#you cannot achieve anything without God

[yeslordmyking]

Galatians 6:14 — Today's Verse for Friday, June 14, 2024

[theriverbeyond]

how do we know in the books that john is indigenous? can you say more about how his indigeneity is important to his story?

hello! so there is a word of god post on race (doesn't mention John but mentions that Gideon is "mixed Maori"), BUT I frankly don't think word of god statements are worth any weight without actual in-text support (see: the "dumbledore is gay" situation). SO!

Specific evidence that John Gaius is Maori, as revealed in Nona the Ninth:

When he is listing his education, John mentions having gone to Dilworth School (John 20:8). Dilworth is an all boys boarding school in Auckland and accepts students based on financial need instead of academic or sporting achievements. Demographics appear to be about 70% low income Maori boys, indicating that it is highly likely that John is Maori

John reports that P- said he looked like a "Maori-TV pink panther" (John 15:23) when his eyes turned gold. Maori TV is a TV station that is focused primarily on Maori culture & language revitalization, with presumably all or mostly Maori hosts, and tbh I don't see why P- would say this unless John was himself Maori

John uses a te reo Māori phrase ("kia kaha, kia māia") (John 5:20) when he is saying goodbye to the corpses in the cryo lab before the power is shut off. Though it is possible he said this as a non-Maori kiwi, but in combination with the previous two points of evidence I think this all very strongly points to him being Maori

He also renames his daughter Kiriona Gaia, "Kiriona" being just literally the name "Gideon" in te reo Māori

TLT is not a series that hands you anything on a silver platter but to ME this is all pretty solid proof

Why is this relevant to The Locked Tomb?

In Nona the Ninth, we learn that before he completed apotheosis and ate the solar system, John was basically trying to save the earth from capitalism-caused climate change. Climate justice and the rights of indigenous people over their own land are deeply tied together, in the same way that climate catastrophe and capitalism/ imperialism/ colonialism are linked. disclaimer that this is NOT my area of study and others have definitely said it better; this is just the basic gist as I understand it, but on quick search I found some sources here and here if you want to do some reading.

TLT is not a series that hands you anything on a silver platter, but i don't think it is a stretch to see John as an indigenous man trying to save the earth and getting ignored and shut down at every turn by primarily western colonial powers (PanEuro, the USA) who declare him a terrorist and then as a reader thematically connecting that to the experience of indigenous climate activists IRL

there are absolutely TLT meta posts that have discussed this before me; tumblr search is nonfunctional and I have been looking for an hour and a half and cannot find anything specific even though i KNOW i reblogged multiple posts about this in the first few weeks following NTN's release. sad & I am sorry

I think that by the time the books take place, John is 10k years removed from the cultural context he grew up in, with the Nine Houses having become a genocidal colonial power in their own right (with more parallels to be made between John's forever war for the resources of literal life energy and like, oil wars), but I also think that John Gaius is a fictional character who can represent and symbolize multiple different things in service of telling a story. (not to mention the potential thematic parallels being made to how oppressed people sometimes are pressed into replicating the power dynamics of their oppressors and continuing the cycle--now that is a tumblr post i KNOW i read last year and definitely cannot find right now, once again sad & I am sorry)

How Radical Was John Gaius, Really is a forum thread that was locked by the moderators after 234534645674564 pages of heated debate

[heaven444child]

messages from your partner 💌

Pick an image

which pile drawn your attention choose it and please take what resonates with you and leave the rest ✨🍀🫶💜

AND Read these readings mindfully 👻and if you want a personal reading then DM me✨🍀

Pile 1

pile 1 Your future spouse is seeing me claiming his rights on you 👀 He is saying that you are only mine 🫣 “only mine” you just get ready, I am coming soon 🚘🏍️ whatever dreams we both have seen, we both will fulfill them soon 💕🍀 I know that right now we both are not near each other 🦋 we both haven't even met each other yet �� but what can I do, whenever I think about you, I get scared 🌊 that you might get attracted to some other boy 🐻 I feel very sad just thinking about this 🥺 I can't sleep the whole night thinking about this 😨 so wherever you are, take care of yourself ✨🍀 and yes, remember that you are only mine 🫣👀 I know that I shouldn't talk to you like this 😅 but You can also understand that the one who has such a beautiful wife is definitely afraid of losing her, so take care of yourself my “beautiful wife” and I love you and miss you babe.💋👀

(I hope this reading resonates with you) ✨💕 Stay blessed 🫶❤️ AND thankyou for your support ✨🤝🍀😍

Pile 2

pile 2 Your future spouse wants to tell you that he has got a job or has been promoted ✨🍀 and is celebrating this achievement with his friends 🥂 but he wants to tell you that every happiness seems incomplete without you 👀 darling 👰🏻‍♀️ wherever you are, please come quickly ✈️ you know who I am 🧩 he is saying that I am such a puzzle piece that no one can complete me without you 🏵️ I feel that but this may resonate for some people that this person may be a famous person 🎺 or a model 🎬 and I feel that both of you may be each other's soulmate or twin and both of you don't want to date anyone, you both are just waiting for your last long partner 👰🏻‍♀️🤵 Your future spouse wants to tell you that I don't want to date anyone because I haven't met a girl like you yet 💕 I know that I have a lot of options but still I will wait for you ✨🫣 So come to me soon 😍👰🏻‍♀️ I love your hair and these eyes of yours 👀✨ I have never seen anyone's eyes like yours 🥺 I search for these eyes everywhere but I can't find them anywhere 😏 So you please come to me 😕 You know where I live 🏡 Please come soon 🌠 my love 💘 My heart pains a lot without you ❤️‍🔥 Please come fast baby or should I call you babe 💜hmm👀🫣

(I hope this reading resonates with you) ✨💕 Stay blessed 🫶❤️ AND thankyou for your support ✨🤝🍀😍

Pile 3

pile 3 Your future spouse wants to tell you that I know you are working very hard 👀 to make yourself stable 💼 there is nothing wrong in this but you should also take care of yourself 🙈 there is no need to be so harsh on yourself 🐥 I know you want to manifest lot of things 🌠 now you must be thinking how do I know all this 😁 but my innocent and sweet future wife, have you forgotten that I am your husband and you cannot hide anything from me 🥺 I know you are strong, intuitive but still why do you have to face rejections in your life 🥺 my dear wife god gives difficulties only to those who have the ability to overcome them 🛤️ so don't be disappointed 🫣 and now for this future husband of yours, show me the best smile in the world 😁 Are you smiling my wife🙈👰🏻‍♀️ If you are then I am happy that at least I could make you happy even while being far away 🥺✨

(I hope this reading resonates with you) ✨💕 Stay blessed 🫶❤️ AND thankyou for your support ✨🤝🍀😍

[evilminji]

You know my Crechelings Are Possessed post?

What if it was just the one? A SI-OC or OC?

Dying and going THROUGH the Force? I will attest, is GONNA have side effects. You're gonna end up... weird. Not Normal for a Force Sensitive. Kinda like Anikin tbh. A bit TOO in tune. A bit TOO aware. Connected.

As though your brain was cracked open 5+ dimensionally, to the Whole Of Creation that IS the Force and it kinda fucked you up a bit. Cause as A Luminous Force Being? You were fine! Energy and light! But as MATTER? Well...

Matter breaks.

Can withstand only so much.

We are LIMITED by our matter, crude and flawed as it is. Beloved as it may be.

Cause make no mistake! You aren't BROKEN. But you are CHANGED. There were a series of clear, monumentous, and "life" altering events back to back here! Death, a traumatizing thing no matter HOW peaceful it may have been. And in all likelihood? It was NOT a peaceful end. It probably? Hurt. Was frightening. Abrupt. There is grief and hurt there. Fear.

Then the trauma of being separated from everyone we have ever known. Without closure. For them OR us. Our empathy would remind us of their suffering. That they do NOT know we are okay. That we have no way to TELL them we are. This too, is trauma. But? Worse?

Is the Force.

We? Are no Jedi. Not yet. We are confused. Lost and do not understand. It is FOREIGN to us. An outside will that we cannot escape. Where are our gods? The death we expected? The afterlife we assumed we would meet? It's INSIDE US. It IS US. We are IT. We don't know where we are and everything feels?

E N D L E S S .

Can force ghosts even cry? Weep, terrified and overwhelmed? Afraid? Simply BRINGING us to them would not impart understanding. And imparting understanding? Well... we know it to be not OF us? To be inflicted. An invasion. The Force is not cruel. But! Importantly! It is not and has never BEEN? Mortal.

Blue and Orange morality is at play. How do you explain to a formless, infinite, all knowing, all powerful God Force? The concept of "boundaries"? Limits? There is GOOD to be done. It's helping you! Pushing love and comfort! Surely that should work? Why is that not working? It is... confused. Not MADE for such contemplations.

This too, is Trauma. Being held in the hands of a God. Benevolent does not mean SAFE. Does not mean you will not be unharmed. Just... that they do not MEAN to harm you.

Or have very Good Reasons for why they "Must".

The Force Ghosts help. They are patient in the way only old Master's could be. Kind. They understand. Have taught. And so? Though they are quite confused, they understand you struggle to release your fear. Explaining things helps. Talking helps. And you find peace.

Not the afterlife you EXPECTED, but not terrible.

Which... of course, is when once again things change.

Birth, Life, these TOO, are Trauma. You were FREE. No more pain. No aches. No hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion. Connection deeper then this broken and flawed matter could ever hope to achieve. The world has gone SILENT. Muffled. Like solitary confinement for the SOUL.

Only in meditation, are you FREE.

Your parents can't handle you. You grieve for them. For the child they should have had. Look around the nursery, so filled with excitement and love, and feel nothing but the urge to weep. You are a stillborn, brought to life. A child stolen. They deserved better then this. Even as you can not be anything but what you ARE? What of THEIR sorrow? Their confusion and futures now impossible?

You love them. They are not yours. Will never tryely be your parents, for all they brought you into this world. But oh, Oh, you love these poor grieving souls. Wish it had not been you. That they could have had the child they were so excited to love. You... you are sorry. So, so sorry.

