#if you have a hint of a conscience that’s the only path

[tamlindudley]

Always and forever going to stand with people who are opressed and stay by their side when they resort to violence after trying everything else under the sky and coming to the horrifying conclusion that the only language the oppressor understands is violence.

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[bewitchedleague]

"Baldur's Gate 3" - Gortash

pairing: lord enver gortash x reader

a/n: wrote this in an hour, not proof-read. english isn't my first language, might have mistakes. spoilers?

word count: 900.

Had anyone foreseen this as your life's fate, you'd have laughed in disbelief.

The Netherstone within your grasp stood as testament to your role, your newfound cruelty evident. The object capable of unsettling realms, sowing seeds of war and chaos, now answered to you, although partially. The other three Netherstones had their rightful masters, each guarded by potent deities, except for you. Your own deity had forsaken you, swiftly punishing your audacity with excruciating agony, only saved from death by the intervention of the other deities shielding you with their might. But such was the toll of greatness, the sacrifice of frailty and weakness.

Devoid of your Crying God's influence, there was no force guiding you toward the path of kindness, no impetus to nurture and care for others. Your past was cruel, marked by childhood slavery. The deity had gifted you with just enough strength to secure your freedom, only requesting one modest repayment in return: benevolence.

But this… this was far from it. 

The power you wielded did not derive from kindness or respect, but from pain, schemes, and cruelty above them all. Once a gentle breeze, now a tempest's cruel embrace.

You had no choice; the offer was too alluring to resist, presented so effortlessly, and Gortash ensured you stood by his side, sharing in his glory. As Bane's favored, he held slightly dominion over the rest, unwilling to compromise, determined to include you, even though your God had forsaken you. The others acquiesced begrudgingly, knowing you posed no threat, their power enough to extinguish you if necessary. They doubted you'd act foolishly, for this was, undeniably, the best you could ever get in your pathetic life.

Neither of the other two took you seriously; Orin would prowl around you, whispering sinister threats with a smirk as she passed, while Ketheric nearly ignored your existence, his gaze occasionally tinged with hints of pity and distaste. Gortash, on the other hand, seemed to glimpse himself in you – powerless, misunderstood, and abused since his youth. He vividly recalled the days when he'd wished death upon his parents for selling him to that merciless warlock. The memory of meeting you among the other child slaves remained etched in his mind, your paths intertwined for days, months, and eventually, years.

The way you bestowed kindness upon him, even amidst the dire circumstances you both endured, was remarkable. Comforting each other with your best abilities as young children – surviving. 

Gortash would never admit it, but breaking free from his 'master's' grip and leaving you behind never sat well with him. An unrelenting guilt clawed at his conscience, gradually giving birth to an obsession when he ascended to power.  A yearning to find you, hoping and praying that you were alive.

And when he did, he didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. 

He made sure to show you he cared, even after all these years spent apart. Even when the both of you changed so much. He was still the Gortash you knew, the young boy who tried his best to appear strong and cunning – the one who used his abilities to learn how to survive in a cruel world. By being cruel to it back.

He held you, comforted you, laid you in his bed and ravished you just the way you deserved it. 

You absolutely deserved this treatment, considering all the agony, tears, and paralyzing fear you've endured. The prospect of never having to suffer again, of securing your place by accepting his proposal and proving your loyalty as his ally – it's irresistible. Remember, who could empathize with your past more intimately than the one who shared it with you? He'd never betray you, never leave you hanging. You were the very first friend he'd ever had, the one person he truly felt on par with.

You had everything you'd ever yearned for, didn't you? The assurance that suffering would never return. The Steel Watch shielded you, and Gortash vowed to safeguard you no matter what—he made sure you were fully aware of it. He remained steadfast by your side, ensuring your well-being, offering guidance, and aiding you in those tough decisions you struggled to make. After all, who better to help you than a future Archduke? 

You needn't fret about a thing, my dear, not as long as he’s around.

Gortash, in a gesture of trust, would bestow upon you a fraction of his powers, an extension of Bane's might. With this, you were assured of protection should any danger arise. He harbored no trust for the others, acutely aware of Orin's burgeoning resentment and her unsettling fixation on you. But with you beneath his watchful protection, you wouldn’t be harmed. No one could ever, ever take you away from him.

Not even yourself. 

But you wouldn’t want such a thing, would you?

A part of you seems to have forgotten. 

Did you think this was a love story? A sweet, sweet tale where a prince falls in love, rescues their beloved, bestows freedom and affection?

No, granting you freedom would risk those unwelcome tendrils of weakness creeping into your mind. But love? You are loved. The sole obsession plaguing his thoughts, apart from the accursed crown and his grand designs, is you—no one else. How he yearns to imprison you in his chamber indefinitely, with the vigilant Steel Watch guarding the door. His possession—forever.

Such notions fill him with giddiness, a flutter of butterflies. For isn't this love? To desire nothing more and nothing less than to be with that person, irrespective of the cost. To guide their choices, safeguard them beneath your vigilant gaze, nurture them into what you know they should become, not what they desire to be. You know this.

