you were. Is that it?" he asked incredulously.

"You know as well as I do that can't happen now," Ada asserted. "As long as you're alive, this madness will never end,” she uttered, steely determination set in her blue eyes.

"If you think you no longer need me than go on," Tommy pressed, laying a bet in his head that she couldn't possibly do what she was suggesting.

“Although I'm reluctant, I'm actually quite good at this,” she reminded him confidently. The words felt sharp on her tongue, yet the sentiment behind them carried an unspoken promise that she would be a worthy steward in his absence.

A cold chill ran down Tommy's spine, watching her index finger wrap snuggly around the trigger. "Then get on with it," he conceded stoically.

However, as they locked eyes, Tommy's gaze toward his sister softened. “I am sorry, Ada," he announced belatedly.

Willing her hands not to shake as her vision turned blurry with unshed tears, she gave a small nod of what he could only assume was her forgiveness.

“In the bleak midwinter…” he recited before two deafening shots rang out.

---------------

Tag List:

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@shelbydelrey

@callsign-fangirl

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

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@ilovetoxicfictionalmen

[dickgraysonsptsd]

transcription under the readmore:

Thomas and Martha Wayne and Jason Todd are not coming back. Bruce Wayne has never accepted their death, not in all his years of specialized training, and not in all his years as Batman. What is this leading to?

Bruce Wayne, the unbending tree, is setting himself up for a huge fall, whether he's conscious of it or not. I hope that Alfred, Dick, and the Commissioner are there to catch him before he falls too far. Denny and Dan, I have faith in the creative teams you've assembled. The Batman is in capable hands, and I look forward to the tales to be told in the coming months.

Denny, congratulations to you for being named writer on LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT. I am very excited about the prospect of a Deluxe Format Batman book, and I understand Ed Hannigan's providing the art for the first five-part story. This is wonderful news. Will it be carrying a "Suggested for Mature Readers" label? Time will tell.

Sincerely, Jubal L. Myer 10139 Trevett Road Springville, NY 14141

The rumors are true! There will be a third Batman title and it begins in October! LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT will be different from the other Batman titles due to its structure--every five issues will be a complete story by a different creative team. Denny will be writing a lot of stories for this new title, but not all of them! The first story-cycle is titled "The Shaman of Gotham" and is indeed written by Denny and illustrated by Ed Hannigan and John Beatty. LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT won't carry a "Suggested for Mature Readers" advisory, but you can expect the stories to be slightly more sophisticated than the stories in the regular books.

Thanks for a very thoughtful letter, Jubal.

*****

Dear Batmen,

I'm a counselor at Sky Ranch for Boys in South Dakota, a home for troubled boys. Batman is very popular among the dormitories, even though the life and death of Jason Todd struck home hard with a lot of the kids.

Many could identify with Jason's juvenile problems. There's a popular consensus that they would like to see Dick Grayson return as Robin someday. For now the boys prefer Batman alone as they are, always haunted by memories and past mistakes, yet continually striving to find peace in their lives and someone to share their future with.

Batman is a tragic figure, as are many people, and because of this he is their cult hero.

In SUPERMAN, WONDER WOMAN and the other super-hero comics, the villains are always trying to "take over the world," where in BATMAN, the villains are very real compared to the criminals that infest our society today. Keep it that way. We need a hero that we can identify with--Batman.

Thanks for listening.

Joe Brindley Sky Ranch for Boys Sky Ranch, SD 57724

*****

My Dearest Friends at DC,

Why does the Joker get all the fame and glory? If I don't appear in one of Batman's comics soon, things may get nasty.

(signed) The Riddler

Oh, this is just great. My first Batman letter column and I'm already receiving threats from costumed villains. Well, Edward (can I call you Ed?), information about the Riddler can be found at the end of this very letter column! But don't skip ahead!