They take you to the Temple. You guild them to a child in need, first. Hope they will be happy.

You do not look back.

They put you in a Creche with others just as "Unusually Strong" in the Force. Is that Grogu? Hi Grogu. Who are the rest of you? The room is quite. Everyone talking loudly in the Force, instead. It would be deafening for the more delicate younglings. They don't have the shields for it yet. The children here SHOUT without meaning too, like standing at a rock concert.

Visions are a constant thing. Unusual Force gifts and manifestations. Illirrrska can see auras. Doesn't know what they MEAN, mind you, and xe sees them on EVERYTHING that lives, but still! Xey are well on xeir way to figuring it out. (Xey have a holo document cataloging the colors, you see.)

You fit right in! With your Tiny Herald Of Death To Come nature. Your Creche mates believe you. The adults? Have grown numb. Used to filtering. Tiny younglings with Too Much Force flowing through them? Are horrors. Viscerally unsettling. Unnatural.

Even to the Jedi.

But! They REFUSE to treat children with such caution and distain. Hold them at an arms length out of FEAR. So they mentally filter. "That's nice dear, horrifying concepts and brain melting secrets, mmmhmmm. Eat your pudding. Who wants to play float ball~‽ Yaaaaaay!"

No one will listen. Future in motion. But really, of course it is. You are no fool.

However... tell me, Master Jedi. Does it matter? If we die one step to the right as apposed to the left? Because you would not LISTEN when the Force spoke? The future only changes when you ACT. Not when you REFUSE too. Out of FEAR. Out of IGNORANCE. Out of ATTACHMENT.

And make no mistake, you ARE attached. Clinging so hard to your beliefs that you could not POSSIBLY be wrong. Could not POSSIBLY be fallible, be fooled by the Dark Side and lead astray, that you have turned your back on the very Tennants of the Code itself.

What is more important? Tradition or the Force? The innocent or the way things were? Tell me, what is the will of the Force... and what is Fear? Convenience? The little moral compromises that damn? Who do you serve, Master Jedi? And ARE you serving them?

Perhaps you should meditate.

Just???

This Tiny Cryptid Crecheling? That speaks like a wizened old Master? Feels like a tiny star in the Force? Not a cute lil ball of light. A FUCKING STAR. Giant ball of gas in space, a burning ball of light, THAT kind of star! But... small? Person shaped. It's like meditating next to a Force Nexus.

They just? Hand you things. Or sabotage random ships. Literally just FUCKING SHOT a knight once, for no clear reason! All they would say is "it's not like you'll actually listen. This is the only way." What? Of COURSE WE'LL LISTEN! (No. They won't. Just ask Sifo. Ask Obi-Wan. The Sith, fear, and hubris have eroded the Jedi from within.)

The full blown confidence of an adult? Combined with the creepy "oh god. They're in THE VENTS!!!" Nature of highly force sensitive Crechelings?

Magnificent~☆

They can see into your SOUL. Are holding a toddler that squirms around, wiggles up to whisper in their ear, gets a nod, only for YOU to be somberly informed that your second in command (a life long friend) has betrayed you. Avoid wearing red. You will die on a Friday. By the way, they can't reach the counter... could you hand them those snacks?

One of the other one speaks to trees.

The trees SPEAK BACK.

Prophecy. Fuckin Terrifying Prophecy EVERYWHERE.

Did YOU want to know that your grandson will grow up to kill his brother? No? Too bad! Not even married yet? ALSO TOO BAD! Have FUN with that knowledge! How about learning that there is horrific suffering planets away? No. No there ISN'T anything you can do about it. Just... here! Have some Deeply Cursed Knowledge. From a toddler. Now! They're gonna go eat grass~☆

The appear and disappear at random. Climb the walls. Fuckin FLOAT. The Force itself is their imaginary friend! They literally consult it over PUDDING CHOICES. Sometimes? They talk in perfect synchronization, like a hive mind. Stare without blinking. One moment they are perfectly normal children... the next? Like PUPPETS.

Tiny avatars. Through which SOMETHING GREATER speaks. They KNOW, not think, KNOW what they need to do. You can not convince them. Trying just makes you an obstacle to be overcome.

They are four.

Toddlers and children. Younglings. Initiates!

I just? Want there to be? A portion of Deeply Cursed/Possessed Crechelings? That are just LIKE that. Loved regardless. Nothing wrong with them. They're just too strong for their lil bitty baby brains. Once they learn to shield better? It'll balance out. Anikin would have gone there, had he been found young.

It'd be hilarious? If what saves the galaxy? Is someone finally REMEMBERING that? And thinking to themselves?

"Hey, you know what might be good for that Skywalker kid? Being exposed to more Force Sensitives that GET him. We should put him on Cursed Crechelings duty for a bit." And??

Anikin? Is in LOVE? They are all so SMOL an NORMAL? Finally! Jedi who aren't EMOTIONALLY DISTANT! Shielded? What do mean "Shielded"? No I'm not shouting all the time! This is my normal speaking voice! *Skywalker confusion as he cuddles babies*

Cause like? He too? Spoke in horrifying prophecy? Was vaguely Anti-christ-y? Did the (o.o) see into your sooooooul stare? So WHAT? That's just how babies ARE!

.....what do you MEAN "no"?

Every day, throwing open Obi-Wan's poor, slowly being destroyed, front door like "Master! Did you know I am AN OUTLIER!? And REALLY LOUD!? Other people aren't emotionally crippled psychopaths, they're just really REALLY quite compared to me!!" "Ah. Yes, Anikin, please. Maybe say that LOUDER. I don't think the ENTIRE temple quite heard you... -_- "

Just?? Anikin Skywalker! And his Hoard of Creepy Possessed Crechelings that are TOTALLY NORMAL, Guys! All kids are like this! He's a GREAT role model and baby sitting! Yeah, it's the Clone wars, and no, he has NO idea how the entire Creche got onto the ship... but hey! Enrichment! That's good for them, right?

(^-^) (o.o) (|o.o|) (o,o) (o-o) (|o,o|)

*clones look from their general, to the tiny unblinking magic jedi babies, back to their general* s-sure?

@legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @leftnotright @starwarsblr

[iidgm]

a little something i wrote at 1 am

word count: 1065

—

You sighed heavily, your limbs giving out under you without prior warning.

These chases are exhausting you, and you have no idea for how much longer you’ll be able to keep up with these toys without dying in the process.

Not like you stayed dead, anyways.

Strange voices in your mind ordering you to get up, and somehow waking up moments before your death… You’ve learned to not question it. At least not for now.

You check your surroundings carefully, trying your best to keep your heavy breathing as silent as possible as to not attract any more toys.

Dried pool, giant rubber ducks…

Ominous looking cell doors.

Ah shit, those are the only way forward, aren’t they?

You groan as you lift yourself up with your fists, your GrabPack feeling more like a hindrance than a helping tool at the moment. Damn designers.

You drag your heavy legs towards the cell doors, dread creeping up your spine.

Why are there CELLS on the POOL?!

You enter a dimly candle-lit corridor with a huge hole in a corner. You decide to not approach it, instead you keep going forward.

The putrid, rotting flesh and gore assaults your senses. The smell being unbearable, the sounds it made against your shoes as you walked disgusted you and the dried remains visible made your stomach churn.

But the only way is forward.

You look into the each cell individually, searching for something to help you open the doors at the end of the corridor—

“You… You’re Poppy’s Angel. Come to save us!”

You jump at the sudden deep voice behind you, turning around in panic with flare gun ready to shoot. Then you see it.

See him.

Dogday.

“Nothing left to save, not here…” He continues. “You’re in Catnap’s home, Angel. Their home.”

You try to swallow back the lump in your throat.

Or what’s left of Dogday.

His bottom half is ripped off, only a tight belt acting as a tourniquet preventing his insides to spill out completely. You want to throw up.

“A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry.” He sounds so defeated. “They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin– And eat away at you bit by little bit, fill what feels empty inside themselves.”

Your body moves without your input towards the canine, slowly as to not startle or scare him. Not like anything would achieve that at this point, you think.

“That... thing... CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” He moves his arms, secured by shackles to emphasize this. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate– and in return, they are fed.”

Your hands slowly move towards Dogday’s face. He doesn’t react.

“We tried to fight it, The Prototype's control.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm... the last of the Smiling Critters.” His voice shakes a little, looking away from you. Your heart breaks further for him.

“I–” You try to start, but he interrupts you.

“Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live!” He looks at you, his dark voids for eyes locking on your face. His voice cracks again, but he sounds determined. You make up your mind in that second.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You say firmly, before working your way through his shackles as fast as you can. He makes a sound of shock as his arm drops, followed by the other. He falls into your arms, limp and dirty.

“Wh– Angel, I’m a lost cause! You must flee!” He pleads, his hand closing around your forearm with the little strength he has.

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me who I can and cannot save. So strap in, Doggy boy, I’m getting you out of here.” You say with finality, shifting him on your back in a way he can hold himself up somewhat comfortably.

He doesn’t protest any further.

You look around, trying to find a way out of the cellar. The doors you came through somehow closed, so that option is discarded.

“Oh no... OH NO!” You hear Dogday cry out, and you turn your head to see what he’s on about.

Oh shit.

A mass of ruined critters start to crawl their way out of the walls towards you. Before you can react, the floor gives in beneath you, falling through a hole in front of the closed gates.

“Hold on tight!” You warn before running your way through the narrow foam tunnels. Your flare gun manages to scare the little toys that come across your away and gives you a dim light source in the abyssal darkness the Playground was.

You slide down one of the three slides you are offered, and keep running as you can.

And then you see it.

A platform to the surface.

You only have to make a purple hand jump to get there.

The GrabPack was made for only one person, though. Would you be able to make it?

Only one way to find out.

“Be ready!” You shout as you run at full speed, gaining momentum.

'Wait— nononO ANGEL WAIT—' You hear him yell in a panicked tone, but you don't slow down.

