#he accepted and surrendered to the fall and learned from the experience

[mxmarsbars]

impulseSV has reached the goal [Postmortal]

[panlight]

also continuing off the Informed Traits discussion, just how much of Caslisle's compassion/kindness is informed? Bella and Edward both make it seem like he's this saintly figure and pillar of goodness, but then there's moments where he does things that make you wonder if the view on him is just really rose-tinted.

Again, going back on BD where he invites his friends to witness and doesn't seem to care that they're hunting humans just outside forks/la push and let's them stay even after already knowing what their presence triggers the tribe to phase, the book also reveals that he took Jacob's blood sample to study without his consent?? Like a lab experiment???? (I learned this through a post showcasing that part in the book) Also in a podcast I listen to that discusses the plot of MS, he apparently fakes being Billy's distant relative (impersonating an indigenous person uhhmmm 😬) and, well,,,, lets just say I can see why some people think that entire phone call just gave colonizer vibes. AND!!! didn't he drug a woman to steal their car and kinda doesn't react much when they caused a massive car pileup??

On the one hand i dont mind if it's meant to show us that even Carlisle's sense of morality is flawed, but between Bella's "the Cullens are good to the core" and every time Edward talks about him in MS, it's feels more to me like another unreliable narrator trope.

This one is harder for me because, see, I want the compassion to be real because I think the concept of a vampire blessed/cursed with Super Compassion is legit fascinating! As I've said about 23470234 times, my favorite aspect of vampire stories is how they become a vampire, how you cope, the choices you make, what you accept and what you deny about your new reality. The idea that for this one guy, becoming a vampire made him even more compassionate is just the kind of twist on it that I've never seen anywhere else and I think it's really interesting, actually. A dud of a superpower, sure; the innate push-pull of vampire instincts vs super compassion compels me, though.

But obviously I can see where it comes from that it could be an unreliable narrator thing or outright lie. Or at least a show vs tell problem where we're told he's compassionate but actions suggests otherwise.

I think it falls apart in two major ways:

The protagonist-centered morality. Everything in the story is about facilitating the E/B romance. Carlisle's alleged compassion can only help that, he can't hinder it. They HAVE to move back to Forks so the story can happen, he can't say "huh maybe it's NOT compassionate to move back to a place where people know what we are and are terrified of us." He can't refuse to drug the soccer mom because they have to save Bella! He can't object to having witnesses gather in Forks and force more teenage boys to phase and put humans at risk of being eaten because we have to save Renesmee! He can compassionately offer Bree surrender, but neither he nor Esme can do any more than that to try and save her, because that would complicate Bella's upcoming wedding. The Bella-centricity of it all sits like a supermassive black hole in the middle of the story, disrupting the orbits and bending the light of the other characters.

Carlisle can't be any more compassionate than his author, and that limits him. We had a fandom discussion about this a few years ago, but basically because SM doesn't see the problems with how the Quileute characters are treated in the story, none of the characters can, either. I remember calling it the moral version of how Alice is supposed to be a fashionista, but because SM doesn't really know anything about high fashion, there's a lot of 'tell' about her being this fashion icon but the actual show of clothes in the story doesn't live up to it. Or Carlisle himself -- he's supposed to be this genius doctor who has studied medicine and science for centuries, but SM isn't a doctor or a scientist, so some of the stuff she makes him say doesn't live up to the idea she planted. SM totally missed the settler-colonial stuff, the dehumanizing language, etc etc, so none of the characters, not even Compassionate Carlisle or Power-of-Heart Esme can.

tl;dr I like to think the compassion is real but hindered by the narrative insisting on prioritizing the love story AND Carlisle being unable to be more compassionate than his author. But that's because I WANT it to be real because I think the concept is really interesting, even if the execution is lacking. I don't need or want him to be Perfect or a Saint, and I'm sure existing as a VAMPIRE of all things would naturally come into conflict with compassion all the time (examples in the book is him not wanting to kill James and it leading to the extended hunt instead; offering surrender to Bree but knowing if he goes against the Volturi they could kill the whole family; telling Sam in BD that this isn't his fight and 'don't get your family slaughtered for pride,' even as Sam insists they have to be there for Jacob and Jacob has to be there for Nessie [blargh].) and that struggle and how he deals with it when he's in a situation with no Compassionate choice is available would be great. Even that car chase in Midnight Sun could maybe work if the story gave Carlisle any room to protest until Alice insists it's the Only Way!!!! or whatever, and some follow up where like oh huh weird some random charity swooped in to pay all the medical bills of everyone involved in the pile-up and bought them all new cars. If Edward, Jasper, etc can't turn off their gifts, Carlisle shouldn't be able to either, even when being forced into uncompassionate actions. But SM doesn't care. She only cares about Carlisle, let alone his compassion, inasmuch as she needed a kindly father figure to set up the vegetarian vampire thing and for Bella to have a convenient doctor.

[wordpress-blaze-36010151]

I am a Failure

Recently, I have been contemplating failure and its spiritual dimensions. In large part, this is because failure’s counterpart, success, is such a strange thing to pin down. I think Daniel Berrigan was onto something when he referred to success as being a weasel word and horribly American. But this recent contemplation of mine is also because, by all accounts, Jesus of Nazareth was a failure as well. Certainly, he had the makings of a successful person, but in the end, he died scandalized and humiliated on a Roman Cross.

As I was recently reminded at a gathering of Lutherans, many are certainly happy to celebrate Jesus becoming a failure for us, but those qualities that brought him to a Roman cross seem to be overlooked for the systematic nature of Paul’s letters. At times, I am not so sure what to make of this dynamic, because when Jesus’ words are referenced, they are just as quickly taken out of context.

It might seem strange that I am writing about failure, given my background as a pastor and professor with a Ph.D. I think I would be considered a “success” by some. However, in a very real sense, I don’t know what to do with such a judgment. Not because I am against being considered a success, but because there is so much more to me than just these things. There are many places where I might be deemed a failure. I resigned from a reputable pastoral position in part because of interpersonal dynamics, I struggle with OCD, I can certainly worry about the most ridiculous things, and I can be harsh and impatient. My successes can all too easily cover up my failures or, in another very real sense, my humanity. However, what strikes me through all my experiences is that it is in the failures and the struggles that the gold is found. After all, Christians believe that one man’s failure is what saves us from our sins.  

Recently, I read a great interview with theologian William T. Cavanaugh concerning success and failure. In the interview, Cavanaugh explains how, when it comes to positions of power and our desire for them, we rarely ask or consider how the position might change us. Rather, we often view it in the opposite direction, with a very individualistic lens, on how we can change the world through our position. I thought this was such a powerful insight, as we tend to approach the world around us in such ways when, in all actuality, the world around us influences us far more than we influence it. And really, wasn’t that the struggle of Jesus of Nazareth, not succumbing to the influence of the world? Satan tempted him with the very things that make for a successful person: power, prestige, and security, and certainly, no cross. Peter rebuked him over all his cross talk. And certainly had Jesus been more agreeable, he could have found a seat at the table of his enemies, the Pharisees. Yet, the ultimate symbol of failure lay ahead of him for all to see. I suppose we can say that such is what happens when one does not seek success, but instead faithfulness to the ways of God – failure.

Source: I am a Failure

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

What does alien an Harry think of Valentine’s Day?

He spends a whole day researching Valentine’s Day and when Y/N gets home, she’s fiddling with the keys to open the door when it suddenly unlocks and swings open on its own. Harry’s standing there, a bouquet of flowers tagged with a handwritten note in one hand, a huge tray of her favorite chocolates in the other, holding the gifts out like trophies as he smiles at her excitedly, though she can see nerves flicker across his face for a split second.

“Happy Day of Saint Valentine!”

She presses her lips together to suppress laughter, correcting him gently as she steps inside their apartment and shuts the door behind her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Right. Sorry.” His gaze darts between the presents he’d gotten her, suddenly more self-conscious than before. His words come out more rushed than he wants them to, spewing clumsily as his wits fail him for some reason, as if she’s not already his girlfriend. “Will you be my valentine? I got you some candy and the flowers with a letter. I mean, the note says what I just said outloud anyways, but that’s the human tradition, right? The letter? With the plants and the food? That’s what everyone was doing at the store, so I figured it was a safe option. The lady said roses were the most popular choice for— why are you laughing?”

Y/N can’t stop herself from bursting into giggles this time around— not in a mocking way, just a soft sound of endeared amusement. He’s now looking at the items in his grasp like grenades instead of trophies, extending them out from his body as far as possible in her direction, as if he’s scared she’ll reject them and they’ll explode in his face.

“Yes, that’s the tradition.” She accepts the flowers and Ferrero Rochers gratefully, admiring the cursive handwriting on the card that he’d clearly practiced just for this moment. She smiles up at him warmly, eyes brimming with fondness. “And absolutely, I’d love to be your valentine. This is so sweet of you, H. Thank you.”

Harry’s shoulders slump in obvious relief, one of his arms falling back to his side as he scratches the nape of his neck with the hand on the other. He’s still radiating anxious energy, as if waiting for her to tell him he did something wrong.

Y/N ducks her head and takes a whiff of the roses, humming appreciatively at the pleasant scent. She arches one of her eyebrows at him, her tone playfully accusatory. “I’m guessing you spent the whole day researching this, didn’t you?”

Harry’s ears turn as red as the bouquet in her hands. “No.”

Her eyebrow inches up further. “No?”

He sighs in surrender. “Maybe.”

“You’re adorable.”

His sculpted cheekbones blossom with color, matching his ears. “I just didn’t want to make a mistake and ruin it.”

Y/N leans forward onto the tips of her toes and plants a delicate kiss onto his twitching lips. “It’s perfect, baby. Best Valentine’s Day gift ever.”

Harry finally feels the churning in his stomach subside, her reassuring gesture funneling all the angst right out of his system. Adapting to human customs hasn’t exactly been a smooth transition for him— each time a new holiday comes up, his curiosity leads him into digging up every aspect of it, which could take him hours of concentration and memorization. It feels like learning to walk all over again.

It’s all so new and so foreign, it makes him question how much he actually knows about the universe. He can spew endless facts about countless stars, galaxies, and planets in the sky, he can build and operate technology beyond human comprehension, and he can speak a dozen interstellar languages from civilizations most people can’t fathom exist. The potential that he could have misunderstood a simple practice dedicated to celebrating love, which he knows from experience is a universal concept…

He’d never live down the embarrassment. He’s just happy he managed to get this one right without her assistance.

Y/N’s fingers sift between his own, squeezing his hand affectionately as she situates her gifts into the nook of her free arm. She tugs him away from the door, slowly backing towards the living room as she grins at him knowingly. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned?”

Harry’s legs move of their own accord, obeying her silent order. He follows her almost numbly, his body buzzing under her attention. He racks his brain for all the information he’d forced himself to absorb just for her, reciting it like a lecture.

“Valentine’s Day celebrates Saint Valentine, who was martyred by the Roman Empire.” He frowns as an afterthought. “Sad story.”

“Mm.” Y/N agrees, carefully sets her belongings down on the coffee table, pulling him towards the couch. “Go on.”

“Christian soldiers were forbidden from marrying as persecution on behalf of the emperor. Despite it being dangerous and illegal, Valentine ministered weddings for them in secret; he believed love was a right no one should be denied.”

Y/N allows herself to fall back onto the sofa, the action yanking Harry forward as a result. She parts her knees and he stumbles to a halt between them, towering over her with his own knees pressed against the edge of the cushions.

His girlfriend gazes up at him below thick lashes, her expression casual and innocent, but he’s familiar with her antics well enough to know her intentions are anything but.

She blinks up at him patiently, her palms gradually working their way up and down the front of his thighs, massaging them temptingly. “Anything else?”

Harry ogles down at her, his face hot and stomach jittery. He may struggle with reading human behavior, but they’ve been in this position so many times to the point where he can sense her objective clear as day.

“Um…” His tongue feels like lead in his mouth. “He…He was arrested for his crimes and eventually executed. During his time in prison, he fell in love with a woman who used to visit him in confinement— the jailor’s daughter, I think.”

“And?” Y/N’s lithe fingers begin toying with the knot in Harry’s sweatpants, undoing the little bow daintily just to tease him. “What happened between them?”

Harry swallows thickly, his own fingers fidgeting under her sultry influence. “Right before he was executed, he wrote her a love letter. He signed it off with, “From your Valentine.” It’s where the whole tradition of writing valentines originated. Once a year, humans honor his sacrifice by celebrating with the people they love.”

“You got everything.” She notes, easing the waistband of his joggers down a bite to expose the coarse trail of hair along his lower abdomen. She leans forward and presses a wet, lingering kiss along the tinted skin, smiling against it when she hears his breathing hitch. “Smart boy.”

“I try.” He croaks sarcastically, chewing along the inside of his cheek as he clenches his firsts, warding off the impulse to bury his fingers into her hair.

“I have a gift for you, too.” Y/N murmurs, dispensing more sloppy pecks across his clenching tummy, her pillowy lips leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. “Been waiting to give it to you all day.”

Harry can’t help the way his head lulls backward in bliss, hanging from his strong, taut shoulders as his inhales grow ragged and shallow. His eyes flutter shut as he swims in the feathery sensation of her touch, his mouth parting in a silent groan as her caresses descend even lower.

“I thought we could go out to dinner. Do something nice, y’know?” Y/N studies the heavy bulge forming through his boxers, her eyes glinting with hunger. “But I didn’t expect to see you waiting for me with those flowers, all giddy and nervous…I think we can postpone dinner for a bit, just so I can show you how well you did— so I can thank you. Properly.”