*****

Dear DC,

I do not like where the BATMAN comic is headed. Of late, Batman has become "soft" on criminals. And now, on the letters page of #436, you say Batman does not want to kill the Joker anymore. How can Batman be a "Dark Avenger of the Night" if he doesn't even want to kill his worst enemy, who has murdered countless innocents?! Batman imprisons the Joker, knowing full well the Arkham Asylum can't hold him. The Joker escapes (again), goes ona crime spree, and the cycle begins again. I know you can't kill the Joker (he is the main villain, and I like him!), but at least have Batman THINKING about killing him, like in the DARK KNIGHT novel, instead of all that wimpy "crossing the line" and "sinking to their level" crud! The Joker knows what he is doing, and insanity should not stop the Joker from getting the justice he deserves. The Joker should escape Batman's wrath through cunning, not Batman's unlogical leniency. This would make both characters more interesting. Batman should also kill the really BAD criminals (murderers, rapists, pedophiliacs, etc.). If Batman is so restrained, then he is nothing more than an aid to the police, and all the menace is taken out of him.

Please change your comic, and have the Dark Knight earn his name.

Sincerely, Chris Small Houston, TX

I have to tell you up front, Christ, that your perception of who and what the Batman represents is a little frightening to me. But it provides an interesting focal point for discussion. Is the Batman a killer? Or, more to the point, do you perceive him as being one? Letters, please!

*****

Batdudes,

I really like the way "Batman: Year Three" is going. I can't know this for sure, of course, but from where I sit, it looks like by the end of this 4-part tale we'll be seeing young Timmy in the yellow cape at the big guy's side. I hope I'm right. Batman has been through a lot and taking on a new partner might be good for him. Tim must be about 15 now, which is a good age. He'll be more mature than Jason, less reckless and easier to control. Of course, I could be completely wrong about this, which could be pretty embarrassing.

'Til Jim Gordon shaves his moustache--

Christopher Scott The Bronx, USA

This letter has been censored due to Christopher's almost spilling the beans about the conclusion of our next storyline. You know, some people are just too clever for their own good…

*****

Dear Bat-Guys,

Who cares about the great storylines? Give me Denny's column any day!

'Til next time, MAKE MINE "From The Den!"

Bat-fanningly David Child York, Yorkshire ENGLAND

*****

NEXT ISSUE: Jim Aparo and Mike DeCarlo return, Marv Wolfman sticks around for a few more issues and George Perez provides another nifty cover. Dick Grayson is also still here, beginning a 5-part crossover with NEW TITANS entitled "A Lonely Place of Dying." The action starts here and some of the clues planted throughout "Year Three" begin to make sense. Oh, yeah--this story leads to a MAJOR turning point in the Batman mythos (as they say down the hall). Watch for BATMAN #440 in the shops around September 1st!

In the meantime, don't forget about the conclusion of "Mudpack," the Clayface Saga currently appearing in the twice-monthly DETECTIVE COMICS, and keep your eyes peeled (ouch!) for a SECRET ORIGINS SPECIAL featuring the origins of three great Batman villains: Two-Face, the Penguin, and the Riddler. It's lurking behind a stunning Brian Bolland cover!

And be on the lookout for the DETECTIVE COMICS ANNUAL #2, on sale NOW! It's a story of the early years of our hero, as he learned the detective's art. PLUS the Rogue's Gallery Who's Who!

--KC Carlson

This letter column in the back of Batman #440 (the first part of A Lonely Place of Dying) really has it all:

Guy giving a serious reflection on how the troubled kids he works with reacted to Jason’s death

Person writing in pretending to be the riddler

Guy named Chris who thinks Batman has become “too soft on crime”

Other guy named Chris who clocked Tim as the new Robin from his introduction in Batman: Year Three

[echantedtoon]

His Heart

Just some good ol yandere Neuvillette content. I don't support yanderes irl, etc. @trancylovecraft

"You look at me with cold eyes. You see me me and turn away as if you didn't know me."

"...Do I know you?"

"You know that I couldn't have shown you me. Gave you me. I couldn't show you my weakness so I put on a mask to see you but I still want you. A flower that resembles you blossomed in this garden of loneliness. I wanted to give it to you as I rip off this mask. But I know this can't go on forever."

Her eyes still gazed at the ground. Her body small but still so strong as to crush his soul. Rip his heart out to serve on a platter to herself but somehow still rejected the notion she could do that. The whole world sitting in her grasp yet she was completely naive to it or didn't care she had it.

"I will not satisfy your desires for more than what was agreed. I can accept your apologies but I cannot forgive."

"I have made peace with that notion. But I am not here to beg for forgiveness that I will never receive, for I have hurt you and I accept you're stubborn enough to always hold that grudge."