With a leap of faith, you press the pressure plate with the purple hand and the world slows down.

For a second, you’re suspended in the air with Dogday’s arms around you firmly, and on the next, you and your companion crash on the platform so hard it knocks the air out of both of you.

You quickly press the button for it to go up before collapsing. Seems like Dogday had let go of you once he saw you’d make it.

You pant in exhaustion, the adrenaline washing off now that you’re somewhat safe. The back of your hand rests on your forehead, your eyes closed to prevent the artificial light from entering your retinas.

You did it.

You hear a deep, husky laugh not far away from you, and you laugh along with him.

You did it!

You managed to save someone!

You two laugh together in a manic manner as the platform lifts you two to the surface level of Playcare.

You’d think what to tell the others once you’re there. For now, you’ll enjoy this short moment of bliss with your new friend.

[laokim]

I AM

Your consciousness, the I AM, is the only door through which anything can enter your life. Stop searching for signs to guide you; signs follow your faith, they don't precede it. Begin to reverse the old belief of "seeing is believing" to "believing is seeing." Start now to believe, not with a wavering faith based on misleading external evidence, but with a firm and unwavering confidence in the unchangeable law that you can become what you desire to be. Soon, you will discover that you are not a victim of fate, but of your own faith.

What you seek in life can only manifest through one door: the door of consciousness. That door is the I AM. You must be conscious that you already are and have what you desire, because any attempt to achieve your dreams without passing through the door of consciousness is like robbing yourself. What is not felt cannot be natural. Before anything manifests, God, the I AM, must feel that desire; only then does the felt desire materialize. It has risen, born from nothing.

The I AM is rich, poor, healthy, sick, free, or imprisoned, but it always was, first and foremost, an impression or feeling before becoming a visible reality. Your world is the reflection of your consciousness. Do not waste your time trying to change the external; instead, change your interior, change your impressions, and the external will adjust itself. When you understand this truth, you will know that you have found the lost word, the key to open every door. The I AM, your consciousness, is the magic word that became flesh, manifesting as that which you are conscious of being.

[ykscarlett]

headcanons || valeria garza || pt.1

warning: this is only my opinion about her!!, minors dni, a slight mention of smut, lesbian relationship, a little bit angst ig, grammar, if I missed something, please write to me about it.

a/n: the first post. I'm really looking forward to your opinions and reblogs.

copying, translation, and use hc without my permission is prohibited & ykscarlett only on tumblr

with love, scarlett

My headcanons about Valeria (without mentioning revealing her as ‘el sin nombre’ and meeting with Ale) + bonus "if you are finally in a relationship with Valeria."

A former officer of the Mexican Special Forces, and now the leader of a criminal cartel, can show feelings? Can she be gentle to someone? Seriously?

Or maybe to lo– no, not to love, but rather, it's very good to improvise that she feels something for her partner, because she is very good at pretending. Too good, I'd say.

Love is something unknown to her.

Something that she failed to feel both as a child and in adulthood.

Something forbidden.

Something that she is deprived of and that she will never feel.

Let's be honest, she won't be able to love someone.

But I'm not saying she doesn't need love.

She didn't read the romantic books that all her girls-classmates flowed from. (and yes, her parents forced her to get a good education first, and then go into the military)

She didn't date anyone from school, while other girls switched boyfriends.

She realized that she was attracted to girls only at sixteen, when a pretty stranger in a club kissed her.

And she always used girls only to satisfy her pleasure. Of course, there are hints of sadism in her, after all, she personally tortures all her prisoners, but sexually there is a difference.

She will never cause real pain.

It can humiliate you, it can turn you into a wet, whimpering mess, it can make you faint from the pace and overexcitation, but it will never hurt if we engage in intimacy with you.

Well. In her opinion, love is overrated. This feeling is nothing more than a facade of a person's emotional weakness. And Valeria cannot allow herself to be weak in something, and especially towards someone.

But if you ask her "What is love for you?", I think she will answer something like this: "It's hard to explain.. it can mean something different to everybody. It's a feeling, a connection between people. A desire to protect someone more than yourself, and to be there for each other, no matter what. And it can be an incredibly powerful force, one that can change the world and bring people together in unexpected ways. For some, love is simply a chemical reaction, a biological instinct driven to perpetuate and propagate our species. And for others, it's a mystical concept that transcends time, space and logic."

She was definitely not in a real healthy relationship, I guarantee you that. And there's not much time for love when your life is constantly under threat. She had many affairs with girls and women, several with men (there were only two of them, the first was a trial, the second was proof that the opposite sex had no chance with her; and no, she did not date Alejandro, if they were together, Mexico would be on fire)

She's in the drug trade, man. This is unacceptable to me, drugs are evil, but in the case of Valeria... I do not know how to justify this, it is unacceptable to me.

She's a first-class manipulator. She can achieve absolutely anything she wants, only if she really wants to. Single–mindedness is another important character trait of hers. She will use any goals and any connections, any ways and break any rules to get what she has in mind... Or who.

But Val is not as bad as you think, I'm describing her. I think she just won't let herself fall in love. She's afraid of hurting someone she loves...to whom she will get attached because of her activities. She is engaged in criminal cases and every night she falls asleep (if suddenly, thank God, she gets the opportunity) with the thought "will I survive tomorrow?".

She's being hunted. Many. She runs a huge drug cartel, makes big deals, runs criminal gangs... Another reason to be alone and sometimes ask an assistant to order a little fucktoy.

But what if you win her heart so that she practically forgets about all her principles?

Bonus.

How you got to her, decide for yourself, whether it's captivity, recruitment or your own decision. There are many options.

At first, she will deny feeling for you.

Literally.

She will try to avoid you everywhere and in everything, she will start talking even colder, but she will surreptitiously watch you and with her own hands she will take care of that bully who is part of her cartel to show him that it is better not to even talk to you, let alone touch your waist. I don't think I need to say that the next day, and in fact, he will never appear in this building.

Initially, she will be a 'secret' lover. She will show signs of attention, but as imperceptibly as possible and goddamn you will understand that this is her, this is a woman who has not been trained in anything.

You will hook her, most likely, not with beauty, but simply with yourself. Time is important for Valeria, if it does not concern one-night stands. Time to take a closer look, time to realize, time to fall in love, time to come up with a way to confess, time to try to forget you, time to realize what really is...fuck..fell in love.

She notices the little things.

She is very attentive and sometimes it's even creepy. She notices if you have eaten before she sends you to transfer the goods, if you have not eaten, then she will send one of her assigned ones along with a package of typical goodies. She notices you drawing little drawings in the margins of your notebook while she talks about upcoming deals. She notices that a patch has appeared on your index finger, apparently you accidentally cut yourself with a knife again, imagining yourself *some famous chef* and be sure that there will be a pack of patches and one flower on your bedside table.

Valeria has never liked flowers. But for your sake, she became addicted to the colors of red. Red...as blood...and even here she went crazy. In my opinion, she would always give a long red rose with uncut, sharp thorns.

Without noticing it, she becomes softer towards you than towards her other 'employees'.

Since she is a woman with money, she can pamper you with gifts that you have been dreaming about for a long time, and the cartel's personal courier will say that it is from an old relative/aunt/former classmate/fourth cousin on dad's sister's side.

Okay, let's move away from the period of easy falling in love and move on to some of the facts that await you in a relationship with her.

Her gentle nature may or may not reveal itself. She can gently kiss your lips and easily cover your entire neck with bruises, which is why you get sidelong glances from your teammates and an arrogant look from V. She can gently and slowly play with your pussy, treating it like a crystal vase, or she can spank your pussy, bite your hips until red stripes appear and fuck hard with a strap-on.

Speaking of the latter, she doesn't have many. One is standard, one that you can safely accept and enjoy it, the second is an ordinary dildo with protruding parts and the third is a long one if you've done something and she can't wait to vent her disappointment on you.

Before entering into an intimate relationship with you, she will definitely discuss what is acceptable for you, what is not and what is categorically not. This is another manifestation of love on her part.

If you return wounded after the mission, she will swear at everyone and take you to her office, where, cursing menacingly, she will begin to treat your wounds, after which she will gently kiss each one, as if taking all the pain for himself.

Another bonus.

A few days ago, she asked you to sleep with her. Of course, you agreed, and a few minutes after her proposal, you were lying on her chest in her big bed, in which she practically does not sleep, because sitting on a chair is more familiar to sleep and she stroked your hair. She can't help but wonder why she's showing such tenderness to you. Her brain tries in every possible way to reason with her, to return her to her usual cold and inaccessible lifestyle, to her comfort zone. But she moves away from these thoughts to thoughts of you, who is peacefully snuffling on her chest like a child.

Grinning at the comparison of you with a child, she pretended not to think about how just yesterday you sucked on her tits, sucking them to such an extent that your drool flowed between her large and soft breasts, continuing to stroke your head and occasionally kissing your forehead.

///

But she was gone for a long time last night. She's back in her office. You knew that for sure. Before your relationship, you often ran to her about assignments and even late at night she was always there.

So you got out of bed, wrapped yourself in a blanket, put on your slippers and went to her office. You knocked.

"Busy." Her menacing voice rang out.

She's unhappy about something, you thought, and whispered. "Valeria? May I?"

When she heard your voice, she froze in place and only after a few seconds shouted, "Come in, cariño."

You went inside and sure enough, Garza's desk was filled with papers, empty coffee cups and wrappers from her favorite candies. I'm sure she has a sweet tooth. It sounds silly, but I think it's almost the only thing that will make her smile out of pleasure, not disgust or something like that.

"Can't you sleep without me?" She replied sarcastically.

"Yes." You answered quite seriously and she understood it.

She patted her knees and said meekly, "Come here, dulzura."

When you sat down and put your arms around her neck, resting your head on her shoulder, she leaned her ear against the top of your head and put one arm around your waist, continuing to work with documents.