The power you clutch to protect yourself is his. The Netherstone that secures your role in his schemes is his. The place where you reside is his. You are his. Aren’t you, pet?

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 11)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 5.2 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - No major warnings this chapter. smoking, swearing, British slang, relationship drama and personal angst. Also, some emotional manipulation from Price because he's like that

Summary:

They've kissed, what the hell do they do now?

Rory and Price deal with the giant elephant in the room and it does not go smoothly

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

(starting the tag list late with this fic sorry)

taglist: @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @finding-comfort-in-rain @justasmolbard @cloudofbutterflies92 @amalkavian @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @marivenah @v01dthefae @clicheantagonist @statichvm @josephseedismyfather @la-grosse-patate @peachiicherries @strangefable @nightbloodbix @theelderhazelnut

The steam curled out from around the door, misty vapor pouring across the floor and floating up through the opened window into the frosty night. Stepping out of the bathroom, the cool air hit her and goosebumps speckled her still damp skin. Her hair dripped, trails of water rolling down her chest and past the edge of the towel wrapped around her, the bruises on her face and neck steadily growing more visible with all the blood removed. Price’s gaze fell on her, lifting from the tablet he’d been trying to focus his attention on. His eyes lingered just a little too long, only to quickly rush back down to the screen in his lap as her stare – marred by sore, red rings under her eyes – fell upon him. 

Rory held the towel around her and moved to the foot of her bed to take a seat, sinking into the mattress as heavy as a rock. Beads of water trailed down her shoulders and back as she slipped her panties up her legs and under the terry cloth wrapped around her. Looking back at him from over her heavily bruised shoulder, she shook her head as she lifted her hips. “You know, you don’t have to look at me like I’m entirely fragile.”

“I’m not.” His voice was deep, made heavier by the nearly oppressive weight that hung in the room.

“Is that so?” 

Sighing, she moved to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, climbing in under them and tossing the damp towel to the foot of her bed. Rolling over so her back was turned to him, the sheets clung to her still damp skin as she looked out the window at the hint of the city skyline and the twinkling lights that cut through the darkness. She tried to shut her eyes, to keep her breathing slow and steady, even as her throat continued to sting and scratch, but it did little good. The adrenaline might have drained from her system, but that sense of fear still remained. What had happened, even with the shower washing away the last reminders of it, wouldn’t leave her. The taste of blood, the metallic tang, remained in her mouth no matter how many times she brushed her teeth – though that may have been her own bleeding gums at this point. The feeling of hands around her throat, the sensation of choking, fighting for her last gasps haunted each and every rasping breath she still took. The vision of dark eyes staring into hers with no remorse, belonging to a man who had taken lives before and had never let it hinder his mind, if he even had a conscience to begin with. She had never felt so weak, so powerless in all her life. She had always overcome everything that crossed her path. Every loss, every obstacle she managed to power through. A determined woman who stopped at nothing in her career, doing the things others wouldn’t to get the job done. Yet tonight she almost died. Too confident in her own abilities. 

The neon light from the sign outside the window flashed through the thin skin of her eyelids and it made her stomach twist. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, the phosphenes danced in a bath of red. Her fingers gripping at the cool material of the pillowcase her head rested upon. Somewhere, right now, Zorokov was in a hospital bed getting treatment. Patched up, left with a physical scar as a reminder of what happened when he tried to kill a special forces soldier with his bare hands. She, on the other hand, would have to live with the near-death experience in silence. The bruises would fade, her throat would stop aching, but the memories would live on forever. Trapped inside to swirl within the walls of her skull until the moment of her last breath. God, she wished she went with a better choice of words.  

Her breath shook as she swallowed back the wave of anger that simmered through her. It was as if she was going through the stages of grief all within the confines of her safehouse bed. The turmoil of having to deal with people’s reactions to what she had been through crawled into the back of her head, knowing there would be yet more therapy for her after the Captain’s mission report was complete. Pity. Remorse . A look people gave that she hadn’t been able to escape since she was fourteen years old at her mother’s funeral. Told over and over again how she had everyone’s condolences. Forced to recall how everyone would look at her as two stereotypes in one: the sad, little rich girl and the broken soldier. Add on top of all that the swell of embarrassment that infected her, dreading the coming conversation the next morning, having to face the fact she had made a move on Price like nothing at all had happened that night. Hell, maybe it was just the stress. She certainly hadn’t been acting like herself since the start of this mission. What was it about him that made her stop thinking clearly and act so impulsively? 

A bundle of raw nerves, exposed, stinging with the slightest touches of air. Pulling the covers up tighter over her shoulder, keeping the night air off her, she tried to bury herself under the blankets, staving off the darkness that wanted to settle upon her – what little good it did. The shivering didn’t seem to want to stop, a trembling that had moved past just her hand and arm and now shook her entire body. Suffering in self-imposed isolation. No one wanted to know the things that hurt her inside, not when she could carry on, slap a smile on her face and pretend she was alright while burying herself in work. That was the Rory Sinclair way and it had gotten her this far. Why fix what wasn’t broken? Or maybe she was just too broken to fix. 