Her form was ever calm. Looking at him for what felt like a millennia of wait. Time vanishing and space darkening except for the gravitational orbit of beauty that revolved around his mind and shown through his sights since the day he laid his eyes on her visage.

"Then what is it do you seek from me, Neuvillette?"

"It's not what I seek. It's what I desire. Wishing that love is as perfect itself. Wishing all my weaknesses are hidden." The room fell sideways in his mind. An oozing feeling on continuous falling for her over and over again. Swallowed by the monster that demanded he claim and the beast that roared at him for everything he did wrong to be made right again. "In a life where nothing was ever genuine, you carved a piece out of my heart that will never feel complete unless you yourself abide by it's beating."

Her answer a head tilt. Eyes grazing the state he was in. Clawing through bodies. Ravaged by freezing cold. No doubt such a sight she disliked but was more than ready to accept given the circumstances.

"What desire do you want that I haven't already given to you?"

Blood ran black fading to a possessive desire. A stark contrast the dripping liquid made compared to the delicate object the palm held out. Staining it purity by the blood of the slain and war. Presented to her gaze which widened slightly at soft petals. A beacon of softness in the blight around them. A rose 

"Accept my devotion and become my wife. A place not beneath but beside me. For we were lovers before we were ever born in this world. My name shall be your own, your blood shall be mine, and all combinations of life will be one. Accept all of me, as I already have all of you."

She stared at him like that he told her was the most foolish thing he ever said. Heart racing. Eyes staring. Her hand slowly reaching out to him. His eyes widening as the desire he's been wanting finally being fulfilled- Until she stopped.

Her lungs filled with a shaking breath. "Kill me if you insist on finishing what you started, but I have no intention of bowing to a king who wears a crown studded with the jewels of every sin he committed."

For once he looked taken aback stopping just a few steps away from herself. "Kill you? Oh, dear me. Is that what you thought I came here for?" His head shook swaying ivory locks. "No, no, no. That wouldn't be beneficial to either of us."

"Then why?"

"Why? You have got the arms I want to be wrapped in. You have got the eyes I want to get lost in. You have the smile I can never resist. You have got the voice I want to listen to for hours. I decided on you. I want you and only you."

"I fell in love with your words! Unfortunately they were all lies!"

"No. That's not true." That gentle smile was back as he approached her once more. "I didn't lie that I love you. It wasn't a lie before and it certainly isn't a lie now."

Her body did not give him the satisfaction of an embrace nor the courtesy of a smile as his hand caressed her cheeks.

"You're a dangerous man."

"Ah. But you see the most dangerous person is the one who listens, thinks, and observes."

[eldritch-spouse]

I heard you wanted to know what ur readers like.....

it's just zizz. I love that man (God, idol, nap enthusiast, whatever) I have a lot of health problems (chronic fatigue especially) so my bed is my favorite place. you could make a spot the difference puzzle between my bed and zizz's and with my amount of pillows stuffies and blankets, the only difference is that my squishmallows aren't sentient. just imagine getting fucked to sleep by zizz? insane. incredible. amazing. just him putting all his weight (okay maybe not all I dont wanna die) on reader while we r on our stomach just barely awake getting fucked.... got a lot of thoughts... so much somnophilia hehghhghhghah

Ah, I can definitely see how he'd be a favorite for you.

I do love that kind of scenario too (the somnophilia and lazy sex), otherwise he wouldn't be around rsrsrs.

He loves that his bedroom has also become your favorite place, and he'll strive even more to make it perfect. He gets little bursts of cuteness aggression from seeing you completely relax and be at peace on his bed, surrounding by both his and your own soft decorations.

[my-halo-is-a-little-broken]

Now, let me preface this by saying I only really have FB to keep in touch with family and friends, so I try to cultivate it to have my interests on my feed, and Arcane is currently one popping up a lot.

And, uh, some people have "interesting" takes 😬 like, there can be valid criticisms of the show and how it handled some things, but these feel reach-y or even completely miss the point.