"Sit here for now. I'll be done soon and we'll go to bed, I'll take you to bed. Sleep well...mi pequeña princesa."

covers: https://pin.it/5K9iR3NJ7

the meanings of some words in Spanish:

cariño - darling

dulzura - sweetness

mi pequeña princesa - my little princess

[zeestarfishalien]

(In)evitable

[DPxDC Week Day 6: Dan Phantom // Ghost King Danny // Lightning]

•No ships and no warnings on this one

The music coming from Phantom’s belt was uncharacteristically bright against the way that his face paled to an icy white.

The Bat was first to respond.

“Phantom, what’s going on?”

Phantom actually fumbled a little as he dug a non-league communicator out of his belt and silenced it. He didn’t look at the screen, which meant the music chosen was for a specific warning.

“A zone problem.”

But Superman and others with enhanced hearing caught the barely there breath of a word, “hopefully.”

“We can send some back up with you,” Wonder Woman offered.

“No.” He said it too quickly and seemed to realize it because he added, “no, it’s all good guys. I’ve got this. It’s no big deal, really.”

That last statement was a lie and they all knew it. Phantom winced as he realized it.

“Phantom, we are fully equipped to help you wi-“

“I said, no.” There was a cold authoritative tone to his voice as Phantom’s eyes flashed blue. “Not for this. Never for this.”

With that, Phantom did something he rarely ever did near them, he ripped a hole in the fabric of reality and left via the bleeding green portal. It closed behind him with a snap only leaving behind a few drops of ectoplasm that quickly dissipated.

The room, full with a number of Earth’s heroes, remained uncharacteristically silent.

“Captain Marvel, keep an eye out for signs of Phantom’s return,” Batman ordered.

“Got it.”

~•~

There were no signs of Phantom for almost 3 days.

Late on the third day the JL Threat Watch reported a sighting of him in the sky over Chicago. He and a ghost in a similar outfit fought in the sky, breaking holes in two skyscrapers and several big chain grocery stores before Phantom threw the other ghost higher in the sky. He took off after and neither were seen in Chicago again.

It takes another 12 hours before they can track down Phantom’s whereabouts. He’s still fighting the same ghost.

They look similar. It’s impossible to deny the similarities even while the other ghost is far more bulky than the lanky 20-something Phantom.

Both are bleeding ectoplasm and looking worse for wear.

It’s Captain Marvel who’s first on the scene and prepping to join Phantom but it’s the other ghost that spots him first and a malicious grin splits his face.

“Perfect,” he says. Marvel stops in his tracks mid-air suddenly uncertain. The gods are dead silent.

Faster than Marvel can track, the ghost is in front of him with an arm halfway in his chest.

“HALT.” The words vibrate Marvel’s bones and obviously they’re affecting the strange ghost because he’s unmoving and looking very confused about it.

“Cap, get out of here. Keep everyone away. He will try to kill or use any heroes and villains that come within our radius.” Phantom’s voice is normal again and in that forced calm tone that people use when they don’t want people to freak out during a life or death situation.

Marvel doesn’t argue. He knows that look in Phantom’s eyes and he’s not about to test the truth in his words without more protection.

~•~

Dan is fighting the command for all he’s worth and Danny eases up on it without verbal confirmation. Marvel is gone. He’s safe for now and Danny has just laid out his trump card.

Dan slowly turns to face him.

“What was that?” He snarls. Danny wonders how Dan managed to go his whole life without knowing about or waking Pariah Dark.

“What do you think?” He’s not about to tell the man.

“How did you command me like that?” He’s seething mad and Danny doesn’t want to tell him but he’s pretty sure Dan will just run off to hide out if Danny refuses to give him anything.

“I’ve achieved something you never even thought of. Guess you’re not as inevitable as you thought.” He cant help letting his facade of uncertainty fall away.

“How.” It’s a demand, not a question.

“You cannot disobey your king’s order,” he says calmly and watches with faint amusement as Dan goes through shock and then what seems like the five stages of grief.

“You must challenge me for the throne in order to stand a chance against me.”

“You were playing with me this whole time…”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t make sure you had all the information,” Danny says as he allows the zone to flow into him and replenish his stores of ectoplasm. His wounds seal back together like they were never there while Dan watches with increasing rage.

“Why you little…” His breathing turns ragged and Danny can almost see steam pouring from his ears. “I challenge you then.”

Danny doesn’t wait for Dan to attack first. His shot misses but that’s not what matters; it’s not giving Dan a moment to think and gather his strength. Dan doesn’t know the implications or the rules. Dan doesn’t know the game like Danny does.

And it shows pretty early on in their duel. It’s frowned upon for the king to just outright squash anyone that goes against their rules. It’s frowned upon to order by compulsion unless in dire circumstances (protecting Captain marvel). It is seen as sporting to play fight with one’s subjects and to not take that fight too seriously unless the subject goes too far. And finally, all bets are off as soon as one challenges the king. Danny’s magic won’t work on Dan for the duration of the duel but no one will be locking him up in a coffin of forever sleep for putting the beat down on his alternate self.

So the fight is a lot more one sided but it’s not until Dan goes looking for one of the living to hold hostage that Danny really cracks down with the one thing he knows Dan fears most (because he used to fear it too).

Lightning.

He calls the clouds and charges the air until he can pull the lightning how he sees fit.

The first strike zings by mere inches from Dan’s face. The big man can’t help the trembling his hands do but he spins to face the electrically charged Danny.

Electricity crackles through his frosty hair. Lightning isn’t exactly the most conducive for Danny’s Space Core but it’s something he mastered because he needed it not to be his weakness.

“Yield.” Dan’s jaw tightens and Danny can see the mutiny in his eyes. He lets more lightning strike behind Dan, making him jump.

“You are not inevitable. You are not me, not anymore,” Danny states firmly. He knows he’ll have hell to pay when the JL get to him after this but ancients does it feel good.

Okay this one was finicky with me so it’s not how I wanted it to go but imma just let it be. Tomorrow’s is a fun one. Another surprise one. I’m excited to share it when I finish.

[lauralot89]

Unapologetic Assholes and the Fans Who Love Them

(It's me, I'm the fans, it's me.)

Every child has a character they want to be when they're growing up. Whether it's because they love the character itself (Han Solo is the greatest) or because they want to be part of the character's world (who doesn't want to be a mermaid?), there's always some fictional person a kid would swap lives with in a heartbeat.

For me as a child, that character was Veruca Salt.

Now, Veruca Salt is a spoiled brat. She is THE spoiled brat. She has no redeeming qualities and if I ever met her in real life I wouldn't last five minutes without punching her in the teeth.

But I'd have given anything to be her.

Growing up autistic is growing up being wrong. You talk wrong, you laugh wrong, you interact with your peers wrong. You play wrong. Your interests are wrong and so is the way you talk about them. The things that upset you are irrational and insignificant and wrong. The bullying that other kids do to you isn't really bullying, you're just reacting wrong.

Everything about you and how you experience the world is wrong, and you need to get over it.

I couldn't even breathe without an adult jumping down my throat for how I did it, and I was undiagnosed, so I had no idea that there were others like me and I wasn't just some aberrant freak alone in the world.

But then there was Veruca Salt.

Veruca was never wrong. Even when she clearly was. Even when Veruca demanded the impossible, those around her bent over backwards to achieve it and fell over themselves apologizing when they couldn't. Veruca never apologized. Veruca always got what she wanted. She was like a cruel and angry god who only met her fate because she crossed paths with another god who was even more powerful.

And in the Oompa Loompas' song after she fell down the garbage chute, they didn't even blame her for her horrible behavior, by far the worst of any child in the factory. Even when she lost, she won.

I would have given anything to be Veruca, even if only for a day. To express myself without fear and without regard for everyone I was inconveniencing by being abnormal. The rush of that power would have easily carried me for the rest of my life.

And then I grew up, and there was Carla Rutten.

Carla is not only the greatest character in @itswalky's magnum opus, Dumbing of Age, she is also arguably the greatest character in the history of fiction.

Carla is a student at Indiana University. She's transgender and asexual, and in the hands of lesser writers this might lead to temptation to portray her as perfectly kind and moral and inoffensive, lest she be viewed as a negative stereotype.

Instead, Carla is loud, demanding, self-obsessed, and perfect in every way.

Carla refuses to reign herself in, even if it brings further bigotry and anger her way. She won't hold herself to a different standard than any other jackass.

And in the end, even if you hate her, even if you want her wiped from the face of the earth, that's still acknowledging her. And she's still won.

As an asexual ginger Hoosier I cannot even begin to express what Carla means to me and how thankful I am for her existence. There aren't words for how great it is that a character like this exists and is just allowed to be. Allowed to be as flawed and rude and funny and spoiled as anybody else.

More ladies need to be unrepentant self-absorbed jerks. It's a beautiful thing.

[fairestar]

“awakened imagination” by neville goddard · a summary

this post is the first of a forthcoming set in which i summarise and simplify neville goddard’s book “awakened imagination”. you can read the original here, and you can check other summaries here. please note this book is heavily reliant on his religion and, as much as i will try to make it as non-religious and simple as possible, there are still passages and comparisons that i can't take out without hindering neville words’ meaning. take these posts as if i were taking notes for future reference during class.

❁ chapter I : who is your imagination?

“imagination” is the kind of word that has been used for so long it has gathered plenty of different meanings, which often oppose each other: thought, hallucination, suspicion... neville identifies “imagination” with the power that makes achievement of our goals inevitable. there is only one thing in the world: imagination, and all our deformations of it. imagination is the very gateway to reality.

according to blake, man is only a natural organ subject to sense; the eternal body of man is imagination: god itself, the divine body. by imagination we have the power to be anything we desire to be; only as we live by imagination can we truly be said to live at all.

with this book, neville wants you to function imaginatively, to open your “immortal eyes inwards into the worlds of thought”, where you have all of your heart's desires ripe and ready to harvest. imagination is the hidden mystery from the ages, the hope of glory.