A low, gurgled moan filters from Harry’s parched throat, and the way his nails are digging into his palms in barely contained desperation only amps Y/N’s need to pleasure him.

“Is that okay with you?” She asks with feigned sincerity, as if he’d deny it. She proceeds to mouth along the outline tenting his briefs, reveling in how it jolts under her tongue. “Or do you want to wait until after dinner?”

A sharp, damp gasp rips from Harry’s heaving chest, and he can’t contain himself any longer. His hands grab at Y/N without permission, his long fingers raking into the roots of her hair and holding her in a steely grasp, eliminating any possibility of her drawing back.

His hips buck forward in distress, his body craving the feel of her silky tongue and filthy mouth. He needs to feel the way she laps at him, with shameless determination and experienced skill— the way she uses her lips to dismantle him entirely, gripping the back of his thighs to keep him in place as her head bobs feverishly, eyes watery as the edges of her mouth curl into a dirty grin around his cock. Needs to feel the way she digs her nails into his plush skin as she sucks and licks at the tip tauntingly, tracing sopping kisses down the veins that protrude along his length. Needs to hear her words of encouragement as she edges him towards release, goading him into making a mess— begging him to fill her mouth and get it all over her face.

All of Harry’s thoughts collapse together to form a single statement, which he utters in a gravelly voice through gritted teeth: “Fuck me.”

Y/N’s gaze sparkles with mischief, her fingers hooking along the hem of his underwear but not pulling down quite yet. She wants to make him work for it. “What was that?”

The garbled whine that escapes her boyfriend is full of so much bottled strife, it sends warmth flooding between her parted thighs.

“Fuck me.” He pleads, his accent deep and tattered, his grip on her locks tightening until stars dance across her vision. His head swings forward in order to lock eyes with her, his thick brows furrowed in deprived torment.

Under his white NASA t-shirt (which she’d gotten him as a joke when he first arrived), the alien hieroglyphic tattoos etched across the expanse of his chest begin to glow faintly. “Please?”

Y/N can feel her mouth begin to water in anticipation, and she’s nodding her head fervently in agreement before she can get a single syllable out. “Whatever you want, H. You—”

Her voice is suddenly cut off by Harry’s palm wrapping around her throat, his strength besting her due to her startled state. The dynamic of their encounter completely shifts as he tilts her face back harshly, holding her steady as he glowers down at her with a newfound darkness in the jade of his irises, the surrounding white glowing vaguely like the scripture on his body.

From the moment they started dating, it’s no secret that Harry usually favors being more submissive to her; he prefers to let Y/N take the reins most nights, based solely off the fact that she knows more about sex than he does. That preference also coincides with his nature— he’s reserved, quiet, and tends to fluster easily. It makes sense that he prefers letting someone else show him the ropes.

But Y/N is aware that his compliance is exactly that— a mere preference, and preferences can change over time. He can be dominating when he wants to, and though it took a while for Harry to be comfortable enough to reveal that side of himself, it most definitely exists.

Over the months they’ve been together, Y/N has taught him practically everything she knows, and over the last few weeks, Harry’s been taking authority of their sex life more and more frequently. She’s always more than happy to let him have it; it creates a sort of balance between them she didn’t know was missing. Having control over him is fun, of course, but giving up control to him is even more exhilarating, considering it’s newer territory.

She loves it, to say the least, especially when it’s sudden and unexpected. Such as now.

Y/N struggles to keep her composure in her boyfriend’s unyielding grasp, but she can’t deny the frothing at the pit of her stomach. Seeing him seize ownership like that— seeing him live up to his broad frame, chiseled features, and low register— satisfies her beyond anything else.

Her fingers crumple the fabric under her hands, balling into fists to hide the way she’s trembling with desire.

Harry ducks down, brushing his warm lips across her heated cheeks, the pad of his index finger admiring the outline of her Cupid’s bow. When he speaks, it weighs in low and dense, the way a humid fog would prickle her skin.

“You want to thank me, is that it?”

Y/N nods to the best of her ability, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth the same way he had earlier.

“I’ll show you how.” He rumbles, tapping the crescent atop her mouth lightly for significance. “Tongue out.”

She obeys without hesitation, ungluing her chapped lips and sticking her tongue out as far as it will go. Her whole face stings at the prospect of what’s going to happen next.

Sure enough, Harry moves his vice grip from her jugular to her jaw, keeping her in place as he spits into her mouth roughly. She winces at the merciless action, but there’s a certain electricity behind her eyes that shows she’s thoroughly relishing it.

“That should help some, hm? It’ll give some slip, make things go smoother.” He coos mockingly, a nasty smirk shadowing his features. “Are you going to thank me for that, as well?”

Though he phrases it as a question, Y/N can read between the lines— in truth, it’s a command.

Her voice is a frayed whisper. “Yes.”

Harry’s brows quirk into an expectant expression. “Go on, then. Thank me.”

Her lashes shudder as she collects her bearings. “Thank you.”

Harry squeezes her face in entertained acceptance, dusting a soft kiss to her sweaty forehead, the action drastically contradicting his others. “Such a good girl.”

The whimper that claws out of her is borderline pitiful. If her ears hadn’t revealed that to her, the cruel simper on her boyfriend’s face surely would have.

“Now how about you show me what that pretty mouth can do, and then maybe after dinner, I’ll return the favor.”

[love-to-go-now-goodbye]

"if you surrender to the air you can ride it"

-Toni Morrison

that quotes flashes at the beginning of homecoming by Beyonce.

If you surrender to the air, you can ride it. How does it connect back to our inner energy? Our fuel to push forward in creative pursuits?

I looked up the quote and saw these two interpretations:

"Throughout the book, Solomon loses things. They start small and grow larger. He learns that he can “fly,” but it’s going to cost him. Everything. It symbolizes his losing all the things of this world that weigh him down so that he is light as a feather and can truly be free."

"In the Taoist book of Lieh-Tzu, Lieh-Tzu suggest that it’s possible to ride the wind. He achieved this state late in his life. His bones no longer weighed him down, he was as light as a feather. He could not tell if he was riding the wind or the wind was riding him. It’s not to be taken literally, but metaphysically. It’s a mental state one can achieve when you let go of your earthly desires and let your own will become one with the will of the universe. It’s having without possessing, doing without acting. Everyone knows that flying is possible with wings but no one seems understand flying without wings."

both from: https://literature.stackexchange.com/questions/5132/what-does-the-phrase-if-you-surrendered-to-the-air-you-could-ride-it-mean

these were just random thoughts from the internet but they really spoke to me. If you surrender to the air, you can ride it, if you let go of it all, commit to it all, and accept the sacrifices, you can have it all. you are able to fly.

Allowing your will to become one with the universe, allowing yourself to lean in and let go all at once.

I see this quote and imagine standing on the ledge of a building, leaning out, bending almost all the way forward, sticking one leg up in the air behind you, other foot going up on your tip toes, and you're in a delicate balance, and you are one with the wind, you do not fall.

What does it mean to surrender? Its funny, I was listening to a podcast from sigh swoon this week, and, she talks about the book the surrender experiment by Micheal a singer, she talked so much about how things just flowed for him and have flowed for herself when she just does things as she is called naturally to them throughout her life. When you're trying to unblock yourself, let things go, allow yourself to be on the path you are feeling most called too, things just flow.

Life is not happening to you, it happens from you, and the more you can listen and be one with everything, the more you can get to wear you want be- in a place where you feel good.

This is really a bit of an affirmation for me this week and this whole post is just a reminder to myself. you have to surrender. the air is calling you. life to be lived.

[scribbleseas]

Beyond the Walls, Chapter 2: Mother Nature

Description: It's the year 850.

You are a renowned scientist who narrowly saved the world from impending famine and malnourishment with a myriad of agricultural advancements after Wall Maria fell, surrendering acres of farmland to titans. However, your innovations are not quite enough to be a permanent solution, given that their yield rate is nowhere near ideal. Many are still starving, costs for bread and vegetables are still high, and refugee rations remain low

Convinced that the only sustainable answers can come from the natural world outside the walls, you implore Survey Corps Commander Erwin Smith to allow you to join his company’s ranks for their next expedition. His only condition? You must be trained in omni-directional mobility gear under Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, Captain Levi Ackerman, to qualify for the expedition as a soldier. Despite having no demonstrated prowess outside your trusty greenhouse, you willingly accept Erwin’s terms, desperate to prove your hypothesis. However, during your time with the Captain, you soon learn that there is more to the stoic and strong soldier that meets the eye, and instead, you have much more in common that you would have guessed. Not even you, a certified genius in the horticulture field, could predict the blossoming romance between you.

Is your commitment to saving humanity enough for you to endure extensive training under the scrutinizing Captain? Or will it be your unexpected feelings for him that ultimately distract you from your original experiment?

Content Warnings: Violence, gore, death, swearing, eventual kissing, eventual smut, human-eating titans, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder

Author’s Note: Hi Everyone! This was sooooo overdue. That being said, though, please let me know how you feel about this one! Believe it or not, this is only my third time writing Captain Levi. I really hope he’s in character for you all. I’m probably going to try to post the next chapter of Straight Laced next, but since I started the Fall Semester at my university, I can’t give you a date estimate. Shit happens, unfortunately.

Another announcement, I know I said I was going to post a poll about my next Ciel story, but I actually the next one myself lol. But on the bright side, I know you’ll all like it.

Thank you so so much for reading and staying patient with my terrible date estimates. (I know I originally said September 3rd for this one…)

Well, as always, Happy Reading!

- Dan

“I can’t even begin to tell you how jazzed I was when Erwin said you’d be joining us,” Section Commander Hange Zoë’s grin was nothing but radiant, alight with hope. Their hand rested on your forearm amicably as you walked through the Survey Corps’ Headquarters. 

You and Hange were correspondents long before you started your first aeroponics prototype, about a decade ago. Hange was your colleague, watching your hypothesis about landless planting develop with rapt fascination. You studied together up until the moment they decided to join the Survey Corps and focus their scientific genius on understanding titans. Meanwhile, you decided to continue your studies, pursuing a certification as a medic and a focus on agronomy, the study and practice of soil and crop management. 

Even with the distance between your respective research, you kept well in touch. It was Hange’s frantic encouragement that inspired you to make your direct appeal to Erwin Smith. They referred to the Commander as a visionary before you ever had. 

Hange had met you at the main entrance and insisted that they were your tour guide for the day. At the same time, a team of cadets started to move your belongings, deaf to your protests. While most of your belongings were equipment for the greenhouse and your experiments, rather than personal items, there were still a great deal of heavy boxes that needed moving. You felt sorry for the cadets tasked with the activity— especially in this heat— but Hange seemed to think little of it, telling you to let the young kids get their energy out. 

They said it as if the two of you were approaching your fifties, rather than your thirties. 

The corner of your lips pulled upwards in an answering half-smile. “I know. I’ve missed you,” you admitted, taking in the expansive halls. The headquarters was an old regal castle in the countryside, the hallways lined with large windows that allowed the summer sun to stream in. Despite the antiquated architecture, the premises seemed to be extremely well taken care of, there was no hint of dust, nor one blade of unruly grass. In fact, it was so picturesque, that you suspected that no onlooker would think to assume it was a military headquarters and instead, assume it was a wealthy residence.

“Well, Y/n, as did I. That’s why I made sure Erwin made me your tour guide,” Hange exclaimed. “There are a few places I want to show you, some people I want you to meet…come this way!”

You walked with Hange obediently, content with following them around the base. The tour started with your private quarters (the cadets left all of your boxes on the floor next to your bed), continued to the base’s training areas, Hange’s office, your new greenhouse, and ended with the mess hall. As you walked, you shared greeting nods with soldiers who passed you around the base. Few people stopped to exchange words with you, sensing that you and Hange were in the middle of touring. Erwin likely debriefed his forces prior to your arrival, anyway. 

The mess hall was abuzz with soldiers in decently high spirits, much to your surprise. There was a monotone chatter around the room as soldiers ate their breakfast.

The Survey Corps served their meals cafeteria-style, the lines at the far side of the room long as everyone waited for their lightly salted oatmeal and a singular slice of bread. As you suspected, there wasn’t a piece of fruit or a vegetable in sight because the military insisted its men sacrificed their diets alongside their lives. While you doubted you could produce enough vegetation to give everyone a nutritional boost in such little time, some change was better than no change. The tables of soldiers you passed continued to track your movements with evident curiosity, sizing you up— wondering whether or not you were as great as your reputation imagined you were.

“Levi Squad, Miche, Moblit, this is my dear friend Y/n Y/l/n,” Hange announced proudly, stopping at a long table towards the far side of the mess hall— the furthest away from the line of hungry scouts. Populating the table were a number of men and one woman, each regarding you with varying levels of interest.

 “Y/n, this is the Levi Squad,” Hange gestured to the group of six soldiers— the Levi Squad consisted of soldiers Petra Ral, Oluo Bozado, Eld Gin, and Gunther Shultz. Miche Zacharius and Moblit Berner were also distinguished Survey Corps members; Miche was one of Hange’s fellow section commanders and Moblit was their research assistant. You were never one to enter a situation unprepared, so you took the liberty of reading through the Survey Corps’ major players. “Levi Squad: meet Y/n!”

“I’m Petra. It’s great to meet you,” Petra spoke first, quickly rising from her seat to give your hand a professional shake. “We’ve been reading about some of your work…not that we understand the technicalities of it, but…” she laughed, “for curiosity's sake, we try. We could never do what you do.”