1. I don't think the show is trying to say "magic (power) makes disabled people evil." What I do think it is trying to say is that when you get a taste/knowledge of what life could be like when you're more able/powerful, it can be intoxicating and misleading. Viktor genuinely thought he was making things better, and he thought he saw how he could get there, so he took it, in an "ends justify the means way." He tried convincing Jayce to work with him. He didn't truly want to align with Ambessa until he felt he had no other choice. Other examples we see of power infecting people are littered throughout the show. Cait, Jayce, Ambessa, Mel, Silco, Singed, Heimer. Power infects and can twist people.

2. Yes, it did feel hollow at some points. But I don't feel they were saying what the person thinks they were saying. Jayce even essentially says that the Zaunites have no reason to trust them, and he basically begs them to work with Piltover because he knows the destruction that awaits them. It wasn't just "defending the oppressors way of life." A literal apocalypse could happen. It's defending everyone's way of life. As for the "Savage Brown Hoardes" bit, the only people of color we really see of the Noxians are Ambessa, Kino, and Mel, 2 of which prefer talking and seeing fighting as a last resort. Everyone else is (seemingly) white. Maddie is white, Rictus appears to be white, and what we see of the Noxian soldiers, they seem to be white. Even if we go farther and look at the Noxian champions in LoL, a good chunk of them seem to be white. As for the faceless communism metaphor, while I can see it, this was a legitimate threat to Piltover, Zaun, and the world as a whole. Communism is a boogie man in our world, yes, but it wouldn't lead to the *literal apocalypse*. That's more capitalisms' style. And there's plenty of distrust and anger between Pilties and Zaunites, even if we don't get to see as we would have liked. A good chunk of the Zaunites don't join the battle until late because they *don't trust the Pilties* but realize that this isn't going well and will end badly, so they decide to help. We see that Sevika, despite being on the council, doesn't trust the Pilties, and they also don't trust her! Coming together to save the world doesn't mean that all the issues are erased. It simply means they were put aside for the moment. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

3. Yeah, they fumbled on keeping up Zaun vs. Piltover, but the Medarda war didn't come out of nowhere. In the 1st season, we have Ambessa trying to encourage war. She's a WARLORD. War within her was coming, one way or another. Mel always stood in opposition to her, even if she loved her and tried to reason with her. Ambessa was always going to be one of the main antagonists and major plot points. Look at her song. If you want something outside of season 1 that points to that there was always going to be war. "No war, no peace 'til I lead them all". She does what she does for her family's gain, yes, but also for herself. She didn't show up to Piltover to visit Mel, ever, until word started to spread. It reflected badly on Piltover, on the council, on Mel, which in turn reflected badly on the Medarda name and *her*. "I can use who I want, and I taste what I please". Ambessa isn't above doing whatever she sees fit to get what she wants/feels is right. She will always try to get what she wants, and what she wanted was war with Zaun. War within Zaun weakens Piltover, which is already partially under a Medarda's control. We've seen that Ambessa takes over places and conquers them. It's never confirmed, but it's not a stretch to make an assumption here that she wanted to bring Piltover and Hextech under Noxus' (hers) control, and what better way to do that than weaken it's defenses and strength? She made Piltover "stronger" but only by putting herself in control of Cait, her puppet, who she, despite not being from Piltover, made Piltovers leader.

4. I don't think this was Jayce saying that Viktor needed to stay disabled. I myself am disabled, granted not like Viktor is, but I didn't feel this was Jayce saying that. To me, this was Jayce telling Viktor that it's *okay* to not be perfect. That it's okay to be disabled. Not that it's a good thing to be, but that it's not a horrifically bad thing either. Jayce *loves* Viktor (platonically or romantically, your choice, but they're soulmates no matter how you slice it). We see Viktor go from a mostly confident and sassy young man to a shell of himself who believes he's unworthy of standing next to Jayce even though they're partners. Viktor was never unworthy, no matter how his disease progressed, and that's what Jayce is trying to emphasize. Jayce is telling Viktor, "You are loved, I love you, and nothing will ever change that no matter what you think." It echos Jinx and Vi in a way. Jinx thinks she's unlovable, bad luck, but Vi doesn't. She'll never give up on trying to help and love her sister, and the same way Jayce will never give up trying to save and love his partner. Jayce isn't telling Viktor he should have stayed disabled. He's telling him that his disability doesn't make him less of a person and who he is, that perfection does nothing but hurt when it requires impossible standards.