“every man is mary and birth to christ must give”.

imagination's birth and growth is the gradual transition from a god of tradition to a god of experience. if the birth of imagination in you seems slow it is because you are unwilling to let go of that comfortable, but false, grasp to tradition.

man is the garden in which christ —imagination— sleeps. man is awakened by his imagination getting lifted up to heaven and being made god-like. in the moment of awakening, he meets the test of sonship, of his imagination being christ: the forgiveness of sin (“sin” meaning failing to achieve one's aim in life, falling short of one's ideal; “forgiveness” meaning identification of man with his aim/ideal in life). this tests man's ability to inhabit the nature of his opposite (go from the state of the undesirable self to the state of the desirable self), to perform the work of an awakened imagination.

is imagination power sufficient to, not only enable us to assume, but to execute the idea too?

suppose i desire to be in some other place, but i lack the social and financial resources to do so; could i, just by imagining myself in such place, cause the physical realization? would only my imagination be sufficient to incarnate my desire? does imagination understand what is deducted from the senses? does it recognise the outer world?

suppose i am capable of sustaining the feeling of the wish fulfilled, of acting with continuous imagination; will my assumption harden into fact? and if it does, will i find that my actions throughout this period have been reasonable? after assuming that i already am that which i desire, must i constantly guide myself by “reasonable” ideas and actions so as to cause the fulfillment of my assumption?

the answer to all these questions is that an assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact; continuous imagination is sufficient for all things, all of our “reasonable” plans and actions won't ever make up for our lack of continuous imagination.

“imagine that you are and you shall be”.

truth depends upon the intensity of imagination, not upon external facts. you become what you imagine. you have a self-determined history. imagination is the truth, the life revealed.

but the thing is, we cannot get hold of truth with the logical mind (stop thinking and worrying about the how! logic does not come into play here, let it go, you don't need it), it cannot be enclosed by facts: as we awaken to the imaginative life, we discover that imagining a thing is to create it, that true judgement doesn't need to conform to the outer world to which it relates (this means, the truth doesn't always look the same as the 3D does at that moment).

the imaginative man does not deny the reality of the sensuous outer world (3D), but knows that the inner world of continuous imagination (4D) is the force by which the outer world comes to pass. he sees the 3D and all its situations as projections of the 4D. to him, everything is a manifestation of the mental activity present in his imagination, without the outer, reasonable man being aware of it. he knows that everyone must become aware of their inner activity, and the relationship between the inner and outer worlds.

the moment you discover that your imagination is god-like, you accomplish acts that can only be described as miraculous. but until you realise that everything you come across is part of yourself, you won't accept that you are the one that has chosen the conditions of your life, that they are in affinity to your mental activity. you must firmly believe that reality lies within you, not without; although others have bodies and lives of their own, their reality is rooted in you and ends in you.

it is a marvelous thing to discover that you can imagine yourself into the state of your wish fulfilled and escape the prison of ignorance. embrace this new knowledge and let go of your past beliefs for they're untrue. live in continuous imagination and make your desires come to pass.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ© fairestar, 2023.

[citronverveine]

xie lian and identity issues

this is something i'll probably want to expand on more as i give it more thoughts later but right now i'm just. thinking.

i'm thinking of xie lian in book 2 who has to realize that he is not as invicible as he thought. he is powerful yet he cannot do enough. he is not enough. he cannot save his country, he cannot help the common people, if anything he makes it worse.

i'm thinking of xie lian in book 4 who has to get used to a life with no title, no riches, no priviledge. he has to live as no one, and if people find him out he will not be celebrated like he used to be, he will be captured, beaten, or worse, who knows.

i'm thinking of xie lian after being stabbed 100 times, so disconnected from his destroyed body that he can't recognize himself. i'm thinking of xie lian becoming white no face, hiding his face and seeking revenge, turning his back on everything he was before.

i'm thinking of xie lian after wuming's death, after changing his mind and not cursing the Yong'an people but causing the death of his last believer in the process. the distance between what he would have wanted to be and what he ended up being, doing.

i'm thinking of xie lian in mount tong'lu learning about the past of white no face and starting to think they're the same person. thinking maybe he was the one doing all this. thinking this was all meant to be.

it's just, like. young xie lian was so ambitious, and rightly so; everyone told him he could achieve anything, be anything, he ascended so early, was so powerful and so loved so early on. he started high, only to jump from heaven and land terribly low, in a 6-feet deep hole, unable to crawl out of it. the distance between what he was and what he ended up as. i know the war took a couple years to end but the change was still probably very brutal for him.

especially during his first banishment. at first it could have been alright. he had his parents. he had feng xin. he had mu qing. everything was new and unfamiliar and wrong but he had them, he knew them, they were familiar at least. even if xie lian had failed they were still with him, they still loved him.

and then mu qing left. and xie lian's view of relationships started to shatter. and then he was against mu qing on the land of cultivation and he was the one being humiliated and rejected. and then he was losing himself with the stress of white no face, becoming crazy with anguish and despair. and he couldn't provide enough for his parents, and he was afraid feng xin would leave, and he couldn't recognize himself. how had he fallen so low? how had he failed so much?

and then the temple. he wanted to fight white no face, to get rid of him once and for all. but white no face broke him without even lifting a finger. he shattered his faith in the goodness of the world by showing him how cruel it could be. and afterwards...

just think. being tortured for a whole night, used by hundreds of people for their own benefit, left torn open and raw without care. but you heal and you recover and your body hides any trace of that event. did you really go through it? did it really happen? did it happen like you think it did? was it really that bad? was the pain that severe? your body hid it all. you'll never know. the only thing you have are you memories. but can you trust them?

anyway. after that, xie lian comes back to his parents and feng xin. he steals. he doesn't care. he's angry, he's raw, he's weak. feng xin leaves. his parents leave. he's alone.

he's completely alone. he doesn't even have himself anymore. his old self is dead, his old self was nothing, his old self was naive and stupid. xie lian trying to kill himself even though it's useless is symbolic of him completely leaving his old self with his parents and what was familiar, to become someone else entirely. to abandon this part of himself.

it's explicit as white no face that xie lian completely rejects his previous identity of crown prince and god. he does not want to be called that. he does not want to be reminded of it. he hates this past self so much that being associated to it makes him feel humiliated and ridiculed.

only that old part of him is not entirely dead. xie lian still hesitates, deep down, to release the spirits. a part of him still wants to believe. he wants to be proven wrong. he wants the world to give naive xie lian another chance. it's the bamboo hat man that does that for him.

i just think the distance between xie lian, his body, and his mind, is very interesting. i didn't mention how he is completely disconnected from his body even 800 years later because i feel like it's more dissociation from the self than an identity issue (struggling to connect your thoughts to your actions and/or associate them with your perception of self, or even simply not having any definite perception of self especially when you are traumatized) but. i'll definitely make a post about that some day.

that was a bit long but i just. wanted to put some thoughts down. thx for reading up til here ??

[ninchen1909]

Side by Side

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Warnings: Death, angst, fluff, best friends to lovers

Word count: ~2.800

 "Ivar, please think straight now. You cannot sail with Ragnar, you will die, he is no longer the great king everyone took him for. He has left you and your brothers alone for many moons, and you have always been loyal to him, always believing in his soon return. But he is no longer a warrior, he has lost his trust in the gods and they have lost faith in him. How can you still follow him like an orphaned dog?"

The steady sound of his crutches dies away as he drops into one of the wooden chairs. For the first time since he revealed to me that he wants to sail to England with his father, his eyes find mine. Ice blue gazes bore into my iris, making me forget to breathe for a few moments.

"(y/n), he is still my father...."

"Yes your father, the one who abandoned you and who now has to pay warriors to sail with him. Quite some time ago, it was everyone's greatest honor to go on plunder with your father, but those days are long gone. Your father's time is over Ivar, you are sailing to your certain death if you follow him."

Ivar's grip on his crutch tightens and I realize he is struggling with his anger. I am also aware that he would have killed, or at least maimed, anyone else who would speak of his father in such a way. But beeing best friends for many years, seems t to allow me certain privileges.

"(y/n)..."

"No Ivar, why are you so intent on sailing to England with him. You can make a name for yourself here and achieve great things. You can stay with me, we will find a way to bring you glory. Isn't it enough for you to be with me? A plunder in England, moreover without a proper army, is far too dangerous for a man like you..."

As soon as the last of these words leaves my lips, I realize that I have made a big mistake. Horrified, I clasp my hands in front of my mouth, my eyes widen in shock, and I watch tensely as Ivar stands up with the help of his crutch and stumbles a few steps toward me. The look in his eyes squeezes the air out of my lungs and I feel like I'm becoming a blood eagle myself.

"Ivar, please..."

"A man like me? What are you trying to say with that?"

"Ivar..."

"Shut up..."

Abruptly, I close my mouth and bury my teeth in my lower lip, the vile taste of iron spreading across my tongue.

"I really thought that at least you wouldn't see me as a cripple, that at least you...my best friend, the person I trust the most and who occupies the most space in my heart, would see me as more than a failed man."

Everything in me cries out to apologize, to tell Ivar that I didn't mean it, but the look in his eyes alone tells me all I need to know.

"And coming back to your question, no, being here with you is not enough. YOU are not enough."

I can literally feel the color draining from my face and I'm sure in that moment that a blood eagle wouldn't have hurt as much as his words. My lower lip begins to tremble suspiciously and my eyes fill with tears.

"Ivar...please...you don't mean that."

"I mean every word I said exactly as I said it..."

The coldness in his voice makes me shiver and the first tears fall from my eyes, tracing a fine trail down my cheek to my collarbone.

"....and now go, I don't want to see you anymore. And even if I die in England, it's better than living an insignificant life here with you."

After these words, he turns his back to me and I watch in despair as he disappears into the back rooms of the great hall. Loud sobs escape my throat and I feel my legs give way as I fall to the cold stone floor. My desperate sounds echo off the stone walls and I bury my head in my hands to avoid seeing anything. A few weeks later, the news of Ragnar's next great raid spreads through the streets of Kattegat. Again and again I try to talk to Ivar, to convince him to stay with me, or at least to be able to apologize so that we don't part in a quarrel. But each time I am met anew by one of his brothers, each of them desperately trying to explain to me that Ivar must do this to prove himself a true Viking. I know they are right, I know that Ivar desires nothing more than to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his father. However, this does not prevent me from caring for him. To be scared for him.