Price couldn’t help but watch her. Laying across from him, only feet away. That protective instinct kicking in like she was his to look after. He had fallen for the ‘Lamb’ and was suddenly treating himself like the sheepdog who needed to keep her safe from the wolves – despite how she belonged right along with them. Every part of him begged to wrap around her, to shield her, and remind her she wasn’t alone. But his mind, the logical and sound part of him, the part that controlled every muscle in his body, restricted him to his own bed, refusing to allow his emotions to override its authority. He was a captain, goddammit, he couldn’t just give in to his desire like that. Didn’t change the fact that it was a special kind of torture having to stand by and watch her shoulders lift and fall with each breath, every little shift of her head against the pillow as she tried to settle squeezing at his gut. Trying to sleep off what had happened like it was a bad hangover, closing off from what had actually happened to her. She didn’t have to act like it was nothing, that she was perfectly fine. He would understand if she needed the release. He had seen soldiers go through horrible things, left changed by it, waking up in cold sweats either reminded of a friend they lost in a battle or one of the many things they had been forced to do in the line of duty – innocent lives they couldn’t protect, those they had to let fall by the wayside to save others. It was never an easy thing to move past and he was aware she had already carried a burden on her shoulders and in her head. 

He needed her to trust him, to rely on him, to know that he would never let any harm befall her like this again. It was only right. This was his mission to lead, it would be a failing to let her fall prey to the viciousness of the world. Someone soft like her needed to be guarded, lest she be broken entirely. 

Placing the tablet on the table beside him, he slowly pulled away from his bed. His brain rapidly fired at him every reason why he should stop, turn around and just go to sleep. How the mission was more important. How she would pull through. Redirecting his thoughts to the moral dilemma of it all as her superior officer. How getting close to her was wrong, how it was dangerous, how it could be the downfall of his entire career – but none of that much mattered to him now, not as he drew nearer to her bed. There was a small portion of the double she was resting in left available, the cold shoulder of the mattress, an empty spot begging to be filled by his warm body. Biting his lip, he ran through a list of pros and cons of his next move and then made the snap judgement to lay on the bed beside her. 

She tensed as he got close, going as rigid as she had when he had first found her. Rory was as stiff as a board as his arm wrapped over her, pulling her into him as his broad body curled around her. Finally, allowing herself to settle against the curve of him, a quiet sigh was breathed out into the room. “Thought you said we’d leave this for the morning?”

He knew he was sending her every mixed signal, confusing the poor woman when she was still coming to terms with what had happened, but he couldn’t help himself. The sound of her strained breathing in his ear, the gasps and groans over the comms, they replayed over and over again in his head like a haunting song. He hadn’t realized just how much it had affected him all the same. He had dealt with fear and stress, listened to the wails of people in pain, those last gasps of someone’s dying breaths, but hearing her fighting for life cut through deeper than any of those sounds ever could. 

“Maybe I’m not quite ready to do that.”

Tugging her arm free of the blankets, her hand trailed down the length of his forearm until she met his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Her touch was so light it was barely there at all as her fingertips grazed over him. He had forgotten just how smooth and slender she was, how soft her skin felt. Looking down at their entwined hands, he noticed how his seemed to swallow the entirety of hers as he held it tight, fitting together perfectly. Rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling all the little tendons that she used to precisely control her weapons, he lowered his head and pressed his nose into her hair, nuzzling against her, choking back a soft groan. Being beside her was no longer enough for him, he needed more. He craved her. 

Turning over in bed to face him, her eyes rolled slowly up to stare at him, deep and dark in the night, doe-like as she looked up at him through her lashes. Her hand trailing back up his arm, then over his shoulder, and cradling his face in her palm. So gentle, maybe more than a man like him deserved, certainly more than he expected from a woman who clawed herself to safety. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, his forehead pressed to hers. “I know we shouldn’t,” he spoke in a quiet husky whisper. “We could both lose everythin’, but –”

Rory’s fingertips drifted through the whiskers on his jaw, until her thumb rested over his lips. Silencing him. She pressed her head to his chest, under his chin, and she didn’t move, simply resting there. “That's just the guilt talking.” Her voice was still hoarse, raspy and low.

Brow furrowing, the lines in his face grew as deep as the pit in his stomach. It wasn't that, he was sure of it. Positive. It was her . He wanted her. His hand came to the back of her neck, giving it a tender squeeze. Protective . “I wish I'd been there to make that bastard pay. Hearin’ that fear in your voice…I wanted to tear him limb from limb,'' he growled.

She sighed. “Didn't think I could defend myself, huh?”

Price exhaled slow and deep, his breath fanning through her chestnut hair. He would never admit that. She didn’t deserve to be questioned like that; her skills disregarded. She was a soldier; a veteran like him. But there was still that nagging part of him that just wanted to keep her safe at all costs. “You’re under my command. ’S my job to keep you alive.”