[xxastreascornerxx]

I love LOVE the way that LAES wrote out the Gemini twins, that's high praise from me based on the many posts where I shit on them but with every hater there's secretly a fan so hear me out.

When we were first introduced to them Castor was an ASSHOLE and Pollux was the overly energetic sweetheart that just pulls at people's heartstrings.

Well based on EVERYTHING THE SHOWS HAVE TAUGHT US (if you're actually paying attention) it's to never judge books by their covers.

By the end we see that POLLUX is the real asshole, she thinks that people should just UNDERSTAND HER and that it's dumb and people are annoying or a waste of their time when they aren't immediately understood.

Castor by the end is gentle, soft spoken, and knows to treat people with genuine kindness and sincerity. He holds the people he appreciates so close to his heart that even when they hurt him all he wants is to run back to them and try to see their point of view.

Castor is still strict and Pollux is still bubbly but there was a lot more going on under the surface, have you guys ever noticed how CASTOR was always the one talking seriously to Lunar? Pollux was following along and occasionally adding in hurtful remarks (talking star trials and that nonsense) Castor was ALWAYS the one to make sure that even though Lunar was in trouble or needed to be talked to he knew he was appreciated and cared for, that even though they'd say hurtful things they just wanted him to confront his actions and deal with them appropriately. Pollux just yells and throws in childish quips, which is ironic since her whole thing back during the star trials was to constantly point out how childish Lunar was being (she's a hypocrite) despite most of her arguments coming off as playground marriage arguments.

In any mythology Greek, Roman, etc Gemini is duality. We're never told which is which though, it's why whenever someone brings up Zodiac signs Gemini is an insult to people. Duality can be both good and bad, it's exactly what it is. However duality isn't black and white, it's a spectrum that can change at any moment. We see the way duality shifts and shows itself in the Gemini twins frequently, with mood swings, temperament, and overall how people unravel themselves. Together they are uncaring and do not perceive things as positive or negative without the others input, however apart they're kind and rude, gentle and aggressive.

Gemini is only one when they agree, when they are at peace. Castor loves Lunar, he has and will. It broke his heart to see Lunar as a threat. Pollux saw Lunar as a fun toy to play with until it got old, then she got bored of it and found it's attempts to get her attention annoying. She didn't and doesn't love Lunar, she loved the attention he was giving her, only throwing a fit when the attention was given to someone else.

This, this is duality. It's what the shows were trying to express, however with limited resources it's hard to convey everything in the story. They're recording this with the knowledge they have on how to best convey it without outright saying it and it's so amazing what they're able to do.

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk it's written weird and that's because this is pure raw unfiltered autism license approved thoughts, until next time. Bye bro bros:3

[greeneyedwildthing]

Canon Viojack Moments

This ship. Let's talk about it. Warning for Series Spoilers:

I know most (if not all) of the fouth wing fandom refers to Jack Barlowe as JFB. And honestly? for good reason. The man has the personality of a wet paper bag and the plot armor of an old nokia phone. But I digress. It wasn't until my third or fourth reread that I realized that the main pairing (X/V) didn't hit the same strong enemies-to-lovers notes for me the way Viojack did-- especially in light of the fact that Xaden had never had the intention of hurting Violet because of his deal with her mother.

So let's dive into the canon moments for a rarepair that will never be! Please keep in mind that this is, in fact, all meant in good fandom fun. I still love Xaden, I just tend to love unhinged psychopathic characters a little more.

As I was rereading this for the fourth time, I noticed the subtle power play/primal play going on in this scene with Jack putting emphasis on pleasure and screaming. I also love how Violet's response sets the tone for their dynamic: Jack making threats and Violet refusing to back down.

His hand on her hip as he hovers above her while Violet presses a dagger to his balls... whats not to love?? I also find it interesting that Violet fixates on his eye color here, which is something that she seems to only do for the other main love interests (see: Xaden's onyx eyes, Dain's warm brown, even arguably Liam's blue eyes)

Omegaverse AU where... lol no but on a serious note I find it hilarious that Jack smells her before stalking away especially considering the fact that Violet canonically (from Xadens Bonus Chap POV) smells like citrus- the one thing Jack is allergic to. The irony is *chefs kiss*

I love how most readers will finish fourth wing with the impression that Violets fear towards Jack was completely one-sided (I know I did) because he's a Big Strong Murderous Man™ when *canonically* she repeatedly scares the shit out of him too.