So it happens that a few weeks later I am standing on the dock and watching with eyes clouded over with sadness as Ivar ponderously makes his way to the ship. His gaze wanders again and again, searching, almost longingly over the crowd of people that has gathered on the pier. It gives the impression that he is searching for someone, as if he is on the lookout for someone. For a brief moment I hope that it is me he seems to be looking for, however, his words keep coming to my mind, deeply burned into my heart. Which is why I quickly banish the thought of him looking for me from my mind and push further into the background of the crowd.

My heart sinks as I watch the ships begin to move and Ivar moves further and further away from Kattegat and therefore away from me, unsure of whether we will ever see each other again or if the news of Ivar the Boneless's death will soon haunt Kattegat.

Many moons pass, the pain in my heart seems to consume me, every day I wake up hoping that things would get better, easier. But rather the opposite is the case, every day I send pleading and begging to Odin, promising him a great sacrifice, all so that Ivar, my Ivar returns safe and sound. Even if he will not speak a single word to me in his entire life, I still want him to return in one piece.

Winter is approaching Kattegat in great strides, the few things that grow here have already been harvested and everyone is diligently preparing for the impending cold that will soon come over Kattegat.

Light sweat forms on my forehead as I throw the last ingredients for my stew into the large cast-iron pot in the center of my hut. The warmth spreads comfortably as the open fire casts mysterious shadows through the cabin.

I wince abruptly as a loud, muffled knock shakes my front door, puzzled as to who would be disturbing me at this late hour, I don't move from the spot.

"(y/n) it's me....please open the door."

A soft gasp escapes my lips as I move with quick steps to the door, a loud noise ringing out as I let it crash backwards against the wall. But all this could not be more irrelevant to me at this moment. Eyes widening, I look at the hunched person in front of me, half his weight propped up on my door frame, while his other hand holds a tight grip onthe crutch next to him.

"Ivar..."

My emerging joy however is quickly shattered by the sight of him, swollen, heavily reddened eyes staring back at me, making the blue of his eyes shine even more strongly. His whole form seems to have fallen apart, deep worry lines run through his beautiful features. At this moment, he looks like a broken man.

"May I come in?"

His broken voice startles me out of my dull thoughts and I take a step to the side, nodding to give him enough room.

With a loud sigh, he lowers himself onto the wooden bench next to the fire, for a moment closing his eyes in pleasure as the heat of the flames caresses his skin. Silently I watch him for a moment, soaking up the sight of him, trying to make my heart understand that he is really sitting here in front of me.

"Would you like something to eat? I put on some fresh stew."

His silent nod is answer enough and just a few minutes later, I fill two wooden bowls full of stew before holding one of them up to Ivar. He accepts it with a grateful smile and sinks the first spoonful into his gullet.

An awkward silence spreads between us, the quarrel before his departure still hanging over our friendship like a test of endurance, unspoken questions on my tongue but not daring to leave my lips. The sound of wood on wood startles me from my thoughts, and I watch as Ivar sets his bowl down on the floor in front of him before rubbing his hands together in a warming motion.

"Thank you."

Noisily, I swallow my bite before replying.

"You're welcome."

Briefly, an uncomfortable silence threatens to fall over us again, but Ivar breaks it faster than it could have spread.

"My father is dead."

With a loud noise, the bowl slips through my frozen fingers, the stew spreading at my feet, seeping into the spaces between the wooden boards on the floor.

"Ivar..."

"My father is dead."

A glazed expression enters his eyes and only a few seconds later the hut is filled with Ivar's sobs, his whole body is shaken with sobs and he buries his head in his hands.

 It takes a moment for me to really process his words, for their meaning to really settle into my inner being. With careful steps, I move toward the man in front of me and carefully place my hands on his shoulders. A silent cry escapes me as he pulls me onto his lap without warning and buries his face between my breasts. Without thinking about it for long, I begin tenderly stroking through his full, brown hair. The individual strands glide gently through my fingers, leaving a pleasant feeling on my skin. Again and again I whisper words of encouragement in his ear, but even when his body has calmed down and his breathing seems even again, he doesn't even think about loosening his grip on my body or putting distance between us.

Only when the fire is extinguished, and the cold has returned to the hut as the darkness is broken only by the few candles that I have lit, I lean back a little, causing his face to slip from my chest with a discontented sound.

A mixture of sadness and weariness lie in his eyes, any radiance gone from them as he presses into the motions of my hand almost longingly.

"When's the last time you really slept?"

A worried expression comes to my face as a guilty glint flits across his features.

"It's been a while."

With a careful movement, I rise from his lap, careful not to break his vulnerable bones.

"Let's make sure you get some sleep this night then."

 A short time later, we are now lying pressed tightly together in my narrow bed. What gave me a sense of security and friendship back when I was a child now comes with a fast-beating heart and an unfamiliar blush to my cheek. But Ivar doesn't seem to feel any different.

"It's been some time since we've been in the same bed together," he says.

"Yes, the last time was when we were children."

A hotter laugh escapes his throat.

"Yeah, everything was easier then..."

His words just a whispered sentence, soon lost in the darkness of the room. Silence overtakes us and for a few moments I think that Ivar has already fallen asleep. But the sudden emergence of his voice proves me wrong.

"I want to apologize...for everything I said to you back then. You were, are and will always be the most important person in my life. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't."

His words send a warm shiver through my body, a pleasant warmth spreads in the pit of my stomach, and a wide smile creeps onto my lips.

"An apology from Ivar the Boneless. Thank you gods for letting me live to hear this."

"If you tell anyone, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you."

The joking undertone of his voice elicits a bright laugh from me and I search for his with my hand, carefully sliding my fingers between his and then interlocking them together. Tentatively, Ivar begins to draw delicate patterns on the back of my hand with his thumb.

"You know what was odd?"

"What?"

Asking, I turn my head toward the sound of his voice.

"During all that time, even when we were in captivity and my father's fate had been sealed. I could only think of you. At the time when it was not clear whether I could ever again perceive the bustle and smell of Kattegat, I could only think of you. Your face, your laugh, the way you squinted your eyes when I tried to explain something to you, your stubbornness, your gentle fingers running through my hair...it was all I could think about. I hated myself for not saying goodbye to you, that the last words I said to you were not the loving, tender words you deserved, but  the words of a scared little boy..."

"Ivar...."

With a jerky movement I sit up and look down at him . The light from the candle on the nightstand casts a, warm orange glow on his face, making his skin glow and his eyes sparkle.

"Please let me finish. I don't know if I'll ever be able to muster the courage again, if not now...."

A silent nod from me is all he needs in response, as all at once he lifts our still joined hands to his lips, leaving a tender kiss on each of my fingertips before continuing.

"...With each night that I have not been able to be close to you, I have come to understand the real reason why you can upset me so, why only your opinion matters to me, and why your doubts about me and my manhood, my ability to plunder have hurt me so deeply..."

"Why?"

My voice is just a hotter whisper as I wait in anticipation and excitement for his next words.

"Because I love you. Because the stupid crush I had on you as a child has turned into a real, true love."

Tears of emotion rise in my eyes and run down my cheek in hot, salty trails.

"Ivar..."

"I love you (y/n), so much."

My incredulous laughter fills the darkness and I can't help but bridge the distance between us, pressing my lips to his, lit by the candlelight. A surprised sound escapes him before he joins in my steady movements and returns my caresses.  Our lips mould together and moving in perfect harmony. A hot gasp escapes his lips, swollen from kissing, as I finally break away from them. He lovingly strokes individual strands from my face before letting his cool hand rest on the overheated skin of my cheek. Amazement and joy are clearly readable from his eyes.

"Does that mean....?"

"I love you too Ivar..more than you can imagine." With a loud, hearty laugh, he wraps his arms around my body and pulls me onto his torso. I can feel his pronounced abdominal muscles clearly through my thin sleeping robe as he does so, his body heat surrounds me and again and again I noticed how he presses tender kisses on the crown of my head.

My head, meanwhile, rests on his chest, the steady sound of  his heartbeat calming my senses and allowing an inner peace to settle over my body.

"I will go back to England to join my brothers in revenge for our father's death."

I can clearly feel his body tense beneath me after those words, much like he's afraid of my answer. Which I can't blame him for after our last argument.

"I know. And this time, I'll go with you. Side by side"

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 1

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; some swearing, mentions of wounds & medical stuff, dottore warning (?) he doesn’t exactly do anything but y’know- it’s dottore, sort of proofread

note ; i am so scared, i’ve never posted anything like this on tumblr or at all LMFAO this is my first fic ever and very self indulgent. ive already posted 5 chapters of this on ao3 but i was curious as to how the tumblr ajax kissers would react to it. im sorry if this sort of info tab isn’t very descriptive, im just basing it off what i’ve seen from the viewer’s perspective.

ALSO, for context- tetya= aunt and dyadya= uncle in russian!

constructive criticism is appreciated!

next part | masterlist

“hey, watch your step! snow’s gotten harder and slippier these days…”

“yes, sir!”

“yes, father!”

just as the warning rings out, it’s followed by the dry crunch of heavy boots against snow. it’s not the same soft sound as it was a month or so ago, rather it sounds almost as if the ice gnashes aggressively at the leather boots.

it gnaws at your ears painfully, though you’ve been sensitive to such sounds for as long as you could remember, yet you still flinch.

ajax notices right away. he always does.

“here,” he goes, the cloud of his warm breath visible. turning your head toward the boy, you see that he’s handing you his earmuffs.

a sheepish grin invades your lips as you wordlessly take him up on his offer. mind rid of the god awful crush of the snow, you come up with a brilliant idea.

“last one there’s a rotten catch!” you charge onwards with a laugh.