I’m not sure I know how I do what I do, either, you wanted to admit. Your pride forced you to swallow the words down like a dry cracker. 

“The pleasure’s mine,” you responded, reciprocating the shake and the same greeting with Gunther and Eld.

“You both can sit next to me,” Petra offered, shifting to the end of the bench. Hange took the seat directly next to Petra. You took a seat between the section commander and the tall soldier you knew to be Miche. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll do what you all--” you started, cutting yourself off with a start as Miche took a long inhale, sniffing near the side of your neck. You hummed curiously, but he made no attempt to explain himself. Instead, Miche nodded to himself and turned his attention back to his breakfast. The questioning look you sent to Hange went mostly ignored. They seemed more interested in the thin bread portion on Petra’s plate, suggesting Miche’s sniffing habit was an idiosyncrasy of his that was to be expected. 

Oluo shook his head, unimpressed with your comment. He took a long drink out of a teacup, making no effort to shake your hand and introduce himself properly. “I, for one, have no idea why the Commander thinks you can become a soldier in only two months or less. You’ll be titan chow mere minutes after we—“

“That won’t happen because she’ll be riding with us,” Petra interjected pointedly before turning her attention back to you, her smile apologetic. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s the Captain,” she rolled her amber eyes, cuing you into her joke. 

“Speaking of Levi… where is he?” Hange asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject from your potential demise to the whereabouts of the absent Captain. Their ponderous expression suggested that Levi was rarely late to anything. From what little information you were about to glean about him— his superhuman battle prowess, neatly groomed appearance, and stern expression to match — you imagined that the man was also quite punctual. 

“Running late from his tea pick up,” Gunther answered, causing the group to share identical looks of worry and frustration. (Save for Oluo, he merely tutted and shook his head dismissively.)

“You know what that means,” Eld said, his thin lips pulling into a grim expression. 

Sensing your confusion, Hange started to answer. “It means they don’t have his— oh no,” Hange fell silent at the sight of the Captain quickly making his way towards the table. Despite being a handful of inches shorter than most of the soldiers around him, all standing scouts parted out of his way, eyes diverting from his stoic gaze. The way they scurried out of the way reminded you of anxious prey.

“We should tread carefully, you guys,” Petra suggested, “he’s empty handed.” She sent a warning look towards Oluo, who merely shook his head in response, his hazel eyes rolling. They acted like a married couple— an intimacy that only came from fighting at one another’s sides for years. It was strangely heartwarming that they were able to stay with one another for so long.    

“Morning, Levi!” Hange cheered, standing to greet him properly. They clapped him on the back, only to remove their hand in response to his continued silence and pointed glare. “Guess who’s sitting with us today?” they asked rhetorically, “Doctor Y/l/n! She just came this morning.”

You rose from your seat, unsure of how to proceed. Levi didn’t seem particularly interested in introducing himself to you. Instead, he regarded you, likely hypothesizing whether or not you could handle two months of intensive training under him and come out of it with maneuvering reliable enough to save your life. He was calculating any semblance of a chance you had at staying alive and carrying out your research. 

“You can call me Y/n,” you decided, extending your hand to him with a tentative smile. Levi made no attempt to return the expression, much less take you. Instead, he regarded the remnants of dirt on your palm, left behind after you took a soil sample from the front of the base upon your arrival— and hesitated. None of the soldiers seemed to mind, given that it was such a minimal shadow left from the soil. 

In fact, you doubted they noticed at all. 

You made a quick attempt to run your palm over your light green skirts, the linen material light enough for you to remain cool in the hot summer. You chuckled apologetically, “I took a sample from your soil here. To see if it needs any additional nutrients before I use it for my vertical trestles,” you explained, doubting he would understand what you were referring to. Your vertical trestles were long stands with dozens of small engravings to house plants. The beauty of your aeroponics system was that it could grow plants without needing a constant supply of water. All they needed was nutrient-dense soil, sprays of (nutrient-dense, of course) water every few days, and consistent sunlight. 

“It’s fine,” the Captain replied, his grave tone insinuating that it was anything but. Still, his calloused hand wrapped around yours, his palm surprisingly cold. His grip was firm and sure. “Given your line of work, you’re bound to drag filth around with you, Mother Nature.”

The derisive nickname caused your back to stiffen as your hand fell back to your side. You frowned, unsure of whether or not he was teasing you with it. But there was no sign of mockery in his face— only mild frustration and inconvenience. 

“Training is at noon. Don’t keep me waiting,” Levi ordered, turning swiftly on the heel of his boot to make his leave. He ignored Petra’s dismayed calls, asking where he was going and why he was skipping the meal. 

Hange noticed your expression as you reclaimed your seat. “It’s nothing personal. He’s always that grumpy.”

“Especially after that tea store under-watered the flowers again. The ones they need to make his black tea,” Petra sighed. You cringed, thinking about the type of lunacy that would drive someone to over-water camellia sinensis twice. 

“And I need to train with him later?” You asked, now mildly concerned for your well-being along with that plant. Commander Erwin said Levi was their best soldier, Humanity’s Strongest. But he didn’t specify whether or not Levi was their best teacher. Was there truly no one else to take on that burden? Someone nicer?

“You might think we’d have someone a bit more…patient, but no,” Petra said as if she read your mind. “All of us,” she nodded to the rest of the group with her chin, her red hair bobbing at the gesture, “need to be focused on Eren while Hange works with him. The other section commanders have to prepare our new cadets. That leaves, well, the Captain, as the most qualified to show you the ropes,” the more Petra explained Erwin’s decision, the tighter the knot in your stomach felt. All of Levi’s elite squad had to make sure Eren’s titan didn’t go berserk and ravage the military branch while their leader helped you, a full-time scientist, master notoriously complex equipment. 

“But you can do it!” Hange cheered. “If anyone I know can become a member of the scouts in exactly six weeks, it’s you!”

It was true. If Levi was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, and the Eren Yeager kid was Humanity’s Last Hope, you were one of Humanity’s only obstacles standing between it and famine, which was just as dire. There was no reason to defeat the titans if most of the population was going to be malnourished and on the brink of starvation-caused extinction. Not to mention, it was too ironic: the titans are defeated only for their former prey to go extinct due to lack of food. 

You couldn’t watch that happen when you were so sure it was preventable. 

. . .

You had a doctorate in agronomy, a degree in horticulture, and a certification in medical care. And even after those years of hard schooling, long essays, and seemingly endless research projects, you still managed to suffer the worst of equipment malfunctions at the worst possible timing. 

But to be fair, who invented this gear?

The idea of omni-directional mobility gear was to make humans as swiftly airborne as possible, giving them the ability to evade a titan’s jaws and provide lethal proximity to their vulnerable napes in milliseconds. However, human facilities were much more delicate than a titan’s— it didn’t take a doctor like you to understand that. To endure high-speed movement and mid-air contortion, the stress would need to be evenly distributed across the body at all times. That was why limp leather straps were dangling from various parts of your legs and torso while you desperately tried to buckle them in their rightful places. 

Hange demonstrated the process for you about three times before they left to work with the titan shifter, swearing that you would at least survive the first session with Levi. Now you were standing alone, using one of the many benches to the slide of the big green field where new scouts stretched with their section commanders, as leverage while you tried to buckle the gas exhaust around your lower back.

Several starstruck scouts attempted to ask you if you needed a hand, but your pride refused. You were an academic. You were having issues with…leather straps. Not only that, you couldn’t, in good conscience, let teenagers help you buckle your uniform. 

“Do you honestly think your equipment is going to hold you up like that, Mother Nature?” The Captain’s harsh voice asked, causing you to sheepishly turn to look at him, your cheeks reddening. Thankfully, they were already rather flushed from the heat. 

“I don’t understand how you all put this on so quickly,” you explained, gesturing to the pieces of uniform that you managed to construct. “It’s like a puzzle…” you mumbled before your face lit up with relief. 

“Oh--- there it is.” The buckle slipped through one of the adjustment holes, letting you pull the equipment around your abdomen snuggly. While you weren’t quite sure if this was the proper adjustment, you couldn’t help but nurse your satisfaction while you could. The compressed gas from the exhaust powered the wiring mechanism that worked like a grappling hook: the anchors on the edges of the wires were supposed to dig into any possible service and maintain your weight.

“The section commander was supposed to show you,” Captain Levi said.

“They had to run. Time-sensitive experiment with Eren. Something about sleep deprivation’s impact on titan shifting… It’s really fine, I know how important it is to be meticulous with your experiments’ timing. Maintaining consistent variables and all…” you were rambling. You cringed at yourself— your lack of social competence. But in all fairness, you spent most of your formative years in a laboratory, or your nose buried so deep within the pages of a book, that you could distinguish your textbooks from scent alone. Nothing— out of your vast libraries of literary knowledge— covered how to speak to a soldier of unimaginable strength (and with impossibly azure eyes to match.) It was no wonder the hottest part of a flame was its innermost blue. 

“Sounds like Hange,” Levi said noncommittally, but he didn’t seem angry. That told you he was more than accustomed to the scientist’s effervescent (and extremely capricious) nature. It suggested he expected it, at this point. Anyone close to Hange knew to expect some turbulence, at some point. You were relieved Hange managed to find someone in the Survey Corps to grow close to. They deserved it, and it seemed Levi could use Hange’s enigmatic scheming in his life. 

“Can you please just…” you looked at the equipment meaningfully. You managed to complete all of the straps that were a bit too personal to ask of him, but there were a few that ran behind your back and attached to said buckles that you couldn’t figure out how to stabilize without a mirror.

“I’m required to double check your equipment -- whether or not you proved incompetent with putting it on. You’re still a newbie, Plant Lady,” Levi said, already fixing the strap that fastened your gas exhaust-- the one you just fixed!

You huffed, dismayed by both your apparent failure and the new nickname. “I was growing attached to Mother Nature,” you smarted. 

“Just give me your right gearbox, and we might just manage to start training on time,” Levi ignored your quip. 

. . .

You were a puppet suspended in mid-air, only you weren’t lifeless, and somewhat in control of your facilities.

Every muscle in your body pleaded for help as you remained motionless, yet suspended in the air. Apparently, this was the first physical test the military put its cadets through. If you couldn’t strike a near-natural balance with the omni-directional mobility gear, then you were cut— sent to the fields to help with the harvest. Apparently, it would work the same for you. If you couldn’t exhibit the necessary physical prowess on your first day, what was the sense in the Survey Corps investing its time and resources into you?

You could feel sweat rolling down your neck, tracing an uncomfortable line down your back as you trembled with effort. You weren’t even wearing the full equipment. While Levi initially showed you how to put the whole ensemble together, you didn’t need all of it for your first day of training. All you currently were wearing was the various leather straps around your legs and feet, and the main belt around your waist that would have connected your gas exhaust and both gearboxes. According to your reading, those gearboxes held extra blades and gas canisters. Attached to those gearboxes were wooden handles that connected to the blades and anchors soldiers plunged into structures in order to move.

Your arms wanted to reach out and grab something, anything, to hold onto, but there was nothing in proximity. There were only two long bars that supported you on either side as if you were a swing. 

You tried to keep your gaze ahead of you, knowing that looking at the distance between your boot soles and the grass was too far for your liking. In fact, the thought of your elevation caused you to shudder, causing your body to sway. You weren’t proud of it, but you couldn’t suppress your worried shriek as your gaze slipped unintentionally downwards.

“Easy there. The more you panic, the less control you have. Put the most power into your core so your back straightens,” Levi watched you, observing your quivering body— in part from the physical strain that came with holding your back straight and core strong, but equally, your fear.

“Like…this?” You managed through gritted teeth. You blinked rapidly to try to keep the drops of sweat that cascaded from your hairline and past your eyebrows away from your eyes. “What if I-I….can’t do this any longer?” you asked, trying to come up with an estimate of how long you were balancing. Seven minutes? Eight minutes? The Idle Suspension Exercise was a minimum of ten straight minutes of steady balancing, excluding any time you spent thrashing. 

“Oh, you can just stop and---” the female scout to your side started to answer, only for the Captain to silence her with a single glance. Levi tasked her with turning the lever that hoisted you up and back down. “Nevermind,” she chuckled awkwardly, looking down at her muddy uniform boots. 

“Why did you tell Erwin you’d master this gear in two months when you knew you had basic stamina issues?” He asked flatly. There was a dichotomy between the Captain's blunt way of speaking and the way he regarded you closely-- curious to see if you could hold yourself up for a short while longer, or if you’d collapse. The tersely restrained energy in his physique suggested he was ready to spring into action if he so much as suspected the latter was about to occur. “Seems irresponsible, for a doctor.”

“I don’t have-- basic-- stamina--- issues!” You managed through labored breaths. He was essentially superhuman. He had no right to insinuate you had basic stamina issues when he’s had somewhere near a decade and a half to develop his skills in the Survey Corps. Compared to your single day, or half hour, of training rather. “And I’m not irresponsible!”

“I’ve seen first-day cadets perform better,” Levi’s arms crossed in front of his chest, his body relaxing. “Are you sure you gave this decision all of the thought it required, Mother Nature?”

“What?” Your head tilted indignantly, your eyes widening to immediately question the Captain’s words. Was he making fun of you? Questioning your sense of rational thinking? 

If you weren’t previously motivated to finish the exercise before, now you were deadset.

“Not everyone has what it takes to be a soldier,” Levi explained, unwithering against your enraged scowl.

“Some people are just more suited tending to flowers in a greenhouse than a battlefield. But I would say your attempt is…commendable,” he said. “Start letting her down, Sam,” Levi instructed the redheaded scout.