This little morsel during threshing just buttered my biscuits because I love how she compares Jack to Xaden- aka the MMC and LOVE INTEREST- and Jack somehow unintentionally comes out on top?? this is a stretch but stick with me...

Also, I found it interesting during my reread that Jack wasn't the one who planned Andarna's murder. Tynan was the "genius" behind that plot, and also the one who bullied Oren when he voiced his second thoughts. Jack only followed along with the plot to an extent (he arguably ran at the earliest convenience) And I feel like readers put the weight of Tynan's plan on Jacks shoulders solely because we remember Jack as the asshole who participated (and survived). also see: Jack was never involved in the assassination attempt or any of the other dozens of times he could've killed her without repercussions.

ngl really loved that Violet's last thought as she was making her peace with death is Jack-centric.

Again, Jack is seen as the primary instigator but throughout FW Violet is the one that meets him where he's at. She's unwilling to back down and I love that about their dynamic because - in this scene- you can see her begin to gain the upper hand.

Another canon moment that I completely missed when I first read FW. But again, Violets actions/accomplishments instill a sense of fear in Jack. Also I just love that by this point she's able to read him so well.

Did everyone miss the fact that he blew her a kiss or was it just me??? because in light of the IF turret scene (you know where he saves her life) this had me feeling absolutely feral. Like of all the ways he could have instigated a reaction out of her it was blowing kisses that did the trick?! and I love love LOVE how she continues to be vocal about his cowardice when the rest of the quadrant doesn't.

Exhibit four of prime sarcastic banter from enemies that could become lovers (leave me to my delusions).

Out of context this is the most insane and more than a little erotic moment between the two of them??? like they're dick to butt here, and he's whispering? (where have i heard this before- oh right: that time Xaden kicked her ass on the mat. The only difference is one of them had dangerous intent which makes my E2L heart swoon)

Canon that, not only is Jack the first person Violet's killed, he's also the only person Violet's felt *guilty* of killing.

Listen, I get that this scene has more to do with her sense of self and loss of morality but I think it's interesting that she's grieving this after saving one of her best friends by sacrificing the main antagonist and primary pain in her ass. Read between the lines on that one lol

IF JFB's return lets break it down:

she's focusing on his appearance.

She points out that her signet manifested as she killed him. Now this is pivotal because during rereads we've uncovered that there's an easter egg during her *passionate* first kiss with Xaden. Keep that in mind. So we fast forward to War Games where she has another *passionate* moment- feeling protective of her best friend and fury towards her main antagonist. And that's exactly the moment where her signet truly manifests. Xaden may have been the first spark but Jack is her catalyst in both character development and achieving power. I also just love the irony that him pushing her towards destruction is what ultimately destroys him.

And again the way she fixates on his eyes. I love that in a room full of people applauding his return the first person he looks for is her. (it gives me the best chills every time)

AND FINALLY THE MOMENT THAT HAD ME SHIPPING THEM:

I love this on so many levels. I love how witty and sarcastic he is. How sincere. This is the scene that made me realize (amidst the X/V "tell me the truth" debacle in IF) that Jack has always been weirdly open with Violet. He wears his intentions on his sleeve. She never second guesses his motives until *this moment* because she's already in the middle of second guessing everything the other love interests (Dain and Xaden) have done towards her. While this scene felt out of character in comparison to the rest of the series, I personally choose to believe that he's being genuine and open with her. Because the last thing she's anticipating is the truth and it catches her- and us as the readers- completely off guard

Also I know general fandom consensus is that he did this to protect his double-agent venin status. However, as i've said before I'm a die hard believer that Nolon succeeded at mending Jacks soul for a short time but ultimately it's Jacks' greed for power that continues to push him towards veninism.

[herefortheships]

Here it is! My first fanfic in over TEN years! This fic is for today's Destiel fandom event Electric Boogaloo, hosted by @blanketforcas in celebration of the anniversary of the Latam dub giving us canon reciprocal Destiel.

The theme of the event is reciprocation, and that is the theme of my little fic. I hope you like it!