“ah, n-not again!”

ajax’s father only watches from behind as his son hurries to catch up, a defeated sigh leaves him. “these kids…”

said kids were already reaching the lake clearing at that point. the frozen water already has its own layer of fresh-fallen snow, making it seem like an entire new tundra- that is, until you and ajax brashly create footmarks and snow angels on the surface while his father is still yet to catch up. if he’d been closer you would’ve heard the old man’s grumbles about having to carry all the fishing gear.

thankfully, there were no rotten catches that day.

your best friend’s laughter and your very own echo in your head like bells in an empty chapel, uninvitedly. the entire memory is instead invited by the sight of a father on the street with his own children, he carries a bucket and fishing rods as the youngins run ahead excitedly. you conclude that you should’ve left for zapolyarny palace earlier today.

this morning cannot start off on a bad note, not when the doctor had meticulously scheduled an operation for this very day with your presence prerequisited.

you’re acutely aware of this.

you’re still acutely aware of this when you slam your work bag onto the desk with such force that even the fatui guard monitoring the palace hallway jumps.

and you’re still acutely aware of this when you almost bump into one of your boss’s segments on your way to the operation room, a most certain death that would be if you did bump into him. even as you break your stress fueled stride, the segment blocks the path forward.

“if i didn’t know any better, i would assume this is your first day on your first job. ever.”

you furrow your eyebrows confusedly while the segment coldly scrutinizes you top to bottom.

“even the lowliest of fatui recruits know that the first thing one should do after clocking in is get into the proper uniform.” he indicates with a snark in his tone.

ah- your lab coat.

“yes sir. my apologies.” with a haste in your step previously thought impossible to achieve without actually sprinting, you beeline straight to your office, which is conveniently on the other side of a very long hallway from the operation room. so long, in fact, that it gives enough time for a certain someone to slink into the office room without you even seeing it.

you don’t notice him even as you’re already inside the room. well, how could you with such tunnel vision, powered by your early-morning frustration and innate fear of disappointing the doctor. you’re practically out the door with lab coat in hand when he finally quips.

“uhm, doc?” the voice is shaky but still impossible to not recognize.

god dammit.

the tsaritsa was truly not on your side today. with a deep inhale, you do your best to keep a neutral expression as you turn around to face the head of red hair that haunts your dreams. or rather nightmares.

“how may i help you, lord tartaglia?” you still hated that title.

“well heh… this is the head nurse’s office, i believe you can help me by exerting the very function of this room?” the harbinger puts on a friendly front, acting like he can’t feel your burning glare. within it, you start to gauge at what’s brought him here, few surface-level scratches and even fewer cuts that are ever so slightly deeper present on him.

“i’m afraid i’m running late for an important appointment with the doctor, you’ll have to ask one of my subordinates.” you state matter-of-factly and start turning to leave again.

“w-wait, please!” he reaches out to stop you and the hand lands on your bicep, rather than your wrist which would’ve been a quicker latch. huh. “let me talk to him afterwards, he’ll understand. plus, i’m your boss as much as he is.”

“you’re quite literally not.”

“yeah, i’m not. still your boss though.”

childe is not of as high authority over you as the doctor is, afterall you’re one of the doctor’s assigned assistants, but the way he talks so casually and… playfully makes him seem even less bossy. but you don’t allow yourself anymore time to dwell on it, instead you roll your eyes and give in. your boss almost giddily sits on the examination bed.

the sterilized silk gloves slide snugly onto your palms as you look your patient up and down.

“how did you even manage to get yourself roughed up so early in the morning?”

“it’s never too early in the morning for a spar! though- hah… even i didn’t expect to take this many free hits.”

“who were you sparring?”

“eh, some junior lieutenants at the northwest wing. there were some new recruits there too so i figured i’d set an example for ‘em.”

northwest wing..? you visibly pause at the revelation.“that’s… on the other side of zapolyarny palace.”

“so?”

“so there’s nurses there too.”

childe himself seems to pause then- you were catching onto him. he realizes he must think about his next actions as carefully as humanly possible.

“ahah… a-are there?”

good one, ajax.

you look down at the alcohol-soaked cotton ball sitting snugly between your tweezers and then up to a scratch right above childe’s eyebrow- seems like the perfect time to treat your patient. the sting comes before the harbinger can even react and much to his dismay, you keep the cotton ball on his forehead even as attempts to lean away from it.

“childe tartaglia,” you start, voice menacing and low. “did you orchestrate a sparring session with low-rank officers and get yourself injured on purpose to come see me?”

“a-ah ouch!” childe hisses. “surely you w-wouldn’t commit medical malpractice over something as trivial as this?” clearly he forgets who you work for, or pretends to at least.

“start talking.”

“okay, okay! yes, i did all that…” the red head sulks with a defeated sigh. pleased by the confession, you move away with your alcohol cotton ball of doom and give him space.

you watch the tsaritsa’s weapon of war crumple into himself, looking off into a meaningless corner of the room.

“i… i’m being stationed to liyue tomorrow.” his voice is entirely different from what it was when this entire ordeal began- quiet, hesitant.

“and?” is your response before you can even think about how douchey it sounds. it’s already too late when you see childe deflate even more and feel like you just kicked a puppy.

“and i wanted to come and give you the news.”

really? that’s all he wanted from this?

“then why go through all this effort of sparring newbies at practically the ass crack of dawn and lose? why not just come here and tell me at once?”

he scoffs bitterly. “like you’d talk to me under normal circumstances.”

the regret you were feeling from your cruel response from earlier quickly bleeds out into incredulousness.

“you haven’t talked to me under normal circumstances since we were fourteen.” you stab back and childe bites his tongue, he won’t retaliate this time. the rest of the appointment is spent in the deadliest of silences as you finish tending to his “injuries”. neither of you ever look up to face the other.

you pack up quickly as to haul ass from the office room as soon as possible. but not before you mutter stoically- “have fun in liyue.”

and childe is left to sit pathetically on the bed and contemplate his astronomical failure.

—

what a wretched week.

the days seem to take a thousand years each to end, the laboratory feels stuffier, the people less tolerable and you swear the pen in your hand feels heavier than a lead ingot.

“are you done sulking?”

oh yeah, there’s also the ruthless fatui harbinger you work under and the equally insulting bajillion copies of him. you know bajillion is a gross overestimation but you also gave up keeping track of how many segments the doctor has a long time ago, they’re bossy all the same.

“not sulking, sir, just… thinking.”

“thinking about the medical records you’re supposed to be overseeing surely?” he taunts and you can only scoff non-committedly.

said medical records were mere reports on several of the doctor’s past experiments and operations, arguably not worth such a commitment of your time or worth a hackling from your boss. either way the words and paragraphs had merged into blurred lines and incomprehensible messes in your eyes about ten minutes ago, you were only pretending to be doing something at this point.

the irresistible force of your boredom drives your gaze to anywhere but the papers in front of you, eventually settling onto a corkboard hung up on a farther wall of the doctor’s laboratory. tired retinas struggle to focus on the blueprints that are stuck onto the corkboard but they seem to have rough sketchings of… body parts? they’re definitely not human, no, instead the drawings indicate they’re robotical. on another blueprint is an unfinished rendering of the full robot body. the shape language is unconventionally stylized, to a point where they almost resemble traditional inazuman patterns or even… the patterns on scaramouches robes-

“l-lord dottore!! i have an u-urgent matter sent by lord pierro himself.”

huh?

“out with it. quick.” the segment doesn’t even bother to face the stammering officer that had bursted through the door right then.

“u-uhm… some of our liyue informants have reported t-that rex lapis suddenly p-perished during the rite of descension,”

huh?

“rex lapis, dying? well,” he drawls amusedly. “that would certainly be a sight. but how exactly does this development concern me? is the banker not available?”

“w-well y-yes… lord pierro specifically requested for your word on the matter a-and perhaps see if one of your s-subordinates could… be on-site?”

dottore’s segment lets out an exasperated sigh while a gloved hand goes up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “unfortunately it doesn’t surprise me that the collective surplus amount of agents we have stationed in liyue harbor proves to be utterly incompetent to the point where the jester himself would come to me for help.”

a feeling of dread settles in your chest as you try to digest the insane information you’ve been given-

rex lapis, the oldest of the seven archons of teyvat, is dead.

pierro, the head of the fatui harbingers, is requesting dottore to send one of his subordinates to investigate the scene.

that’s you, you’re dottore’s subordinate.

which means you’ll be sent to investigate an archon’s death. in liyue.

that’s where he is.

your head feels like it’ll explode any second now. the segment, ever so brilliantly clever like his prime version, seems to have the same idea as you and beams a sharp-toothed sadistic grin.

“why my assistant here does seem to be available, wouldn’t you say?” he turns a serpentine stare over to you.

“err… i don’t think i could leave my post here, sir, i am the head nurse after all-“

“nonsense, i doubt the bumbling idiots of this palace will find themselves into anything more troublesome than a papercut while you’re gone.”

oh the irony of hearing that after your… situation the other day. you huff defeatedly, standing up to start packing for your impromptu trip. the mysterious blueprints in the laboratory long forgotten.

—

morepesok hasn’t changed a bit since you left.

which, as much as you love your hometown, isn’t saying much- morepesok is as uneventful as it gets. in such a small seaside snezhnayan village, the only points of interest are the painfully traditional values of fishing and family.

the visit to your parents’ house is brief but comforting, some teary goodbyes and heartfelt words about how pleased and proud they are of what you’ve accomplished for yourself- achieving such a high position in the fatui ranks by merely helping people. you don’t even consider telling them about the doctor.

but what makes you feel worse is the visit to ajax’s family home. it’s like the house has been frozen in time, the place where you spent years of your childhood is intact and unchanged- except for some newer family pictures, of course.

teucer, tonia and anthon are the ones to greet you first, then ajax’s parents come along. huh… ajax. you hadn’t even noticed the switch your brain does whenever you’re back home. here, he’s ajax but in zapolyarny palace, he’s childe or tartaglia. but there’s no time to dig yourself a deeper hole in that topic because you’re presently being pampered like a very own daughter of the house by his parents.