Your blood boiled, and it was from more than just the sun beating down on you. 

“Don’t you dare, Sam!” You demanded with an intensity you normally reserved for those goading you like the Captain, but you couldn’t control your tone during such immense physical and emotional stress. “I will finish this!” Now you had to. 

Sam’s eyebrows drew together as she hummed uncertainty, trying to decide whether she should obey the Captain when you were so clearly invested in beating the challenge. Her hand sat on the lever’s handle, unmoving. So she was going to listen to you. 

She sent a resolute nod to you. 

You’d dealt with numerous characters like Levi Ackerman. Stingy and sexist government officials and nobles who doubted your projects could produce anything of real scientific value…soldiers who didn’t want their wounds stitched up by someone they assumed was incompetent, based on the way you looked. Infuriated nobles who would threaten your life for making produce and food items more accessible when they’d been making fortunes by price gouging them. 

“Let me finish this, Captain,” you snapped, “I can do it!” 

“You already did,” Levi responded, taking a quick look at his watch. “You just passed twelve minutes. Let her down, now.” 

Before you could process what was happening, Sam obeyed, turning the lever around to set you back down on the ground. The second the bottoms of your boots reached the ground, your legs buckled, threatening to fully give into your weight. If you didn’t reach for the stand to your side, you probably would’ve fallen to the ground.

“You…did that…on purpose…didn’t you…” you panted to catch your breath once again, surprised you could string a coherent sentence together. You used the back of your hand to wipe sweat from your hairline and the rest of your face. You cringed at the pool of sweat that transferred from your skin, still hesitant to believe that you truly managed to go over the minimum requirement.

Because of Levi’s strategically-placed hostility. 

“Maybe,” Levi replied, something akin to reluctant respect on his face. “You’re dismissed for the day. “Meet me back here, same time tomorrow.”

“You’ll tell Commander Erwin I passed?” you asked hopefully, looking for your due praise--- even though it was obvious Levi wasn’t the type to commend his soldiers for a job well done. 

“It’s my responsibility to update the Commander as I see fit, Mother Nature.”

. . . 

“Do you have black tea in stock?” You asked the young girl working the counter at the bakery closest to the Survey Corps’ Headquarters. Even if it was the closest, it was still quite a ways on horseback-- about a half hour back into town. 

The girl blushed. “Um, no. We don’t. Our…newest hire…under-watered the plant,” she explained tentatively, her smile sheepish enough to suggest that she was the mentioned culprit. 

“It happens. Do you still have the plant?” you asked. 

“Yes, we do…?” she replied, unsure as to why you were asking for it. Her smile seemed a bit terse, irritated that you were looking for a plant that they were likely about to compost. 

“Can I buy it?” While over-watering typically caused a plant to wilt and rot, effectively killing it. However, under-watering was fixable in most cases. Especially if it was the summer sun--- while camelia flowers tended to prefer sunnier spots, they also required ample water to keep them nourished. It wasn’t unheard of for an amateur to be scared of overwatering the flowers.

“I think it’s about to die, so you can’t really use it for tea or anything,” she warned, expecting you to change your mind.

“Just name your price,” you smiled patiently, but you were sure it didn’t reach your eyes because of your impatience. But in a matter of mere minutes, you were walking to the public stable where you left your horse, Juniper, and you were on your way back to Headquarters to start your first official project as an Honorary Scout.

. . .

Tags:

[uwuowotf2waslife]

What if Medic taught the team sex ed because he found out that someone has an STI and the mercs later either follow his advice or completely ignore it + Medic educating reader on safe sex on practice

The reason I came up with this is that I'm really stupid so I got thrush. I'm so fucking embarrassed, I'm a grown ass woman but I somehow did my hygiene incorrectly and I'm itchy down there and it burns to pee. I'm making an appointment with a gynecologist as I write this so I should be fine

Love your writing, acceptance of horny and your chill. Best wishes to you and sorry for shitty English

Dw frend your english is ✨✨✨✨

Also get well soon <3 it happens to the best of us

Tw: Sex mention/STD mention

In this case: Spy (fuckboy) got trush and Medic had a mild stroke when finding out only 3/9 Mercs understand the concept of STDs

Medic: lecturer in the conference room used in ED. Has a small presentation of whats STIs are and how to avoid them.

“Zo az you zhee, thiz are the common STDs you may encounter during ehm…”

“During third base!” Pips Scout.

Visible confusion by all non english speaking members except Spy

“The boy means sex… speak like an adult sout.” Half muffled by a ciggarete.

“Doubt you can get a hard on, frenchman, just 10 secs ago sawbone said you loose your errectIon once you hit 60” scout goes for a low blow

“Your mother never complains, does she.” Spy snakes back for a lower blow.

“SAY IT AGAIN FUCKFACE AND YOULL HAVE A MUFFCABBAGE FOR A HEAD” scout tries to grab his pistol, forgets that he had to surrender it at the lockers for safety.

“SHUT UP BABYMEN! DOCTOR SAYS ITS IMPORTANT “ a russian roar cuts them both raw and leaves them hanging.

A shill sound cuts them all, now Medic using Archimedes claws to get them all to pay attention

“Danke mein Freund “. “Now I know thiz will be embarrassing but you are all very welcome to use the jar in the medbay, well you wish to… touczh third base” A true genious never lets new opportunities for a learning moment to fall.

“So the condom jar?” “Didnt yall ever used that till Spy got Thursh??!” Scout looks dumbfounded

“You dont really use protection when ya are a gentleman, mongrel!” Sniper visibly annoyed and flustered because in his non medical experience a quickie in a van isnt really prime time for proper sex ed usage.

“Snipes Sheep dont count!” Scout goes for the low hanging fruit.

Sniper roses up and looks anywhere for a weapon but decides his chair is prime

Untill he is stopped by heavy and is basically hogtied by a even taller and burlier man

“Next will be in Locker” simple threat but working.

“Dankeshone Fruende… but yes I expect you all to use them. We cant have a czeafire because you all have different sztrains of StDS reaking havoc.”…

“ Never seen you using one tho Sawbones” Again scout being a dumbass.

Soldier now fed up , stands up and salutes

“MEDIC AS AN AMERICAN I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT IN MY AMERICAN EDUCATION WHAT SEXUALY TRANSIMETED DISEASES ARE, BUT THIS HERE BASTARDS HAVE MADE THIS LESSON UNACCEPTABLE. PERMISSION TO STRANGLE SCOUT?”

“NO TALK BABYMAN!”

“What if ye just want yer dick sucked by a bird? Do ye also need a condom?” Demo awoken has to ask the most revelant question in the last hour and a half.

“YOU DO VAT TO BIRDS?” Medic officially snapped.

“Ya know, chicks” scout yells amidst being stangled

“Vat?”

“HE MEANS WOMEN YOU IDIOT” hogtied sniper yells

“JA YOU DUMBKOFF!”

Earie silence from Medic finnaly snapping.

“Do we also have to use it with dudes? Like is it any different?”scout is about to pass out.

Medic defeated

Spy horrified his son is bi ( boomer fainting)

“I mean same same but different so prolly yeah” answers him an amused Engie.

“Mhmmm mmh” Pyro says and leaves the building.

True mercenary chaos ensues with Spy accusing Scout from hiding shit from him while all the others have fights about who did what and why they didnt use a wrapper.

Case in point

They are all idiots.

[belit0]

I have so many songs I wanna submit for TobiIzu but I’m trying to refrain from submitting so many like a madman. Anyways Tobiizu: “Portrait of a Female” by Cruel Youth

PLEASE SEND ME AS MANY AS YOU WANT, TOBIIZU IS MY TRUE LOVE AND I LOVE WRITING FOR THEM!!😭🙏💕

"I wish I don't need you." Tobirama spits angrily on his pompous, soft lips, waiting to be kissed. He is consumed by anger, by those feelings he carries within and fights so hard against. Falling in love with his former enemy should not have been included in the peace treaty. "I've been so deprived... boy, when I'm with you, my hands are fucking tied." The Senju punches the wall, right next to his head, as the Uchiha stands motionless in his arms. He looks at him with a mixture of amusement and love, knowing exactly how he feels because it's the same thing he experiences deep inside him.

Neither of them wanted this, but one way or another it ended up happening.

"You're the devil disguise, and feels right, wrapped in your chains of... love. Now, I'm so miserable, Uchiha, when I'm free I just suffer and... too much, not enough, wrapped in your fucking chains." The albino turns his back on him, walking to his personal desk in the Hokage's office, resting his hands on the wood, and trying to collect his thoughts.

His head is a mess when it comes to Izuna, he can't explain how a rivalry as passionate as the one they had mutated into such strange feelings, and he chokes on not having answers.

"It ain't love if it don't hurt, Senju." The Uchiha purrs, coming up behind him and resting his forehead against his back. There is no logical understanding of how this happened, how the peace their brothers encouraged grew such a twisted bond between the two, full of betrayal for the mutual hatred they both swore to each other just a few months ago.

Izuna doesn't get it either, but he is used to feeling, not trying to rationalize, and letting himself be carried away by what his heart dictates. Today, it begs him to claim this man as his property.

"Do you remember, no safety word here? how my hands were tied, literally, faithfully, to the bedpost that night, all for you?" He evokes memories of the first time they shared together, where they both let themselves go without looking for meaning in what was transpiring. He remembers how he gave his full trust to the one who swore to be his mortal enemy, allowing him to restrict his freedom and giving unlimited access to his being.

There were no questions that night, no hard feelings.

"Your two hands cover my screams, like porno on the big screen..." his fingers run down the side of his body, up his waist toward his ribs, resting on his pecs and squeezing the soft fabric of his shirt between his hands. He can sense how Tobirama trembles under his caresses, perhaps from excitement, fear, or both.

"You ain't shy, don't lie... I'll try anything twice, maybe hit me when you're cumming, safe shit that you're running. I can learn, I'll try anything." He feels desperate, genuinely scared because he doesn't know his opponent on these grounds. They both learned to read each other accurately and prevent every move and attack, but no one taught them to detect their feelings, emotional reactions.

Izuna surrendered to the event that night, and managed to accept what was occurring inside him, the whirlwind of trouble the Senju generated, at least physically. Perhaps there are no words for what happens between the two, but the Uchiha feels an emptiness in his stomach every time he thinks about how Tobirama can disappear, not wanting to assume the undeniable between the two.

If the albino was not ready, he would be left with hands full of things for him, feelings and emotions, unspoken words, and ungiven caresses.

"There's nothing, nothing I can do..." Tobirama whispers, taking his hands in his own before turning around and facing him, looking him in the eyes and going against all the instructions he grew up with in his head.

"No... I ain't deprived, I just wanna feel. You bring out the worst in me, and that ain't how love's supposed to be!" His face becomes tense, full of restrained utterances and unaccountable emotions, and Izuna could swear it's the same countenance he faced time and time again in battle.

"And I ain't disturbed, I just prefer it... Let's not pretend that we're friends, I don't care about your plans or how your day went..." The Uchiha can already feel all the blood in his body rushing down the stairs, answering the demand his former enemy seems to require.

There is no need to understand, no use in trying to justify, guided only by bodily sensations and physical needs, an attraction it is useless to ignore. Lust for each other corrodes them, sets them on fire like the hottest flame in all hell, and leads them to contradict everything they have learned about one another, disarming themselves in each other's arms and surrendering the secret of their bodies.

[voidsentprinces]

After the Great Flood of the Sixth Umbral Calamity, the Elementals took charge of the Twelveswood and banished races they deemed responsible for such upheavel. And for a time mortal kind were subject to the judgment of these natural forces via the Greenwrath. However, one particular day, while communing with them, the Conjurers were suddenly cut off from contact. Fear that another Greenwrath would be upon them, they requested the aid of the Padjal to commune with the Elementals in their stead. But found an ominous silence. It was then discovered that a great fog and darkness had descended upon a region of the Central Shroud that cusped the Northern part. No matter the passing of time or the change in weather conditions that covered the region. The fog remained anchored and the gloom unperturbed.

Unnerved and in connecting the fogs' descent with the sudden silence of the Elementals. Scouting parties and conjurers were sent into the fog to seek the source of this strange occurance. But not a single soul who entered ever returned to give a report. Eventually, O-App-Pesi and his guard went into the fog to investigate. But, unlike all other expedition one survivor returned from expedition. A young lancer who was a gibbering mess. Carrying the arm of one of the other guards men with him. Despite conjurer mediation and support, the mental state of the survivor never recovered. As he spoke in hushed tones and his eyes full of horror. The Elder Seedseer made a proclamation that though the loss of communication with the Elementals was a blow to Gridania. The danger of the fog was far greater. And so, no one was allowed to enter the fog ever again. The White Wolf Gate constructed and guards were stationed there. But no matter what they saw out there. They were instructed to only protect the gate and never wander away from it at all times.

The Guards of said gate are changed every fortnight. As their mental state also gradually worsens. Paranoia and fear gripping them and making them erratic. Though time away from the Gate does allow them to eventually recover...those who were previously guardsmen are stationed elsewhere upon recovery and are never made to stand watch there again. This was a lesson learned quickly as two who were allowed to returned eventually went running into the fog yelling that something was coming for them. And, thus were never seen again. Some still say they experience nightmares and claim to of seen shapes moving in the fog.