Shaking her head, she huffed out a laugh. “Do you also cuddle up to everyone under your command?”

He lifted his brow and looked down at her, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That one seems to be reserved solely for you, love.”

Her eyes widened. Dark, puffy circles gave her raccoon eyes as she looked up at him. “ Love ? That’s not exactly professional.”

“No, ’s not.”

With an exasperated sigh, she ran a hand down her face and muttered under her breath, “This is such a fucking mess.”

She was right. It was. They had gotten attached. Rules were bending. He had already broken protocol by taking command of an SRR operator and letting her march herself into the middle of a lion’s den. He had made this all personal after promising he wouldn’t let their past compromise the work. It should have been easy to just cut himself off, to not get tied up in whatever he was feeling – he did it with everything else – but he couldn’t justify doing it with her. 

“I know this isn’t perfect. ’S hardly some fuckin’ Hollywood romance, but the thought of losin’ you …couldn’t live with it.”

Rory went quiet for too long, silence cast over the room like being in the eye of a storm and he had no shelter to hide in. Left out in the open, vulnerable to attack. His heartbeat started to pick up.

“If I hadn’t already dealt with him, you would have killed Zorokov.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, as if she already knew the answer.

His jaw clenched, flexing all the little tendons in his neck, his nose scrunching as he pursed his lips slightly. Christ, this was the last thing he needed . A low growl emanated from deep in his chest and up to his throat. “I would’ve done it ‘cause he fuckin’ deserved it.”

“Because he hurt me?”

He sighed again, brushing his fingers through the soft, slowly drying hair that had begun to form tousled waves. “Yeah, Rory, ‘cause he hurt you.”

A gentle smile pulled at the corners of her lips, the first time he’d properly seen her smile in hours and his whole heart seemed to melt at the sight. She was goddamn beautiful . 

“You know that goes beyond what a CO is supposed to feel for one of his soldiers, yeah?” She looked up at him, pulling the blanket tighter to her chest. “That if the brass heard that they’d strip you of everything?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his eyes lifting to look at the ceiling. “I know.”

“I’m not worth it, John. I can promise you that.”

He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Why don’t you leave that up to the Captain to decide, eh?” He pulled her in closer to him, letting her head rest against his chest once more as he leaned down and pressed his chin to the top of her head.

This was better. This was how it was supposed to be. Nothing could hurt her now, not with him around…

… This was all moving faster than he could control … 

He was making a decision for himself that could have long lasting and dire effects. And yet, it was the mere thought of her pain earlier that night that made him feel entirely justified in doing this. She could have died. It was a very probable outcome that might have been a reality if she hadn’t fought for her life. Hearing that rasp in her voice only made the sounds of her choked noises replay in his head once more. She needed him. He needed her . Damn the consequences. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, after resting up against the almost too calmly beating heart of Price, listening to his god-awful loud snoring, her eyes had finally shut. Falling asleep, giving into what her body needed desperately. Rest. 

Peace. 

Wrapped in his arms – the arms of her Captain, her superior – she had somehow found a safe haven after all she had been through. The nightmares still came, she still kicked out in her sleep, tossing and turning under the covers, the cold sweat dampening her skin and the sheets, but then strong arms would circle around her, pulling her towards him again while half asleep. Body heat reminded her that it was all over, that she wasn’t alone, and in this state, she gave in, stopped fighting – submitted.

It was hauntingly quiet, in the room and outside. like waking up in a fog, the noise was blanketed. Even the thoughts in her head had paused their neurotic rotations. Outside the window, the dark of night had passed and the lights of the windows had all gone out. It was just dim and gray, lifeless. Her hopelessness from the night before seemingly permeated the very world around her, seeping out into the sky and the ground, turning the coming dawn barren. 

Each little movement of hers caused Price’s mustache to twitch and she found herself simply watching him as she lay pressed against his rigid form of muscle. Waking up in the same bed as the man who gave her orders, who was responsible for the success of the mission she had been selected for, who had left her alone in that bathroom stall after they had agreed to a one-time thing and parted ways was an odd sensation. Yet here she was, spooned up against him as if they had been lovers for years. Strangely intimate, yet wildly awkward. A walk of shame would likely have been easier on her heart and on her head. This was radically out of her comfort zone. 

She pulled away as he continued to sleep, trying her best to free herself of the big bear hug of Captain John Price, and the near sweltering heat she felt as guilt and nerves all started to twist at her for what she had done. There wasn’t even sex involved this time. It was more innocent than that and yet the weight of her actions was more vividly clear. This was more dangerous. This was vulnerability. This was feelings and emotions and trust, and it was something she wasn’t so sure she was ready to give or even offer someone. Least of all, someone whose entire life might be upheaved along with hers if they gave into whatever it was that was happening between them.