(I wanted to also share this to AO3 and contribute to the over 100,000 Destiel fanworks, but I haven't gotten my invitation yet! So this will go over there eventually.)

Word count: 1,778 words

No warnings of any kind. I think it's a sweet kind of story.

Short summary: Dean sits down to write a letter for Cas with all the things he didn't get to say.

Felicidades a Dean y Castiel en este aniversario. Siempre quiero recordar la alegría (y el DOLOR de ALMA lol) que estos dos me han dado desde el 2012 hasta el día de hoy. Los amo. 😊✨

(Congratulations to Dean and Castiel in this anniversary. I always wat to remember the joy (and the PAIN of my SOUL lol) these two have given me since 2012 until today. I love them. 😊)

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

The words he never said

A short fic by Here for the Ships (Des 💚)

Dean Winchester sat at his desk with nothing but a pencil, a sheet of paper, and a bottle of booze. Sam was out in an early morning run with the dog, so Dean was alone with some time to kill and some thoughts to finally drag out of his head and smother away with this one sheet of paper. It had been over two months, now, since he had been forced to part ways with Cas; since his entire world had been turned inside-out and upside-down.

He wasn’t sure if he had processed everything; from the loss of Cas, to defeating Chuck (aka the God), to living in a world where his new God had been a surrogate son to him only a couple of months ago.

The events of those days played often in his mind, when he found himself alone; they paraded in his dreams as he tried to sleep at night… The grief of what was lost had become a constant companion, peering through any moment of peace in the most unexpected ways. A song suddenly playing in the radio, a scent attached to a moment he would never get back.

Dean had considered taking it on as his one mission in life, hunting down the Empty and getting Cas back. But no. He had learned it well and deep by now, that revenge never resulted in anything good. Plus, he’d had enough of dealing with supernatural beings with ineffable, omnipotent powers. Chuck was the final Big Fish he took down, and he was good with that.

Dean took a look at the bottle of room-temperature beer for a few seconds, and he pushed it back on his desk instead of taking a sip this time. It’d hurt, but these words needed to be said. Or at least, he needed them out of his head and stored somewhere else.

“Well, Cas… These are the things I never said…” he said to himself, picked up the pencil, and got to writing:

Last night I prayed to Jack, again… And Cas, buddy, you know how much I hate having to do that. But I had to. You know, I thought I had accepted it, that I was over it. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do… We were all doing what we thought was right. But it just keeps playing over and over, and over in my head.

Cas, what the hell were you thinking? I’m not one for judging… I’ve done my share of stupid things, too. For love, for not wanting to be left alone… But Cas, how could you do this to me? I know it sounds fucking selfish, because you’re gone, and because of that we’re all safe and your sacrifice wasn’t it vain—it was never in vain, I really hope you know that. But Cas, now I have to live knowing that you’re gone because you loved me. You loved me. You said all those things about me, I can scarcely remember all of it (trust me, I’m kicking myself about it every freaking day), but I can feel it, everything. I can feel every damned word, every damned day.

Just so you know, because of you… Because of you I could see more in me. Because of you I could see myself differently than I ever did before. Man, I wish I wasn’t so bad with this… That I could put into words just what that all meant to me, what it means to me.

You said all those things about me, and I didn’t get to say anything. And yeah, just like I’ve prayed to you, hoping you could hear what I had to say, I’ve also prayed to Jack. I’ve prayed almost every single night for him to get you out of that place; for him to set things right… But I haven’t heard a word from Jack, and I haven’t seen a flutter of angel wings anywhere; nothing to connect me to Heaven, nothing to give me a clue on what to do….

Every night, the scene of your death plays inside my head, like a freaking movie I can’t look away from no matter how much I want. And in my head, I always stop it from happening. In my head we face the Empty together and we win. We always win.

Dean stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts, wondering if writing this would be enough.

I think I took it for granted, that we always win. I think at some point I felt invincible. You know, you and me, and Sam, we’ve taken some pretty Big Fish. I think something inside me always felt like we’d always win, that we’d always come back to the bunker together and share some beers. I think something inside me always believed that, even though I didn’t fully realize it. Looking back now, I see it. Cas, when you said those words to me, I froze. And it took me a while, you know? To understand what really happened. That I was your happiness.