For good or ill one last incident concerning the fogged region was recorded. After the fall of Dalamud and the construction of New Gridania. A Garlean force saw an opportunity to probe Gridania's defenses from the fogged region. Sending in large armed force to overwhelm Bentbranch Meadows slaying a number of guards and soldiers on the way. The force moving quickly enough that when reinforcements finally arrived. The force had already made its way into the forbidden region. Though the Gate Guards were alerted and a counterattack force as mounted. The encroaching Garleans never made it to the White Wolf Gate. Complete silence ruled the region for several weeks until finally one lone soldier stumbled out of the fog. Beleaguered and incoherent, he immediately surrendered himself to the guards. This Garlean Soldier was put under watch until it made clear that he was no threat. And after remaining silent for several weeks. He would eventually approach the Elder Seedseer and request to be allowed to move away from Gridania. Upon accepting this request, he didn't return to Garlemald or move in to another location in Twelveswood. Instead taking the first airship out of the Shroud to La Noscea. Last reported to of taken up residence in a shack stationed in the jungles surrounding Wineport.

[nochd]

This view of the matter will not, I am afraid, satisfy what may be called the Vigilant school of critics. To them criticism is a form of social and ethical hygiene. They see all clear thinking, all sense of reality, and all fineness of living, threatened on every side by propaganda, by advertisement, by film and television. The hosts of Midian ‘prowl and prowl around’. But they prowl most dangerously in the printed word. And the printed word is most subtly dangerous, able ‘if it were possible, to deceive the very elect’, not in obvious trash beyond the pale but in authors who appear (unless you know better) to be ‘literary’ and well within the pale. Burroughs and the Westerns will snare only the mob; a subtler poison lurks in Milton, Shelley, Lamb, Dickens, Meredith, Kipling, or De La Mare. Against this the Vigilant school are our watchdogs or detectives. They have been accused of acrimony, of Arnold’s ‘obduracy and over-vehemence in liking and disliking—a remnant, I suppose, of our insular ferocity’.

But this is perhaps hardly fair. They are entirely honest, and wholly in earnest. They believe they are smelling out and checking a very great evil. They could sincerely say like St Paul, ‘Woe to me if I preach not the gospel’: Woe to me if I do not seek out vulgarity, superficiality, and false sentiment, and expose them wherever they lie hidden. A sincere inquisitor or a sincere witch-finder can hardly do his chosen work with mildness.

It is obviously difficult to find any common literary ground on which we could decide whether the Vigilants help or hinder good reading. They labour to promote the sort of literary experience that they think good; but their conception of what is good in literature makes a seamless whole with their total conception of the good life... All criticism, no doubt, is influenced by the critic’s views on matters other than literature. But usually there has been some free play, some willingness to suspend disbelief (or belief) or even repugnance while we read the good expression of what, in general, we think bad. One could praise Ovid for keeping his pornography so free from the mawkish and the suffocating, while disapproving pornography as such...

But the Vigilants, finding in every turn of expression the symptom of attitudes which it is a matter of life and death to accept or resist, do not allow themselves this liberty. Nothing is for them a matter of taste... A work, or a single passage, cannot for them be good in any sense unless it is good simply, unless it reveals attitudes which are essential elements in the good life. You must therefore accept their (implied) conception of the good life if you are to accept their criticism. That is, you can admire them as critics only if you also revere them as sages. And before we revere them as sages we should need to see their whole system of values set out, not as an instrument of criticism but standing on its own feet and offering its credentials... For we must not run round in a circle, accepting them as sages because they are good critics and believing them good critics because they are sages.

Meantime we must suspend judgement as to the good this school can do. But even in the meantime there are signs that it can do harm. We have learned from the political sphere that committees of public safety, witch-hunters, Ku Klux Klans, Orangemen, Macarthyites et hoc genus omne can become dangers as great as those they were formed to combat. The use of the guillotine becomes an addiction. Thus under Vigilant criticism a new head falls nearly every month. The list of approved authors grows absurdly small. No one is safe... we may doubt whether such caution, so fully armed a determination not to be taken in, not to yield to any possibly meretricious appeal... is consistent with the surrender needed for the reception of good work. You cannot be armed to the teeth and surrendered at the same moment.

To take a man up very sharp, to demand sternly that he shall explain himself, to dodge to and fro with your questions, to pounce on every apparent inconsistency, may be a good way of exposing a false witness or a malingerer. Unfortunately, it is also the way of making sure that if a shy or tongue-tied man has a true and difficult tale to tell you will never learn it. The armed and suspicious approach which may save you from being bamboozled by a bad author may also blind and deafen you to the shy and elusive merits -- especially if they are unfashionable -- of a good one.

---C. S. Lewis, An Experiment in Criticism

[lavelled]

Prince Harry is that creamsicle adult, I will stress, who has turned the Internet into a steaming broth of cork-lid cum stimuli who holds rape-first paperwork and thus far has suffered zero consequences for his power grid hack, his laxative book reviews, his algorithmic product price-fixing, his do-suicide directives, and lying about dead kids. All of which is illegal and shows psychological and behavioral illness. But, mommy. The elfscape successful businessman who paid a California helpmate to birth his FaceTime video call kids, who were conceived in a rented nuthouse with one eye trained on the computer screen, will forever be known for holiday balls, masked balls, and charity balls — and not in a good way.

Harry is your ordinary adulterous scribbleman making threats in his sitting room, typing up blood and murder and sex addiction and rape on the Internet while being idolized in his social position, invited to places in social satire, and wrongly declared a nimble keyboardist.

It’s funny how Prince Harry’s human experience of loss came to affect the entire world and two individual lives so drastically, like living through a delayed pandemic, when he deserved to accept it, find equilibrium, fall in love, make a fresh start, and heal in the offline world.

Didn’t do any of that. He was given global influence and a fake wife. And I was sidelined.

Prince Harry gets paid for life-interfering outbursts through his hacking Dictaphone of: Cum will win. What utmost ambition you must’ve had as a youngster, to dream the spread of cum in haughty dignity, at any given moment, every day, on behalf of your patriarchal elders as you sit not in a castle, but in a dungeon. Far from California. I’m certain it’s not for a beloved mother. But if you think she’d be proud of your hooker and john relationship with Actress Sparkles in order to exact revenge in porn-grade prose with baby back-of-the-head amateur photos that most people glance over without reading, because your payroll is full of clunking enablers and it’s decade 4, then by all means continue to use the automatic emotional Killtom gimmick to try to divvy up your sexual demands and retribution when you know you won’t get anywhere near the pavement of my life.

Is your Papa proud of you? Does he and Megs have a close cricket game partnership?

It's painful to witness, the endless technological and psychological demands of the son of a grandfatherly pimp that never learned the definition of sexual consent and who, himself, grew up to be a vindictive nymphomaniac, in print at least, who dubiously holds a glossy revenge catalog. The daytime silent speaker, fuck no, he’s loud, was given a lifetime appointment online, the one place where all ages set up accounts and was left unchecked enough for years to bend the truth to a Nobody Somebody whose communication and noise to the outside world would be paramount to her own stymied life, career and uterus. Say something, do something.

Innovative developers create websites only to surrender passwords to Prince Harry, the depraved sexual offender, who amusingly brainwashed a middle-aged woman, underemployed and for years uninsured, as her fertility got wasted but it’s okay because of a pact most people struggle to comprehend that denied the early promise for marriage, a career, both, while she virtually danced in place for forty years and crudely got pawed at by the Nobel prize September 11th guy while kids lashed out and/or hurt themselves. I think that’s fair and accurate.

The Internet archive is: Passing the Mantle and Weaponizing It with Prince Harry.

He runs the Windsor-Sparkles household, in separate countries and far from Montecito, which are journalistic lies, with his penetrating blab on athletes, politicians, actors, and singers that makes it seem like he’s a machine-made bot, and yet, in fact, he’s King Charles’ unconventional son, shielded from logistical repercussions and economic difficulties, typing on the internet his desires: You fucking little bitch I will fucking find where u fucking live you stupid little fucking prick you better watch ur fucking back when I get my fucking hands on you I'll break ur fucking toe. This is even a question. Fuck you?

For Tom Cruise. Such literary mischief, hahaha. So his business is obviously essential to worldwide humanity. It certainly has benefitted my life. And kids under the age of 20.

I can take racy political incorrectness. But what is Harry’s company of bitching all about? Childhood trauma turned indecipherable code. Right. But say you’re not a psychopath and say, without further ado, you sometimes use big words and you prefer the true meaning behind the vocabulary, this has been a nightmare inside of a computer. The Archduke bends reality, he writes lies, slurs, bites of miscommunication, smears, innuendos, sexual dirt, pulped grubby details, micro-paragraphs of violent retrieval, false mathematical geometries, polished disgusting anecdotes on entertainment and political folks that cause good people to get into trouble, and it’s seemingly approved of by the population, with its falling in line. Yeah. I don’t think a lot of people like it. People have a tendency to show the world that whatever this is should be undone.

Have I mentioned yet that Prince Henry Charles Mountbatten-Windsor, in his narcissistic theater, crafted a satirical website from scratch years ago knowing that I would probably send along a written piece for consideration, which I did through a misguided decision, got accepted, got published, and got paid?

Prince Harry paid me through PayPal years ago.

I find myself needing the world’s safest strongest household disinfecting Windex bleach cleaner for my brain.

On the other hand, it’s good to know that Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, can pay a woman for something other than fucked-hard sex and heirs.

A flair for the dramatic seduction, I wrote about baseball, the batter's box, batting cages, coaches and the main character was named Ethan. Back when baseball was purely a sport. It’s titled, I Am Your Hitting Coach As Soon As You Step Inside This Coin-Operated Batting Cage. Shortly after it was published, Harry deleted the site — feeling triumphant — like erasing a young woman’s existence. Gone. The story wasn’t a work of art, but a freelance writer builds her career on published clips. No doubt I should have taken a screenshot of his website. But I had no inkling it was him. Until years later, when I realized that he deleted it because of the Mission Impossible Ethan character and Tom’s never-far cyber presence. It’s Harry’s duty to pitch in and reject me so that I’m reduced to nothing. Spiteful Harry has always been hurting me to hurt Tom.

In tackling the middle section of any 40-year life theft, you look to the makers of song, books, movies, and television shows. They speak a higher truth on an old Charley horse that I have nothing in common.

The 1980s sitcom, Charles in Charge, debuted when I was an infant and its lead is played by actor Scott Baio, whose full name is Scott Vincent Baio, and whose parents were immigrants from Italy. Charlie Sheen famously played the role of Charlie Harper in the sitcom, Two and a Half Men, and then the lead role was recast with Ashton Kutcher and ended in 2015. Actor Charles Stanley Dutton is famous for the movies, Alien, Gothika, and Nick of Time with Johnny Depp. Renowned actor Walter Charles Dance, known professionally as Charles Dance, is an English actor with a 40-year career that includes the role as Tywin Lannister in Game of Thrones and the superb (up) role of Lord Mountbatten in The Crown. He also starred in the British TV show, The Jewel in the Crown in 1984, based on the novel series, The Raj Quartet, written by Paul Scott.

There is the movie, Charlie St. Cloud, based on Ben Sherwood's novel, The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud, where the main character played by actor, Zachary David Alexander Efron, or Zac Efron, has a little brother named Sam, 12, who dies in a car chain reaction in the movie. The story takes place in the fictional town of Quincy, located in the Pacific Northwest, the producers filmed the movie in Vancouver, Mr. Sherwood the novelist, former President of ABC News, is from Los Angeles and yet Sam, the younger brother, wears a Boston Red Sox baseball cap.

Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman won the Oscar for his movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, about a couple who undergo a memory erasure procedure after a painful breakup. In the movie, the couple is played by Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet where there’s a 13-year age difference between the actors and yet, in the film, Jim isn’t portrayed as an evil old-hag, sex-demanding pedophile. Before that, screenwriter Charlie Kaufman wrote Adaptation which has the dual meaning of pedo. About King Charles.

Two, count them two, famous Charlies star in the sci-fi movie, Pacific Rim: the British actor best known for Sons of Anarchy, Charlie Hunnam, and Charlie Day, best known for playing Charlie Kelly on the television show, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. A much older then-Prince Charles passed off minorly paperwork to a pacifier as a cover.

The movie, Good Luck Chuck, a romantic comedy that stars Jessica Alba and actor-comedian, Dane Cook, who went to high school near me, plays the dentist Charlie Kagan. The movie’s screenwriter, ten years later, went on to write Jigsaw, which is the eighth installment in the SAW film franchise and whose titles are interchangeable. No coincidences or jigsaw puzzling about all that.

Woody Harrelson, whose birth name is Woodrow Tracy Harrelson, has an expansive career, but perhaps most noticeably are these three movie titles: Indecent Proposal, Natural Born Killers, and The Edge of Seventeen. For two of those, I was still an undergraduate.

In the 2012 film, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, the lead character of freshman Charlie Kelmeckis is played by actor Logan Lerman.

One of the stars in Just Shoot Me, the 1997 comedy sitcom, shares a familiar ethnic name. Google the actor Enrico Colantoni and the show.

Ray Charles or Ray, the movie, stars Jamie Foxx with 2 Xs.

The actor Gabriel Macht, whose full name is Gabriel Swann Macht, is best known for playing Harvey Specter in the television series, Suits. I know what you’re thinking. You thought, didn’t her co-stars attend a royal wedding and have achieved nothing else. No. Turns out, they’re all real actors. Take Gabriel. A few of his movie titles: Archangel with Daniel Craig and a Russian actress named Yekaterina, a 2009 drama called Middle Men and in the movie Love & Other Drugs, with Anne Hathaway, his character is Trey Hannigan. In the 2001 movie, Behind Enemy Lines, Gabriel plays Naval Aviator Lieutenant Jeremy Smoke Stackhouse with Gene Hackman. I’m thinking, eventually, a Los Angeles-born California-residing on-set actress of a legal drama, all genders in serious suits, co-stars with memorable aliases, would remember the beginnings of an unfair situation for a woman now in adulthood with no fictional roles, no spouse, no children, nothing and decline this particular bargaining marriage proposal. Nevertheless, it was Meg’s choice to be with Harvey Harry, the royal with the legalese, whom she reconsidered to be a good guy after all.