Slipping out from the blankets, she crossed the room to where her black duffel still sat waiting for her, checking for her pack of cigarettes. Tossing clothes aside, rummaging in as deep as the bottom, but she couldn’t find them. “Goddammit,” she rasped under her breath, combing her fingers through her hair as she tried to retrace her steps. Hardly a simple task when she’d been borderline catatonic as she was brought into the room last night. Sitting on the foot of her bed, pressing the butts of her palms to her eyes. She could barely remember much of anything at all, time slipping from her in that blank space between the attack and winding up with her mouth on Price’s. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Price’s snoring came to a stuttering stop and his eyes slowly opened, smacking his lips after having his mouth hanging open for half the night. “Rory?” Her hands were quick to slip from her face and she turned to find him staring at her groggy, his fingers running through his bedhead. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Can’t find my fags.”

“They're on the nightstand. Brought ‘em in and put ‘em down for you.”

She sighed. “Thank you.”

His hand patted at the nightstand and grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter, tossing them towards her at the end of the bed. “Sleep alright, sweetheart?”

“Eventually.” She swiped up the cigarettes and the lighter and placed one between her lips, lighting its tip as she inhaled sharply. The cold air brushed against her flesh, a shiver coursed down her back, and she realized that the only thing covering her were her panties as she sat on the towel she had tossed there last night. Swallowing thickly, she turned once more to catch Price’s eyes on her figure, but he no longer seemed embarrassed being caught by her. “I suppose I should put some clothes on, eh?”

“You don’t have to on my account.”

Rory laughed and the smoke sputtered out of her mouth, coughing a few times to clear her lungs.

“What? I’m serious.” His grin grew and every line on his face came to life with the same warmth his eyes had. 

“Of course you are,” she said, giving him a sideways glance and a smirk. 

“It's not like I haven’t seen you –”

“I’m aware.” Her tone was short, cutting him off before he could dig the grave any deeper for himself.

The silence reappeared in the room, and Price’s heavy swallow seemed to fill the entire space. She was sure he was trying to find the next thing to say that wouldn’t be some bullshit sympathetic platitudes he already knew she wouldn’t want to hear, the same way he wouldn’t. 

“Still sore?” he asked, head tipping to the side. 

“Yeah…” She took a long drag of her cigarette as she hunched her shoulders, elbows resting on her knees. Surprised by the shock of warm, rough hands rubbing at the bare skin of her back. She stiffened and stood up like a shot, staring back at the Captain, her arm covering her topless chest. “Dammit, John!”

Stepping away from him, her feet dragging through the carpet, he looked back at her with a little smirk, his hands lifted in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes flared with anger, not from the actual move itself but from being caught off guard.

“I just wanted to help, Rory.”

Bringing the cigarette to her lips again, she let it rest there as she rubbed at her brow once more. “We – we can’t be doing this.”

“Need I remind you, you’re the one who kissed me.” His head tipped forward, steely eyes peering out from under his brow at her.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and wisps of smoke trailed over her full lower pout. “Yes, I bloody know I did that.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” She answered instantly, the frustration disappearing from her tone as she looked down at the floor.

“So then what’s the problem?”

“You’re my superior, John! The morals and ethics are –” She looked up at him and his brow was lifted. Okay, fair. Breaking the standards of morals and ethics seemed to hardly be a problem for either of them, and yet this one was a rule she couldn’t seem to break. Not because it was wrong, but because it was him. The idea of giving him a reason to regret all this was a giant obstacle her mind refused to leap over. She had dealt with more than enough people up and leaving her in life, she couldn’t get close just for it to happen once more. 

“Are what?”

“I am your subordinate, John. We promised each other we could be professional. We have to keep that promise. We have a mission to complete, the mission comes first.”

“Sure. But what about after?” He sat forward, resting his forearm on his thigh.

“I go back to desk duty with the SRR and you fight the threats.”

“No.”

“No?” Her eyes widened, surprised by his overly brusque denial of the situation. “Care to clarify that, Captain?”

“It doesn’t just end like that, darlin’. Not after what happened.” 

“John…” Her voice was quiet, almost pleading for him to see sense. 

He grabbed one of his cigars from the bedside table, clipped it, and flicked back the lid of his lighter. The chime of metal filling the quiet he left lingering as he lit the end. That burning orange glow at the tip as bright and clear as his intentions towards her now. He placed the lighter back on the table, his palm resting on it for a moment before turning to face her once more, barely restrained anger held in his clenched jaw. Anger she knew wasn’t really directed at her. “I let you march your pretty arse into danger and for what? Used you like bait, like a bloody tool, and it nearly cost you your life. You deserve better than that. The dress, the makeup, shouldn’t have wasted that on a bastard like Zorokov. Could’ve been you and me… still could.”

Rory huffed out a laugh. “The dress. Andrew…” She had been right about the way he was looking at her, the way he had been acting. “You were jealous, weren't you?”

Smoke drifted from his mouth in a thick cloud. “Of course I was bloody jealous, Rory. Look at you, can you really blame me? I've been with my fair share of women, but Jesus, none of them can hold a match to you, my girl.”