“No, I don’t think I should put it like that…”

That I was your happiness. That just letting me know how you felt about me was enough to make you truly happy. Enough to make the Empty come and take you. But Cas, now I have to live with that knowledge and it’s driving me fucking crazy, because… Alright, I’m not good with words, and I’m sure by now you know that about me, Cas, but I just wanted you to know, I needed you to know

Dean sat back and sighed a long sigh, staring at the page like it was staring right back at him, somehow shaming him, even though there was no one here to read over his shoulder. “I can’t even write the motherfukin’ words.”

There was no time to finish this now, anyway. He’d heard the door a few minutes ago: Sam was back, and he should be in the shower now. There was a case they were driving up to today, and he’d already made up his mind: it would be his last. He was officially retiring after today (not that he’d told Sam anything about that yet, but… he’d figure out how to say it on the way back).

They were supposed to leave after breakfast for a whole day of driving.

Chuck was defeated and Jack had vanished, having become the new God (that was still crazy to think about). There were no immediate world-ending threats and no more infinitely powerful surrogate son to take care of anymore. He was done hunting. If Cas was truly gone forever, then he’d honor his sacrifice by living the best possible life he could live. And that life, however he looked at it… That life didn’t include hunting. Not anymore.

Dean sat down to tie his boots, and as he did, a second pair of boots appeared right in front of him. “Man, that was fast. I didn’t even hear the damned door just now. You’re gonna have to give me a break, Sammy.” But when he raised his gaze, he found himself looking at Jack, standing there with a small smile.

The color drained out of Dean’s face. For a moment, he could only stare at Jack, wondering if he was imagining it.

“Hello, Dean. You’ve been okay?” Jack said, sounding a little timid, to which Dean replied, “Yeah… I’m fine, no thanks to you… Almost gave this old man a heart attack…” Dean joked, a little breathless, and God or not, this was Jack, so he pulled him into a hug. “Come here. How’ve you been? It’s so good to see you…”

“I’ve been good,” Jack said, and he pulled away. “There’s someone else who’s been wanting to see you." Jack beamed. "Believe me, it took me a while to negotiate (you won’t be surprised to know, not even God is entirely all powerful), but I finally did it…”

And that was when Dean felt it, the powerful presence behind him.

He could do nothing but stand there as the realization of what Jack meant dawned on him, until the words broke him out of the spell, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around, and there he saw…

“Cas…”

Castiel was standing there, right in front of his bed. He was fully restored; Dean didn’t need to see a shadow of his wings to know this was Cas in his full angelic power, safe and alive and standing right there in his bedroom. “But… how?”

“We heard your prayers,” Jack said, “and Cas didn’t belong in the Empty. I had to right a wrong.”

“You damn well had to…” said Dean, still staring at Cas. “Jack…” He finally turned back to thank him—to say anything—but Jack was gone.

“Dean… I’m so sorry…” Cas said. “I should’ve—”

“What are you talking about, man… You’re back… That’s all that matters.”

“I owe it all to Jack. He is everything I hoped he would become,” Cas said, and he smiled.

And then, there was silence. Even though Dean had been writing a long letter just moments ago, full of all the things he wished he could have said to Cas that day, here was Cas in the flesh right now—his Cas—and not a single word would form.

So Dean just pulled Cas into a hug and squeezed him tight, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry it all happened so abruptly; I wish I could—” Cas started.

“I don’t care. Cas… I don’t care.” Dean pulled back from the hug, staring Cas straight in the face with his hands still on his arms. “All I care is that you’re here.”

Cas looked sad, or perhaps, conflicted. “Dean��� I know… What I said before…” he started, but Dean stopped him again.

“Cas… If you heard me just now… If you’ve heard my prayers, to you, to Jack… Then you know. But still… I feel like I should say something.”

“Dean… You really don’t have to—”

“But I’m not good at saying something, so…” he pulled Cas into a kiss. It was warm and tender, and salty with the tears that had finally pushed their way out. Cas kissed him right back, and when they stopped, they stood there sharing each other’s breath, with their lips just an inch away from another kiss.

“I think that should be enough of an answer… But if it wasn’t, Cas…” Dean smiled, a small, trembling smile, and it was almost a whisper when he said, “I love you, too.”