Hollywood, with the light touch of a human wrecking ball, has been giving Tom the green authorization based on Age & Other Things.

King Charles doesn’t get rewarded for pedophilia, passing the torch, moving on with his life, getting remarried, spinning the narrative, and denying responsibility, all the while making me feel like I have nothing to offer, personally or professionally. The Windsor survival mode is to contort the truth in print and speech. I can’t stomach reading the lies and the underthings of filth by the Devil son.

I’ve been pinned down by this manipulative family for decades.

Prince Harry, the horny typist, has myspaced, tweeted, youtubed, linked, published, communicated, and emailed me for years and years. The greenest green of lights.

K

Her new Instagram, her As Ever website, her As Ever care packages, her podcasts, her interviews are controlled by Prince Harry. Duchess Megs cannot read the news; she cannot touch the internet; she cannot send work email. She cannot speak freely per royal contracts. The Sussexes don’t live in Montecito and they don’t live together.

The impression now is that she doesn’t appreciate Harry. I get it. He’s a toddler with a discharge drip mouth about women. But it was nine years of social climbing with kenneled knife guy. Duchess gave permission to monetize her mother, her father, sister and brother, even on a slow news day, to help distort the truth.

Highly rational people ask that you don’t schmooze, fuck, marry, and procreate in a rented guest-house with the monster under the bed to help his rape agenda in decade 4. She’s a paid side character and I’ll remind the world every chance I get.

Disregard any names. This is only about the wife. Notice the Four yous. Silly. Sicily.

The date? The date right there. The exact imprinted Instagram date.

December 14, 2012 was the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting tragedy. 20 students and six adults were killed…

On the mountaintop, up up up, quoting the 1943 French children's book, of kingly green and gold, The Little Prince.

About Charles.

Her pedo father-in-law...

Oh, they’ve met. Gabriel. Her co-star. The actor who’s been helping a middle-aged girl way over here. Water spectator tom, red bagged nutty Trail Mix, a Sheryl Facebook big-tech reference, and a spoiler about her future husband.

Flirting with the enemy…

You know how certain movies mention a baby Hitler? Despot. Tyrant. Cockroach. It’s most likely a Prince Harry reference.

Three umbrellas to keep the wee little one dry in a pram-carriage…

Binoculars, a rolling medical cot, and the English sprite in a British Horse Society Pink Pony Club sweatshirt…

Up, up, up. Standing on tiptoe at a wedding, the prodigal son, with pedophile, kid-suicide paperwork.

Lost without a roadmap…    

Playing horsey in the field. Prince Charles, minus a bleeding heart, passing the baton, wearing an interesting belt, seen here playing duck duck goose with a vagina wearing mismatched socks.

A white cup near the tire wheel…

You might begin to see why Afghan civilians donated blood for that Spare book display. In his book, he talked about his gunning military presence in Afghanistan after 9/11, a tragedy that he and his father directly inspired and how they’ll be remembered.

Linguistic advertising…

I didn’t know the beekeeper thing has been a crude reference in everyday life for so long.

Back in 2008 and laughing about it…

In his high-tech hideaway, Harry talks nonstop about a micro-penis. Allow me counter that with this genital mutilation Getty photo, taken during the coronation of his fandom Daddy.

To The Archewell Foundation… 

In 2013, Meghan, with crossed ankles, demonstrating the wide and narrow, at The Hunger Games movie premiere in jolly good London with Jennifer Lawrence right there, in her archer pose that held no lasting meaning whatsoever…

James William Middleton is the gentleman seated behind that famous movie star. James is a longtime hater of Harry. Which you could say about anybody, really, but you’d think he’d warm up to the prince considering James is the brother of a future Queen. Nope. I suspect James has signed a royal NDA, but he sends messages through his six dogs, writing a book on one titled, Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life and through his wardrobe and love life. He married a French woman, Alizée Thevenet, in France in 2021, which Harry has yet to update on James’ Wiki page. I’ve been refreshing it for years. I’m all for modern commitment and togetherness without labels. Self-made labels. Whatever people want. But this is Harry purposefully giving James a partnered dash with no conclusion. Interesting how his wife’s name, with its telling z and v, kind of looks like my sister’s.

This is a regal green light to Tom because of what Charles did, in green pants, right behind — of all celebrities and actors — Bradley Charles Cooper, the Italian actor who played real-life Navy SEAL marksman Chris Kyle in the film, American Sniper… 

The light is a current on our dignified crown representatives.

Peepee — or blood — on Harry’s pants because he’s to be castrated and she, a paid accessory, gave him coveralls and girl shears by marrying him.

As ever, two cunts…

Rachel Sparkles. I’m guessing the majority of England knew you were fakesters, despite the chorus and crowds, because of well-wishers like this good man. Wearing an ampersand symbol on a tee-shirt established in 2018.

The loveless marriage plot, royal wedding, and experimentation were cruelty and revenge driven and, with it, caused celebrity and kid suicides that don’t happen when other famous people do it.

Nice shirt…

An Australian amphitheatre.

Watching the heirs-only wedding on F chairs. I’m guessing that really means A.

A Tom double is nearby, spectating, close-up to the movie screen there and to his computer screen. Another noticeable ampersand symbol. One woman, alone, is looking at hell and thinking about her choiceless middle-age…

They hardly touch fingertips.

Getty caught that just-married salaried office job fuckfest glow.

Charles is hitting on the underage mother while Camilla, with a similar girl name as her newly paid daughter-in-law because that’s super normal, is getting smacked in the face with a leafy shrub…

Orinoco Flow. Watery lies of the ocean deep. Prince Henry Mountbatten-Windsor and his wife, Meghan, and their kids do not live in Montecito. Meghan does not encounter daily mean-girl A-list Montecito bullies or whatever the gilded junior high PR angle is this week.

I think every Getty photographer has read about 600 emails written by Nike-girl boater. There’s just something about their photographs. Amongst those emails are the phrases “hurting entity” and my writer-filmmaker bud’s sendoff:  Stay the course. Yes? I always hated that. It seemed like such a patriarchal command, a coastal dig at my already stagnant personal and professional life. But he meant come back. To Tom Cruise and my film friends…

Proof they’ve read the emails and have seen a Top Gun movie. And if Harry was ever taught maths and chronology and consent, he’d realize why his rape memoir is huddled together with Literature outing his pedo daddy and Windsor family…

I thought, yes, he does have a black heart, so cold, so menacing, cruel to leave me and turn on me and cut off my life, see the hand over mouth thing, monster, but he doesn’t seem the type, if there is a type, not in his movies or interviews. Where is the proof he’s a pedophile! This? Fuuuuck.

Why is the name biff like pitt, is it another family dig? I was going on age. Our age difference. That’s it. That’s all the proof I had. Harry knew you were watching me and that I’d believe his constant manipulation. Harry likes to move the dial on the boombox radio and blame Tom although his own repetitive and screengrabbed words are: what’s up, tube, lube, pubic library, quiver, gulag, and yes everyone saw you wrote disrupt several times on the Spain hacking admission because your daddy is the life-stealing pedophile and not Tom... 

This is a Tom Cruise Rape Account for your kids to look at. Please please give Harry & Meghan an award, any award, so I can list you, your organization, and your spouses and you can sigh and daftly say, well, there’s quasi-invisible paperwork to consider.

It was: This Account Doesn’t Exist for the longest time. I kept revisiting it, no words were posted.

Ya think maybe a girl might be persuaded to think Tom’s not a good guy?

Search for the account now. It’s gone. Poof. Prince Harry, the CEO, finally wiped it from the Twitter database…

That different Celica account that he has since deleted, in spite of the fact that he’s already been outed as my decade-long (longer) conversationalist. He’s not a cheapskate in his lies: cockey cola, cock, bitch, Dad, dog, dolphin, f-word, the varied fonts, all projection and illusion, closure, suture, like snow on the beach…  

The real Celica, my Japanese geisha samurai housewife. In 1970’s Muppet Babies mode. These are the Likes that he would also Retweet and we’d communicate through. He was getting mad at my technical wrestlers who are watching us talk, in every covert secretive form, him violating an NDA agreement. He’s goading them about keeping quiet and lying about HIM and his much older family doing this to me.

They’re trending how his skin is so perfect for slicing…

The real Celica. Harry’s beekeeping hobby. Even with the dot com right there and visible, I still wasn’t getting it. I was thinking the sport of baseball. I like sports. He’s using honey, semen, cum, and wax to tell my tech buds that it’s all Tom’s fault for being soooo much older than me.

Prince Charles and his rapey son…

Every day, this is where we communicated through tap-tap knock-knock morse code. He’s telling me recorded love lies. Cake, whether ceremonious or not, a hand-piped Smiley Face Cake represents, to me, dessert only and not pedophilia slicing. I didn't know.

The escalation name in Charles would do…    

A movie I’ve mentioned several times in these blogs.

Someone vandalized and defaced, in red graffiti spray paint, the statue of the Queen in Gravesend, Kent, England that read “parasite.” On twitter, he wrote that the figurehead modern art looked “bit posh and pedo to me.” Notice the both lower and upper cases. This happened in October 2018. Five months after the royal wedding. It was Prince Harry. He either hired someone to do it, or he did it himself. 2018. He hated that year because as we all know Tom Cruise, the action star, pressured the 33-year-old royal typist into marrying Actress Sparkles.

Right.

Are celebrities known for defacing statues when they’re in an unhappy marriage; do they hack power grids and PlayStation; do they track athletes with laser pointers across TikTok; do they go after transgender actors, models, and performers and their families on social media; do they post Suicide/Watch threats online; do they endlessly bitch about thrones and youth and beatings — then why should this non-Hollywood couple, helmed by a psycho insomniac, be given business perks?

Does Charles know that his painterly son did this…

It wasn't in 2021. He defaced her in the royal wedding year, 2018.

Who, who, Houdini it…

I wasn’t going to say anything about anything.

But you hacked his country.

This is Felipe Juan Pablo Alfonso de Todos los Santos de Borbón y Grecia. He attended Georgetown University for a Master's degree and lived with his cousin Prince Pavlos of Greece for all three exact years that my sister was getting her law degree five minutes away at American University. I visited my big sister for off-campus handouts. Prince Felipe returned to the school and area after graduation which I guess wasn’t a surprise, given the photographer’s name.

One more thing: this royal, this King, with all his high-ranking titles, in 2015, became the first and only monarch to appear on the cover of an LGBT magazine.

And I’m stuck in the halo dopey sexist butcher muppetland House of Windsor.

The king gives Tom the green light…

Guess who else returned after graduation — Harvard’s Frederik X.

He returned for a Ritz Carlton Ballet Party in Boston in the late 1990s because, sadly, there is no Royal Danish Ballet and Theatre based in Copenhagen. Actually, right now, the playhouse is performing Marie Antoinette, the ballet company, The Great Gatsby, and the opera, Griselda, which is Vivaldi. Two v’s.

A red tie, flowers, a green light for Tom…

A royal navy captain and two curfewed Dixie Cups and their proxy undertaking that has caused major global upheaval.

The decades-long deal, whatever this is, was set way before a car chase as I’ve stated over and over… 

Sailing to Capri.

My old username is underneath The Departed, which is appropriate.

You might dismiss this as just filmography collage cutouts. However. The pieces featured here are out of order. I could teach a university lecture on Leonardo DiCaprio films today and his first movie, believe it or not, wasn't the 2012 Django Unchained.

As a matter of fact, I double-checked. Long Live google. I kept looking at it. (Research.)

There. I saw it. The Great Gatsby image, far in the corner with legs, wrists, arms X crossed and a cane. The 5th image. That Gatsby. Green light Gatsby. The Champagne GIF. Celica. I had those screengrabs already on a flash drive. Why would it be so bad for Harry and I to talk for years and years and years...

As ever, blaming Tom. Cinema and cum, in Windsor code, mean kill.

Harry has loathed the entertainment business — ironic since his life and salary has benefited from their communal perks — while also in long solitary hours sabotaged its most talented moneymakers. It was only this week that he used the wordplay, Eternal 5unshine.

That movie was released on March 19, 2004.

Harry & his father thwarted my ambitions, my desires, and my autonomy.

Charles Mountbatten-Windsor and his nuisance son, Prince Harry, are responsible for Columbine, Parkland, Sandy Hook, September 11th, wars, a Spain hacking and other destruction. The king father knows his penny candy role in all this, even if he's silently served tea.

Noble blood kings, Hollywood, Broadway, Silicon Valley, chefs, athletes, fashion designers, people in government, the military, university presidents, doctors and business owners — they shine a green light for Tom.

I have one more long Tumbler blog of pictures to share.

[kyrodo]

So once again someone completely calms and starts to fall asleep to my phantom touch in vr. Petting slowly. As I have with Beastner. As I have with Shine and Lupy. As I have with Browniiie or even Buster for a short time in furality. And some people who only met a few times but added me because of how I put them to sleep. I have the real life, or rather virtual life equivalent of the magic touch, it's almost comical how consistent it is how it works even on people I just met. And I'm not perfect, I can feel the muscles in my weaker arm on the left start to shake, I can even see my controller shake a few times in vr, but people don't seem to mind that. People have developed newly discovered phantom sense around me. So it's not even just on people who usually experience phantom sense. And I'm sure the cute meows and purrs help too. I'm a living support cat.