“ Your girl?” Her other arm crossed over her chest; the cigarette held between her fingers burning away.

“Listen, I've been trying my damnedest to keep my composure here. You think I went into this expecting to have this happen with my subordinate? 'S rule number one and I'm here breaking it for you.” He sighed. “I had to listen to you in my fuckin’ ear, Rory. It was a goddamn nightmare.”

He stepped closer to her, his height towering over her and she felt miniscule in that moment. She had always stood her ground, remained confident, nothing and no one seemed to intimidate her. His body heat radiated off of him like a furnace and she wanted that safety of being in his arms, but she couldn’t bear the feeling of being weak. She wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t needy, she wasn’t the lamb… she wasn’t .

“And so what, you want to have that be the foundation for a relationship? The fact that I nearly died and you had to pull me out of there? That’s the foot you want to start on? It’s like I said last night, John. This is a dangerous game to be playing and I am not worth the trouble. I’m not worth your career.”

“And why’s that, eh?” He leaned forward, his brows lifting causing his forehead to crease. 

“I’m a fucking mess, that’s why. I’ve got nightmares, anxiety attacks, tremors, flashbacks. I’m in no place to start anything with anyone. And certainly not with someone who’s life could be upended because of me.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged and gave a slight thrust of his pelvis as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obstinate, pigheaded right to the bitter end, refusing to back down from anything. This was Captain John Price type behavior through and through. 

“What do you mean ‘you don’t care’?”

“You think all that’s gonna keep me away from you?”

“Well it should.”

“Why?” He lowered his head, looking up at her through his brow. Constantly challenging her. 

“Trust me, after several nights of no sleep from me waking up with nightmares, you’ll understand.”

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the crow's feet by his eyes creasing. “Someone else left you ‘cause o’that?”

Rory grimaced and bit down on her molars. Her eyes fell to the floor as she turned her head away from him. She didn’t have to say anything, her body language gave it all away.

Price’s face darkened at her reaction, the look of a man planning on hunting down and teaching whoever it was that did that to her a lesson. “Christ, don’t tell me someone actually did that?”

“Of course someone fucking did that, John. Most people who see that side of me either think of me like I’m holding on by a goddamn thread and if it's not that, it's the whole horde of other shit in my head.” She rubbed at her brow and slipped the cigarette back between her lips. “People don’t want to fall in love with someone like me. It’s too hard to do,” she mumbled.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a bit of a stubborn bastard. I’m willin’ to put in the hard work. I can be goddamn relentless when need be.”

Rory scoffed, “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He gave her a little crooked grin and stepped forward cutting all the space between them, cupping her face in his large hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly. “I’m only gonna tell you this once, darlin’.” Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t care about how much trouble you might be, you hear me? I have to have you, Rory. I need you to be mine, yeah? Simple as.”

It was her turn to ask the question. “Why?”

“Because if there’s anyone who’s going to understand what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, 's me. I wanna protect you. I wanna make sure somethin’ like this never happens again. I can’t even take the thought of you bein’ with someone else ‘sides me.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

He nodded his head slightly. “Well, I’m patient. Persistent. I can wait as long as I have to.”

“Fucking hell,” she said with a quiet chuckle, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not after what I saw last night.”

She pulled away, the ash from her cigarette falling to the floor as it hung from her hand. Flexing her shoulders, Rory stood up taller, trying to regain some semblance of the strength she knew she had. “I’m not someone that needs to be guarded. I’m not some bloody damsel in distress. I don’t need you chaining yourself to me because you feel guilty or like this is your fault. That’s not what I want.”

“Well what do you want?”

There was a list she could give him, one that was a million miles long. But all she really wanted right now was to be looked at like a soldier, to be trusted. She didn’t need to rely on him, didn’t need to lean on him like some bending tree in a tempest. 

“I just want to work.” 

Taking a last drag from her cigarette, she moved towards the window and tossed the smoking butt out of it before grabbing the sweater from her bag and heading into the bathroom to start her morning routine, shutting the door behind her. 

[lvoryingrid]

Healing Flames Chapter 5

Dabi x fem!Reader

Synopsis: Dabi's abrupt departure leaves (Y/n) with unanswered questions. The soft glow of the setting sun symbolizes fleeting peace and impending shadows, as her normal routine returns.

In the quiet aftermath of (Y/n)'s departure, Dabi was left alone in the back room, the weight of his own actions pressing heavily on him. His hand absentmindedly was placed on his face to cover his eyes, a physical manifestation of the internal conflict he grappled with. ‘I'm such an asshole,’ he thinks to himself, the realization of his behavior sinking in. The vulnerability he had unintentionally exposed, the storm of emotions he had unleashed, left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn't meant to lash out, especially not at her. The truth weighed heavily on him – (Y/n) was not just a random person providing physical care; she was someone from his past, a connection he had tried to bury beneath layers of pain and resentment. The revelation had upended the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself.