“my dear, look at you! you look so grown and mature… have you been eating well?” his mother walks up to cup your cheeks with the most genuine parental love. she, like the rest of the environment, looks exactly as you remember her, with a few newer white strands betwixt her bright orange curls. well, remember is a strong word.

“tetya, it’s only been a few months since we’ve seen each other, i’m all the same.” you laugh and she reciprocates.

“yes yes, i know… and- oh! as a matter of fact, we saw ajax just this week, said he was being transferred to a northland bank all the way in liyue!”

and when you thought you could not feel shittier about this.

“it is a shame to have our ajax so far from home so suddenly but at least we still have you, dearest!” she grins, pinching your cheek with more vigor than you’ve seen apparent in fatui sergeants.

“hey!” the three younger siblings call out in unison.

“yeah, a-about that, tetya…” you start hesitantly. “i’m… also being transferred to liyue. there have been some unexpected developments and i’ll just be on field to check up on things.”

ajax’s mother huffs incredulously. “by the tsaritsa’s name! they must hate mothers over at that palace!” she shakes her head with disappointment. “speaking of which, have you gone to see your parents yet?” you only nod. “good good… well anyhow, are you in a hurry, dear? i could make you some hot chocolate and then you’re free to be on your way.”

how could you ever deny your tetya’s hot chocolate?

the rest of your stay in the household is spent chatting with the family and playing games with the younger kids, as well as drinking a cup of hot chocolate so delicious you almost cry. the afternoon is nearing its end when you’re walking out the door and teucer is bawling his eyes out at your departure, or maybe he’s just tuckered out.

“have a safe trip, kiddo.” ajax’s father pats you on the shoulder firmly.

“thanks, dyadya, i will.”

“oh! and take care of ajax, make sure he doesn’t get in over his head.” this time it’s tonia who pipes up and the rest of the family nods in agreement.

“bye bye, everyone!” you’re already at the house’s front fence, waving back as fiercely as you can.

the only thing you don’t notice is the knowing look that is shared between tonia and her mother when she mentions ajax.

[ice-feast]

This episode has revealed that, yup, Jace is part of the Conspiracy of the season - but I don't think he's the mastermind behind it all. What would Jace gain from all this? His entire character is being chill. Why would he suddenly want responsibility? He intentionally teaches the subject with the least information to teach!

I don't think he's the mastermind.

I think it's Arianwen Abernant.

Ragh didn't just see Jace talking to Kalina. Arianwen was there too.

Everyone, including the Intrepid Heroes, is taking it for granted that Arianwen is still being chased around the Forest of the Nightmare King by a van with hands. But does the Forest of the Nightmare King still even exist? The forest of Sylvaire does, but Cassandra is no longer the Nightmare King. Her forest has become that soft twilit woods Kristen has visited a few times (and now contains a manticore). Even if Arianwen was meant to remain trapped in there (chased by a van with hands), Arianwen's punishment was hardly Cassandra's first priority. Getting new followers and not dying again was very much Cassandra's preoccupation. Arianwen could have escaped.

It's been a while since I watched Sophomore Year, but weren't the Abernants sent to Solace partially to separate Arianwen from her research into the Nameless Goddess? She could have learnt then that the Nameless Goddess had a forgotten wife. Anything the Bad Kids discovered could also have been discovered by Arianwen, an adult woman who didn't have the distractions of school and being a teenager taking her from her research.

What's more, wasn't Arianwen's motivation for helping the Nightmare King having him use his power for vengeance on Falinel? Falinel stripped the Abernants of their position and imprisoned Aelwyn. Arianwen cannot conceive of any of her actions being wrong. ("I was very warm and loving," she tells Adaine, the child she neglected and abandoned, without any trace of doubt. She also killed that guy to get into the Nightmare Forest, so we know she'll kill to achieve her goals, but tbh I find that less revealing than her reaction to Adaine's recounting of the abuse she's suffered.)

And now it's worse! She has no position of power, she has no magic, both her daughters turned on her, and one of those daughters punched Arianwen's husband to death. Isn't that unfair? Isn't that an injustice? Doesn't that make you angry?

If you fail to use one forgotten god in your revenge plot, you can always try again...

[stuckinapril]

Do you have any poetry recommendations? The poem poll made me realize that I like. ONLY know Iraqi poets. Like the only non-Iraqi poet I can name off the top of my head is Robert Frost

i'm literally hooked on poetry. even on days where i can't sit down to read a book, i try to consume at least one poem a day bc it keeps me sane. it actually does. i recommend signing up to one poem a day newsletters--those have been a game changer for me. as for recommendations, my favorite poems change every week, but current faves (whose authors i regularly go back to/are a good starting point) would be:

elegy for my sadness - chen chen (Who invented the word / “ennui”? A sad Frenchman? / A centipede? They should’ve never / been born. They should’ve seen me / in Paris, a sad teenage / exchange student. I was so sad / & so teenaged, one day my host sister / gripped my hand hard & even harder / said, SOIS HEUREUX. / BE HAPPY. & miraculously, / I wasn’t sad anymore. / All I felt was the desire to slap my host sister. / See, I was angry in Paris, which is clearly / not allowed. One can be sad in Paris (I was) / & one can be in love in Paris (I was not), / but angry? Angry in Paris?")

a pity, we were such a good invention - yehuda amichal ( "A pity / We were such a good / And loving invention / An aeroplane made from a man and wife / Wings and everything / We hovered a little above the earth")

like a small cafe, that's love - mahmoud darwish ("I say to myself at last / Perhaps she who I was waiting for / was waiting for me, or was waiting for some other man / or was waiting for us, and did not find him/me.")

bible study - tony hoagland ("Who knows, this might be the last good night of summer / My broken nose is forming an idea of what’s for supper / Hard to believe that death is just around the corner / What kind of idiot would think he even had a destiny?")

mother and child - louise gluck ("Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant? / Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us; / it is your turn to address it, to go back asking / what am I for? What am I for?")

america, america - saadi youssef ("We are not hostages, America, / and your soldiers are not God's soldiers... / We are the poor ones, ours is the earth of the drowned gods, / the gods of bulls, / the gods of fires, / the gods of sorrows that intertwine clay and blood in a song... / We are the poor, ours is the god of the poor, / who emerges out of farmers' ribs, / hungry / and bright, / and raises heads up high...")

the duino elegies (seventh elegy respectively) - rainer maria rilke ("Not only the devotion of these unfolded forces, / not only the paths, not only the evening fields, / not only, after a late storm, the breathing freshness, / not only approaching sleep and a premonition, evenings... / also the nights! Also the high summer nights / also the stars, the stars of this Earth! / O to be dead at last and know them eternally, / all the stars: for how, how, how to forget them!")

the endlessness - ada limon ("How was i supposed to feel then? About moving in the world? How could I touch anything or anyone without the weight of all of time shifting through us?")

psalm - adonis ("Open my memory and study my face beneath its words, learn my alphabet. When you see foam weaving my flesh and stone flowing in my blood, you will see me. I am closed like a tree trunk, present and ungraspable like air. Thus I cannot surrender to you.")

the war works hard - dunya mikhail ("The war continues working, / day and night. / It inspires tyrants / to deliver long speeches / awards medals to generals / and themes to poets / it contributes/ to the industry / of artificial limbs / provides food for flies / adds pages to the history books / achieves equality / between killer and killed / teaches lovers to write letters / accustoms young women to waiting / fills the newspapers / with articles and pictures / builds new houses / for the orphans / invigorates the coffin makers / gives grave diggers / a pat on the back / and paints a smile on the leader's face.")

[lains-reality]

"When we discover the concept of conscious manifestation, we immediately turn to our mind to help us conceptualise it. However, with our mind, follows the limits of logic and reason that we have grown up to filter our experiences through. We attempt to grasp a limitless concept in a limited framework, so of course it will seem difficult, strenuous, and confusing. When we rely so heavily on our logical mind, what we are inadvertently doing is trying to do is make the infinite a finite thing. We think that what we want, or who we want to be, is once again, an achievement. Something we must work hard for. We allow ourselves to be dictated by the limited, even after realising that everything is limitless. We are trying to understand one thing through the opposite of that thing." - Rethinking the Role of the Mind in Conscious Manifesting from i am love

these actions go beyond manifesting. you let the mind dictate everything. you let it control everything.

lester said "all thought is a thought of limitation."

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it can't access infinite intelligence. that's why it'll try to project into the future, and make plans. but it doesn't truly know. all it does is give suggestions based off the past.

it is a combination of identity based off feelings, thoughts and memories that is collected and turned into a habit.

let's do a thought experiment: think of another person, whose born in another city, with or without a religion, in another culture. think of the thoughts they're having. the memories. what they might feel. they're habits, tendencies, attachments, aversions. see how the mind is different. if the mind is easily swayed by CHANGE OF LOCATION then why would you see what it says as real??

it identifies as & goes off memories, even ones from when you were 4. stuff that's not happening NOW.

it identifies as & goes off feelings, which the story of it is used to judge or try to fix it etc.

it identifies as & goes off thoughts, which is just not a good idea lol.

it'll identify w/ the thought or feeling and create stories to go with it and judges itself on whether its 'correct' or whatever based on what it thinks it should be. it upholds itself, the image it thinks it has & the image it wants. it thinks its REAL. that's why when you, the observer, stop taking it so seriously, it disappears by itself. when you just watch the stories and not identify with it, then it leaves by itself.

all these memories, feelings, thoughts and subsequent stories create desires and fears. the mind will try and protect itself and plan for stuff, but it can't. because it's so limited in knowledge & power.

the last thing as to what it's made up of is beliefs, the beliefs you have are not organic. they are not generated by the mind alone. it's ideas from others. your parents shoved a bunch of concepts into your mind. these concepts have been passed down through generations. these concepts are extremely old. some relatively new. but not now.

all these concepts are the ones that have survived since the birth of humans. you are holding a part of 300k years worth of concepts. 300,000 year old concepts.

for the love of God (you lol) LET THEM GO