Now Red, seems on the same level as Ops, younger gen, lots of references and banter I can't even begin to follow up on and frankly don't really care to. I just accept that I'm out of date. I let my cool/cute avatars and high skill in making cat noises to speak for me instead. And certain things, memes especially, haven't been a strong part of my personal culture even from my own generation. I'm not going to worry about my weak points. Ref and Ops, I was mostly there for Lupy, but enjoyed the fluffy dragon that joined us, who I also put to sleep with my phantom touch. The KC guy was also saying something about phantom sense while I was petting him before falling asleep. KC Ref and Ops I feel work really well together in a dynamic. I don't. I like that Ops enjoys visiting us the few times he has. I like how KC and especially Ref are completely enamored with my phantom touch. The three of them were joking around making all these gay jokes and such and being funny being memey being hard to follow and comedic in ways I typically don't.

I kinda have my own thing with Red and Choskey going, but it's got a different atmosphere to it. But I'm sure you already have a clue about that. But the moment I start petting Ref he instantly melted and quieted down and started crooning and moaning. I remember making even Icy fall asleep before. I remember making Mana feel phantom sense for the first time. That is really cool. I'm proud of that. That gives me a strong feeling of holy shit I'm good at this, and it's a wholesome skill at that. And this is real. I mean it is the virtual world but the skill is real. I got my own flavor of avatar customization that looks really nice. I'm really really cute and my cat sounds are unmatched by many. And I got this magical touch that absolutely melts people that enjoy being petted. While also having a comfortable aura for many.

Who would I be without vrchat? Where would my confidence be? Where would I find friends? How bad would my talking skills still be with friends or otherwise. I would have been doing the same old play steam games until I sleep routine every day and die unhappy while never making friends or becoming anything. But here I am. And with my unity skills and the cute mannerisms I learned around Red, it's like I was made for this. I have so much social and creative power here, and people see me as a benefactor instead of public enemy #1. I am this cute artistic kitty everyone loves that melts hearts and the closest thing to a cure for depression where as around you I'm on the fucking dart board and I'm being told not to worry about it while you're actively throwing darts at my face right in front of me. Explain that to me please. Who am I and how the actual fuck does it line up with what you think of me? I am casually shitting on you here all the time, when I already do that just by being alive and doing all this.

I wish the next person who tries to attack my character and rehash it the best of luck. Cause I'm gonna give them a really hard fucking time. I know I shouldn't surrender myself to spite, but all this overwhelming approval for me gets to my head sometimes. And if I'm going to touch on meme cultures that I don't particularly fit in at least it'll be with people that directly interact with me, and not the people who are telling me the sky is fucking purple or something with a straight face. It is tragic and hilarious the kinds of tropes you embody. If that's how you want to be your whole life I'm not gonna fucking stop you. I'll just be over here winning the support of absolutely everybody except you, so every time they catch one sentence about you, they wonder how anyone could treat me like absolute ass like you did. And then you could tell them. Tell them how you couldn't even get my fucking allergies right let alone everything else. Tell them why you harassed me for a whole month constantly 24/7 behind Red's back after I said I was going to leave you guys alone. Cause I'm sure everyone would love to know.

[wordpress-blaze-36010151]

I am a Failure

Recently, I have been contemplating failure and its spiritual dimensions. In large part, this is because failure’s counterpart, success, is such a strange thing to pin down. I think Daniel Berrigan was onto something when he referred to success as being a weasel word and horribly American. But this recent contemplation of mine is also because, by all accounts, Jesus of Nazareth was a failure as well. Certainly, he had the makings of a successful person, but in the end, he died scandalized and humiliated on a Roman Cross.

As I was recently reminded at a gathering of Lutherans, many are certainly happy to celebrate Jesus becoming a failure for us, but those qualities that brought him to a Roman cross seem to be overlooked for the systematic nature of Paul’s letters. At times, I am not so sure what to make of this dynamic, because when Jesus’ words are referenced, they are just as quickly taken out of context.

It might seem strange that I am writing about failure, given my background as a pastor and professor with a Ph.D. I think I would be considered a “success” by some. However, in a very real sense, I don’t know what to do with such a judgment. Not because I am against being considered a success, but because there is so much more to me than just these things. There are many places where I might be deemed a failure. I resigned from a reputable pastoral position in part because of interpersonal dynamics, I struggle with OCD, I can certainly worry about the most ridiculous things, and I can be harsh and impatient. My successes can all too easily cover up my failures or, in another very real sense, my humanity. However, what strikes me through all my experiences is that it is in the failures and the struggles that the gold is found. After all, Christians believe that one man’s failure is what saves us from our sins.  

Recently, I read a great interview with theologian William T. Cavanaugh concerning success and failure. In the interview, Cavanaugh explains how, when it comes to positions of power and our desire for them, we rarely ask or consider how the position might change us. Rather, we often view it in the opposite direction, with a very individualistic lens, on how we can change the world through our position. I thought this was such a powerful insight, as we tend to approach the world around us in such ways when, in all actuality, the world around us influences us far more than we influence it. And really, wasn’t that the struggle of Jesus of Nazareth, not succumbing to the influence of the world? Satan tempted him with the very things that make for a successful person: power, prestige, and security, and certainly, no cross. Peter rebuked him over all his cross talk. And certainly had Jesus been more agreeable, he could have found a seat at the table of his enemies, the Pharisees. Yet, the ultimate symbol of failure lay ahead of him for all to see. I suppose we can say that such is what happens when one does not seek success, but instead faithfulness to the ways of God – failure.

Source: I am a Failure

[yamuna111]

When Failure Is Not a Bar: Determination That Deals the Final Blow for IAS Exam Success

The path through which one is likely to reach any kind of success as an IAS officer can be said to be longer with more dedication, resolute stamina, and without any weakening surrender. In competitive or more difficult courses like the Civil Services Examination, failure is a very common phenomenon. Indeed, many aspirants face numerous setbacks before achieving their dreams, but for those who persevere, failure is never the end, but rather a stepping stone to success. This is especially true for the students who get to study at the best IAS academy in Coimbatore wherein they learn that the greatest strength one needs for the elimination of whatever bad is determination. This article primarily talks about the positive impact of willpower in achieving success. It goes into an explanation to reach success from disappointment by putting down valuable lessons as failure.

Why IAS Candidates Fail The Union Public Service Commission conducts IAS exams with stiff criteria. Thousands of candidates are sitting for a very small number of vacancies, resulting in a higher failure rate. Most students tend to experience their first failure during the preliminary stage, while others crumble at mains or interview levels. The difference between those who succeed and those who dropout usually lies in their ability to learn from failure and not give up at the right moment.

At the best IAS academy in Coimbatore, students are guided not just about the academic subject but also equipped with a strength of mind. Here, the instructor teaches his students that, after all, mistakes or failures are part of the process and encourages them to take a growth mindset approach to experience setbacks as opportunities for learning.

The Power of Determination to Overcome Failure Determination is that bridge between those who pass the IAS exam and those who fall on the way. But how can one bring that kind of determination in preparation for one of India's toughest exams?

Accepting the Process of Learning When aspirants fail, they have the option to either quit or analysis their mistakes. This approach is much more fruit because it informs the candidates where they need to improve. For instance, a student may get to realize that he needs to work on time management or on his knowledge of a specific subject area. The finest IAS coaching in Coimbatore guarantees that students work closely with their instructors to come up with individually focused strategies that improve on their weaknesses. This customized strategy encourages determination because it brings the aspirants to a great foundation, and with each try, there is progress.

Keeping the Goal in Mind Success in IAS requires laser-like focus. The journey can stretch from several years. It is easy to be discontented at various points in the journey. Determination keeps aspirants focused on their ultimate goal, reminding them why they embarked on this journey in the first place. Many students feel that attending a top IAS academy drives them to push through the long haul. Regular coaching, mentorship, and an encouraging peer group at the best IAS academy in Coimbatore make sure such focus stays on track.

Learning from Failures: Success Stepping Stones The greatest IAS success stories have always contemplated failure as only a short-term hurdle and not permanent one. They improve each time by analyzing what went wrong and working on those areas. Most successful candidates attribute their success to the lessons they learned from previous failures. Students convert failures into valuable learning experiences through a positive attitude towards each failure. This is one of the qualities adhered to by the best IAS coaching in Coimbatore, which specifically trains students to face challenges in a strategic and calm manner.

Real-Life Examples of Determination in IAS Success There are many examples in the real world showing how IAS officers failed but then achieved incredible success in their careers. A very interesting example is that of an IAS officer who appeared for the exam three times before clearing it. Each time he failed, he learned something new and perfected his strategy along with improving his mental strength so that he could clear the exam. His story proves that persistence pays when accompanied by mentoring from those experienced in their respective fields, as what the best IAS academy in Coimbatore could have given.

The other story is of an applicant who failed for two successive attempts. She scored terribly in one subject only, but instead of keeping her head down, she put extra effort into understanding the tough ideas. Her lecturers and classmates encouraged her to work even harder. At the third attempt, she cleared the exam.

Important Take-A-Ways about Determination What would one learn from all these stories? Well, determination is not just the result of hard work but smart working, learning from mistakes, and staying put with one's goal despite setbacks. Here are some practical ways to build determination for IAS success. Set Realistic Goals: Break up IAS preparation into manageable stages. At every stage, have small goals-ascending like completing a syllabus or mastering a particular study area. Celebrate Small Wins: You should celebrate your small success, no matter how small they may be. It becomes easy to keep motivated if you celebrate such wins. Seek a Supportive Network: You want to be surrounded by those who surround you with positives, be it friends, family, or mentors. The best IAS academy in Coimbatore ensures that a robust network provides complete support during this long journey. Why the Role of Professional Guidance in Determination Building can be Very Vital But proper guidance goes a long way. IAS preparation cannot be knowledge of subjects only, but rather strategic planning, time management, and mental toughness. All this is provided by the experienced mentors at the best IAS academy in Coimbatore. They help students prepare adequate plans to study, help them analyze progress, and offer necessary resources as per the individual's needs.

Access to structured guidance and to a community of like-minded aspirants increases determination by keeping students focused on their goals. The environment at the best IAS academy is designed to push the student to do his or her best, inspiring him or her to continue working hard even in the face of adversity.

Join the IAS today If you're to realize IAS, start off with help from the best IAS academy in Coimbatore. Here you will be guided, mentored, and systematically covered, which would help you finally determine the zeal you have been trying to make real. Do not let your self forget that some knocks-the real trick is in getting up again, accepting a few setbacks as an integral part of your road to success. We will see you through this. Join now and build the skills and resilience needed for a successful IAS career.

Conclusion: Determination Determines Success in IAS Nothing is easy to become an IAS officer. Through determination, everything is achievable. Failure is always standard during the process, but nothing deters those individuals who learn from their errors and remain focused at the end. And for aspiring officers who have an ambition to make it to IAS, the best IAS academy in Coimbatore organises the right amount of aids and counseling to convert determination into success. Remember failure is not the end, but it's an opportunity to grow and come back stronger.

[rachellaurengray]

Finding True Peace Beyond Happiness and Unhappiness

(This entry is ✍🏻 inspired by the Power of Now)

In a world that constantly chases after happiness, we often forget that there is a deeper, more profound state of being waiting for us—a state that exists beyond the fleeting highs of happiness and the lows of unhappiness. This profound state is called peace, and it is available to us when we learn to let go and embrace the present moment fully.

Imagine a life where happiness and unhappiness no longer dictate your sense of self. It sounds liberating, doesn’t it? Eckhart Tolle invites us to envision this profound shift, suggesting that true peace isn’t something we find in external achievements or relationships, but rather in the quiet acceptance of the now. Happiness and unhappiness are like waves that rise and fall, influenced by external factors and internal emotions. But peace—real, enduring peace—lies beneath these waves, in a still, calm depth that remains untouched by the turbulence above.

To tap into this inner peace, Tolle guides us towards the practice of surrender. Surrender, as he describes, is not about giving up or resigning yourself to a life of passivity. Instead, it’s about releasing the constant struggle against reality and accepting the present moment as it is. It means letting go of the need to control every outcome and instead aligning yourself with the natural flow of life. When we resist what is, we create internal conflict and suffering. But when we surrender, we open ourselves up to a state of profound liberation.

Consider this: every time you let go of resistance, you make space for peace. It’s like clearing out the clutter from a room to reveal a hidden sanctuary. This surrender doesn’t require dramatic changes; it’s found in the simple act of accepting the present moment with all its imperfections. It’s about recognizing that while we can’t always control our circumstances, we can control how we respond to them.

As you practice surrender, you’ll find that the burdens of chasing happiness and avoiding unhappiness start to lift. You begin to experience a sense of alignment with life itself, where peace becomes your natural state. In this space, happiness and unhappiness become mere visitors, and you remain grounded in a deeper, more enduring peace.

So, embrace the present moment with open arms. Let go of the struggle, and surrender to the now. In this surrender, you’ll discover that true peace is not only possible but is your birthright. It’s a state of being that exists beyond the fluctuations of emotion, waiting for you to simply step into it.

[itsmyflaura]

0. The Fool

The energy of the Fool begins to become more apparent when we break out of the monotony of the matrix and begin to seriously wonder what else exists outside of what we've already experienced.

This is a moment where we're no longer navigating life by the rules placed around us, instead being led by a purely instinctive state. & when people witness others go against the rules established, they not only consider this foolish, but dangerous as well.