His mind drifted back to the fragments of their shared history. The childhood memories, the laughter, and the innocence they had once shared – all obscured by the shadows of his choices and the path he had chosen. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled black hair, as if trying to physically dispel the turmoil within. The dichotomy of his actions weighed heavily on his conscience. On one hand, he did crave the familiarity (Y/n) brought into his life, a semblance of the past he had abandoned. On the other, the weight of vengeance and the dangers it entailed kept him silent, unwilling to involve her in the web of his vendetta.

As he glanced around the room, his eyes caught a small picture frame hidden on her counter, he walks closer, his turquoise eyes widen and his breath caught in his throat as the realization struck him.

Meanwhile, (Y/n), having composed herself, made the decision to go back and seek an explanation for the emotional turmoil that had unfolded. She was determined to understand, to bridge the gap that had unexpectedly widened between them. With a sense of purpose, she approached the back room. However, as she entered, Dabi, now wearing his jacket, turned to face her with a gaze that seemed both distant and guarded. "I'm leaving," he announced abruptly, the weight of his decisions reflected in his stoic expression. The room felt charged with unspoken words, (Y/n)'s (e/c) eyes widened with a mix of surprise and confusion. "Leaving? Dabi, what happened?" she urged, her voice filled with genuine concern. “You can’t leave yet! What about your wound?” Dabi met her gaze for a moment, she really couldn't read the look in those turquoise eyes, and the unspoken complexities weighed on her mind. With a determined resolve he replied tersely "I'll take care of it,” avoiding any further discussion. The room hung in an uneasy silence, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. (Y/n) struggled to comprehend the enigma that was Dabi. With a reluctant nod, she stepped back, realizing that pushing him further might only distance him more. "If you ever need help, you know where to find me” Dabi acknowledged her words with a nod, but the distance in his gaze hinted at a deeper struggle within. Without another word, he turned away, exiting the clinic and disappearing into the shadows of the outside world.

Left alone in the quiet room, (Y/n) stared at the closed door, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. Even though he was a villain, someone who kills people without a second thought, why did she once again offer him help. (Y/n) took a deep breath, as she went oven to her desk, feeling defeated by that encounter. She sank into the chair, the weight of the recent events settling heavily on her shoulders. Fatigue seeped into her bones, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil she had experienced. The chair cradled her, offering a momentary respite from the complexities of the day.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, attempting to gather her thoughts. As her (e/c) eyes slowly fluttered open, and fall on the small wooden picture frame that, now lay overturned on the desk. As she gently picks it up, the photograph in her hand felt both comforting and haunting. It reminded her of a simpler time, moments of joy and laughter. Moments long before disaster struck. Carefully, she placed the frame back on the desk, the photograph now standing as a solitary figure in the quiet room.

As the days unfold, a semblance of normalcy returns in the veterinary clinic. As owners come and go (Y/n)’s mind finds solace in her routine, providing care for the animals. The clinic, now bathed in the soft glow of twilight, signals the end of another day. As she walked, the setting sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. The air is filled with the quiet hum of nature, and the gray sounds of the city seem to fade away.

The tranquility of the moment allows her a moment to relax, as she grabs her phone typing the familiar digits, she calls waiting for the person on the other side of the line to pick up.

“Hey, where are you guys?” she asks, waiting outside the hospital’s entrance. “We’re almost there, (Y/n)” Fuyumi exclaims “Natsuo was with a girl” she continues Natsuo's voice could be heard in the background, protesting, "Fuyumi, it's not what you think!" Fuyumi giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, really? You were blushing pretty hard. Who's the lucky girl, Natsu?" Natsuo, still flustered, quickly clarified, "It's not like that! She's just a friend from class." "Sure, Natsuo. We believe you” (Y/n) says as she shares a giggle with the eldest sister. “Anyway, we'll be there soon.” she says as she hangs up. As the call ended, (Y/n) couldn't help but chuckle at the dynamics between the Todoroki siblings. It seemed that, even in the midst of life's complexities, moments of lightheartedness and laughter found their way into the fabric of their relationships.

Suddenly an inexplicable sensation crept over her. It was as if a pair of eyes was fixated on her, watching from a distance. She turned around, scanning the surroundings, but couldn't identify the source of the gaze. The soft glow of the setting sun cast elongated shadows around her, and the tranquil scene outside the hospital seemed undisturbed. However, the feeling persisted, an uncanny awareness that she was not alone in this moment. The rustling of leaves, the distant city sounds, and the chirping of birds formed the ambient soundtrack of the evening. Yet, beneath it all, the intangible gaze lingered, an elusive presence that eluded her perception.