Those that embody that harmonious synergy with spirit are seen this way because it's not something that can be tangibly explained, only felt and understood once experienced.

Oftentimes one can be made to feel misguided for seeking out a road that's not been paved for them, especially when that road sometimes means leaping off a cliff (metaphorically speaking).

This harmony with spirit is also met with the experiences accumulated prior to this enlightenment, and we're presented with a choice to exist in a chosen naïve like state in spite of these experiences; this time however, there is a new found faith in how to move forward, although this energy is not yet being consciously directed.

The Fool is the only card that has the number zero in the Rider Waite deck, which not only symbolizes a starting point, new beginnings; it also suggests endless possibilities which begin by taking that instinctive step forward. This is the moment we begin to journey through the material, subconscious and superconscious realms as represented by the Major Arcana.

*********

1. Try - Madison McFerrin

This reminds me of the moment of recognition of the shift that happens internally when you know you're staying safe by playing by the rules, rather than going ahead and taking a "leap of faith", how the Fool is often characterized. I remember learning shortly after hearing this track that she had an experience where she sang the national anthem and was completely ripped apart by people on social media. Even with such a heavy experience, she knew intuitively that playing it safe was not an option and was able to make such a beautiful song in tribute to that truth.

2. Colours and Shapes - Mac Miller 🕊️

I have such a deep appreciation for Miller's tracks, particularly after 'Divine Feminine', and this one stood out to me instantly. The composition of the track feels very liberating and flowy to me, almost playful the way an intuitive state of being feels. Timothy Leary (involved in the psychedelic movement in the 60's) opens up the track around his contemplation of "Who Am I". I feel that's part of the Fool's journey, this understanding isn't concrete yet and I felt it really resonated when he wrote "if you want to hold on to yourself, then let yourself slip". The Fool's message is one of surrender.

3. Fall - Chloe x Halle

The slow progression of the piano accompanied by Halle & Chloe's voice feels like surrender to me. The slow beginning is reminiscent of the initial thoughts that can surface in that moment of surrender; fear, doubt and sadness. These are the emotions surrounding the Fool when it appears reversed in our readings. It indicates a blockage that prevents you from following your instincts, and this is perfectly normal as your ego fights to regain a familiar safety. As this track progresses and the tempo increases, it feels like an acceptance of these emotions and choosing to fall through them with optimistic faith.

4. Speed of Sound - Coldplay

This track has always given me the feeling of a sense of wonder and adventure that feels like the Fool's journey. The first verse kind of gives me the visuals of the Rider Waite Fool when he asks "how long do I have to climb, up on the side of this mountain of mine". The lyrics throughout are about going through a journey and resisting staying stuck in what they know; the lyric that I found stuck with me most was a bridge towards the end where he sings "all those signs, I knew what they meant, some things you can invent, some get made and some get sent". I find this explains the juxtaposition of moving forward with your life experiences/choices and being led by an intuitive state outside of your conscious knowing, and how these types of action are very different yet its source still comes through you when you release control and simply surrender.

5. On & On - Joey Bada$$, Maverick Sabre, Dyemond Lewis

I'm such a huge fan of Joey Bada$$, particularly his lyricism in the way his words flow with his often spiritually charged messages. His first verse outlines his experiences as he pursues what he feels destined for; he ends the verse by stating the "omnipresence is omnipotent ... this is the death of a psychopomp but a birth of God's son". A psychopomp is a spiritual guide to a living soul, and he's saying how this unconscious presence that presides over him influences the direction of his path, like Jesus. In the Rider Waite deck, the Fool is facing towards the Left, which represents the unconscious world. The white rose on the card represents when we raise our passions to a higher power and I felt this track really represented this aspect of the Fool.

6. New Map - M83

The sound and lyrics of this track immediately gave me the feeling of The Fool; instead of hesitancy that one might experience when the Fool appears reversed, this track gives me Fool upright being pursued with full exuberance. I feel the essence of the Fool is summed up beautifully with the lyric "rules of conformity, heavy clouds of reason, they're hiding the beauty of your free distortions". This is turning away from the logical mind (represented by the right side in Tarot) and engaging with the unknown.

7. Didn't Cha Know - Erykah Badu

You will see Erykah's art and message sprinkled throughout this Tarot Playlist series because her music has been such a blessing in my life. J Dilla's sampling genius mixed with Erykah's unique voice and wisdom created this esoteric and otherworldly melody that reminds me of journeying through the unknown. The second verse in particular reflects on her reality of not knowing and making mistakes, which could be described as someone foolish, however she embraces this reality of being human, because of the knowing that her heart will guide her back on the path she's meant to take. This is the key in being able to navigate the unknown, trusting your intuition.

8. Fast Car - Tracy Chapman

This song gives me such an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, of long road trips and has just been so relatable as I've moved through life. Her story telling through the verses of her scheming of what moves to make next is reminiscent of the Fool in reverse when it suggests taking the time to plan carefully rather than diving into something recklessly. Sometimes that's what life requires us to do, until we reach that point where we're able to free fall into what is meant for us. There are also socioeconomic barriers that prevent certain groups of people from being able to take the risks as easily, so this is where pursuing the path of the Fool can be read as dangerous. In communities that are particularly targeted under structures of oppression, being taught that practicality is the safest way to exist presents a mental and emotional barrier in allowing the Fool's energy to flow through. The impact of her words at the end, "we got to make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way" really lingers for me; how for some this initial step forward is a matter of life or death.

9. Rise - Solange

This track is like a mantra with the repetition of "fall in your ways" which shifts into "walk in your ways". I feel it serves as a reminder of the why, when I experience resistance in falling when the Fool's energy shows up. So I can crumble, so I can sleep at night, so I can wake up and rise.

10. Spotless Mind - Jhene Aiko

Another one of my favorite artists that will frequent this playlist series, this light hearted track reminds me of the wandering nature of the Fool. The Fools energy is not directed in any particular way, so there is an aimless energy in his travel. The Fool travels with a wand, but again it's tucked away and not in use. While the opportunities are limitless at this moment, this track reminds us that in the endless possibilities that exist, change will always be an inevitable constant.

[zealctry]

the fingers wrapped around his hand fall upon him with the gentleness of a quiet rain, soaking through his skin to the marrow; a balm that he has no right to lay claim to nor seek ( it shouldn't be one at all; it has no right to. and yet, it is ). Hidan doesn't hurt the objects of his loyalty. not when he is himself. In a right state of mind, with a firm foothold on reality. unfortunately, said reality fractures all the more often now, and his rage ( his wrath ) reverberates through every sinew and tendon and fiber, as if common sense was being oh-so-slowly chipped away from his brain ( it ebbs and swells not like the gentleness of a tide, but like a sudden hurricane; he often forgets to breathe. )

useless thoughts, as useless as his remorse. Q rescinds their affection. stands. turns away. ( in a sleight of hand, answers his question with one of their own. Hidan’s molars grit together. yet he exhales and stands once more, as well. )

              “ no.”   it's a flat, simple, succinct answer that requires no qualifier nor further explanation. it simply is, and perhaps it is all the more brutal for its simplicity. ( have you, do you regret it? no. ) the breath he had been holding exits his lungs, soundlessly, through parted teeth, and in that heartbeat, Hidan allows himself the entertaining little thought that his reply will likely not surprise Q. perhaps they'd attribute it to his age, to his ignorance of many seasons passing. would they assume his mind, his perspective, would change...? with time, with experience? ( neither would ; for this is what it means to, first and foremost, love a god. )

the aftermath of the question burns his tongue. because the natural retort is: and do you? he wants to ask. the desire for that answer burns through him. possibilities flirt with the tip of his tongue. . . .  and then, flee past. distractions ( although he wants to chase each and every one of them until they unravel. . .).  no. fuck that. just because Q chooses to turn away from him ( to run away from his question ) does not mean he will not give chase; surrender or acceptance are definitions that he seldom visits and rarely applies to his own self. after all, one of Hidan's greatest weaknesses  —and one of his greatest strengths— is that once something has roused his curiosity, he will pursue it ceaselessly. like a dog with a bone (as he was once called, scorned); like a mongoose with a cobra (a more appropriate illustration, were he asked for his own opinion on the matter). 

the finality of that reality sharpens his gaze to knifepoint, an expression generally alien to Hidan's features, yet oddly not entirely misplaced there. 

              “ ...for what it’s worth, I’ve supped with devils, so to speak. enough to learn a little. I know that I am not one and that neither are you. devils do not  sell their souls; desperate people do. ”  it's a fluid movement, the way he slips in-between Q and the object of their gaze (that reflection), the way he leans in much too close.  “ so why? I'll rephrase: what do you want? what could be worth THAT? what do you think Asmodeus could possibly accomplish for you? ”

With time we learn and Hidan’s youth was his downfall. Whatever outcome may come to pass there would be a lesson. Q was foolish to think he would simply accept a fate he could not control. A life he could not take nor relinquish.

A silken hand clasped in Hidan’s sends Q’s expression quizzical. They did not know what this silence asked. They half expected more of that fight. Instead, a form knelt, like a knight to their lord, their king. Shall they make him kiss their rings? Remorse. Sorrow. Defeat? And yet it was still your hands that sort to slight, your will. The action and intention was clear. Why should they grace Hidan with forgiveness to soothe his soul? Their fingers wrapped around the man's hand.

Why?

“Why would I? Sell my soul again? I told you why. I’m a villain, dear.” Their tongue lashes venom but there is pain. With sharp motion their hand snaps away from Hidan. “I am an abomination. I am the devil. Hidan. I am sin. Although I made myself. They made me that. I killed, stole, indulged myself, and reaped the land and its people as any man did, I was the mirror of which they found their own flaws.” It hadn't truly answered Hidan's question.

Their gaze slipped away, moving with them as they came to sit and then stand turned toward the shattered reflection again. A deceptively frail hand moves and touches their throat, then trails down, shuddering.  A memory unspoken but still raw the day it became. There was something more hidden behind the eyes of bitter scorn.

“Have you ever regretted what you did to your family, Hidan?” A deflection, but one that was perhaps not so shallow.

[tim-han-reviews]

Tim Han Success Insider: Let go of the need to control the past and the future. Focus on loving yourself NOW. ❤️

Deep down, we all know that life unfolds according to its own divine plan. But, despite this knowledge, many of us spend countless hours trying to micromanage the past and future. The truth is, these vain attempts to tighten our hold on life's reins only leave us tangled, frustrated, and disconnected from the present moment. The magic of life lies in the now, so isn't it time we start living there?

In my own journey from a place of frustration to one of freedom, I've learned the power of surrendering control. It's a lesson that, once fully embraced, can transform the way you engage with life. We all have pasts that may seem less than ideal and futures fraught with uncertainty, but that's the human experience. Our past mistakes and future fears don't define us. Only the present does.

In this intricate tapestry of life, every experience - good or bad - comes with a thread of silver lining. It's not always easy or even natural to spot this silver lining, especially when we're fixated on what we could have, should have, or would want. However, if anyone's hunting for the silver lining in their dark cloud, let me tell you, it's there in your present moment.

The journey of self-love begins the moment we choose to leave behind the strains of yesterday and the fears of tomorrow - and learn to live fully today. It's about acknowledging that everyone, including ourselves, is a work in progress. We aren't perfect, and that's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. It's human, it's real, and it's beautiful.

How many of us spend countless hours gazing in the mirror, critiquing every perceived flaw, or dwelling on every past misstep? Now, how many of us dedicate the same energy to celebrating our strengths, our victories, no matter how small they may seem? The sad thing is, I suspect the former far outweighs the latter. But why should it be this way?

Let's rewind back to my journey. I was once there too, lost in the labyrinth of self-doubt and self-critique. When I realized that this wasn't the life I wanted, I fell upon a life-altering epiphany – I needed to fall in love with the person I saw in the mirror. And so, I embarked on this journey of self-love, a journey that I extend an open invitation to each one of you.

Begin today. Stop controlling tomorrow or ruminating over yesterday. Celebrate who you are at this moment. Accept and love every imperfect, messy, and beautiful fraction of your being. By doing so, you are merely acknowledging the inherent humanity that lies within you. Embrace your vulnerabilities, your flaws, and your unique idiosyncrasies, for they weave the intricate tapestry of YOU.

This isn't a quick fix, nor is it supposed to be. It's a journey – a journey of self-discovery, acceptance, and love. It's about cultivating an inner peace that neither the scars of the past nor the worry of the future can touch.

Remember that friend who faced failure with grace, stood tall amid setbacks, and refocused on the present? He was practicing self-love. And, the motivational speaker who smiled through adversity and encouraged millions to do the same? She was practicing self-love. These aren't mythical heroes from a land far away. They are everyday people, like you and me.

Often, our harshest critic stares back at us in the mirror. So, let's turn that critic into our strongest advocate. Shield your inner self with resilience, fortitude, and unconditional love. Remember, the real measure of success is not how many peaks you reach, but how many valleys you've smiled through.

Take a deep breath, soak in the magic of this present moment, and repeat after me: “I am worth self-love. I am worth happiness. I am worth living fully, today and every day.” Now, believe it. Truly imbibe it. Because you are worth it – right here, right now, you are worth it, and your journey to self-love has only just begun.

Remember; You aren't just a face in the crowd. You're the artist painting the canvas of your life. So, whether you're a founder, an employee, a parent, a student, or whatever your role in life might be, start painting with love. Forget the cracks, they are not your reality. They're just ephemeral visitors that come and go. The love you carry within – that's your reality. So embrace it, own it, and start living it. Today. Now. This very moment. Love yourself NOW.