"Gotcha!" Natsuo exclaimed, as he grabbed her shoulders, his voice carrying a mischievous tone. Startled, (Y/n) jumped slightly, a gasp escaping her lips. The tension from the mysterious gaze dissipated instantly, replaced by a burst of laughter. "Natsuo, you scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed, her hand over her rapidly beating heart. The tall white haired male chuckled, releasing his grip on her shoulders. "Sorry, couldn't resist. Fuyumi said you seemed on edge waiting for us," he explained, a playful glint in his eyes. Fuyumi, who had arrived with Natsuo, joined in the laughter. "I may have mentioned that you're easily spooked," she admitted with a teasing smile. (Y/n) rolled her (e/c) eyes playfully. "Alright, you got me. But seriously, I wasn't expecting the sneak attack," she said, laughter still lacing her words. The trio shared a moment of lighthearted banter, the earlier tension dissolving in the camaraderie of their friendship. As they prepared to enter the hospital together, the soft glow of the setting sun cast a warm ambiance around them, creating a backdrop for the shared moments that awaited in them.

Masterlist

[skaruresonic]

Can you do an analysis on shadow's line in battle where he says "if the world wants peace they'll have to destroy us first" ?

Sorry for the delay; I'm pretty sure I've discussed this particular scene before but since Tumblr's search system is massively unhelpful, naturally I can't link you to the post. So we'll be looking at it again :P

This time I'll be relying on TheSinnerChrono's transcript of the game instead of screenshots because this post would otherwise become way too long and unruly. Here's the link:

Sonic Battle - Game Script - Game Boy Advance - By mtkennerly - GameFAQs (gamespot.com)

---

First thing to note is that Shadow is experiencing a lot of internal conflict about being a weapon of war vs. being an autonomous being with a heart and mind of his own.

The way this conflict presents itself is via stubborn denial for much of his story. Shadow tends to reject emotion for the most part, considering it weakness, but for a few notable exceptions.

When he encounters Sonic for the first time, Shadow's story noticeably omits his demand that Sonic hand over Emerl and the ensuing fight, in the usual Rashomon style these Adventure-era games tend to tell their stories with.

However, Sonic's "He's at Tails' place" and "Why are you after him, anyway?" imply this is not the first time he's pursued Emerl. I would argue that this omission fits Shadow's general trend of denial.

What we get from here is an interesting back-and-forth between Sonic and Shadow about the Chaos Emeralds, the Gizoid, and whether "weapons" have hearts.

I find this conversation interesting, and not just because it's the polar opposite of the scene in IDW 6. It's interesting in that it's a rare occasion where Shadow and Sonic bandy words without devolving into a physical fight, and those words furthermore tackle some pretty heavy concepts of identity, power, and war.

Especially war.

Battle's anti-war message is about as subtle as a tire iron to the face. While SA2 only alluded to cultural fears of WMGs with its hint-dropping about the development of the Eclipse Cannon, Battle takes the ball and runs with it, making not only Emerl but Shadow question their very identities as instruments of destruction. And then furthermore has the other characters wax poetic about it.

Worth noting as well that Sonic's insistence that Shadow has a heart matches Shadow's vehement denial of that very concept, leading to a stalemate where Sonic surprisingly relents Emerl. Shadow wore him down with his angsty emo shit lol.

The stark difference in Sonic and Shadow's mindsets becomes clear when you consider their word choice. Shadow strictly calls Emerl's power "power," while Sonic calls the power bestowed by all seven Emeralds "unlimited energy":

Shadow: "Right now, its true power lies dormant."

Sonic: "I've heard that he who collects 7 'Chaos Emeralds' will be granted unlimited energy."

To Sonic, this energy is morally neutral. It is not inherently destructive. His wording reflects not only his thinking, but his personal experiences in wielding Chaos Emerald energy for good.

Shadow, however, deems the pursuit of power an inherent path to ruin, tainted by mankind's thirst for war. As a living manifestation of that desire - or so he thinks - he insists on dehumanizing himself. Numbing the part of himself that feels and cares is the only way his conscience will stop screaming at him.

As has been pointed out numerous times before, this scene directly contradicts the moment in IDW 6 where Sonic brings up Shadow's past sins in order to win the argument about Mr. Tinker:

Instead, we have Sonic arguing for Shadow's heart, as well as the idea that Shadow once acted for the good of humanity and can do it again.

The real irony here is that Battle!Sonic is actually being a little bit of that bleeding-heart "everyone is good deep down" moral champion IDW fans think IDW!Sonic is, what with his whole spiel about "if you have a heart, there's no way you could use your power for the forces of evil."

The important caveats to keep in mind, however, are that:

A.) Sonic has seen proof of Shadow's heart for himself; he doesn't make his argument despite a lack of evidence, unlike Eggman, for whose supposed "goodness" he struggles to think of a single example. He clearly states "Maybe you've forgotten, but I seem to recall you saving humanity at some point." So his argument is not just him blowing flower petals up Shadow's ass - it's grounded in fact. Whether or not Shadow wants to face those facts lies on Shadow.

And B.) Sonic is probably waxing poetic this hard because Shadow's being equally stubborn in insisting that he's just a tool of destruction. His self-dehumanization, in fact, appears to disturb Sonic in a way we seldom see in other games:

Sonic suggests Shadow and Emerl play some games together. Shit's probably getting too heavy for him and he's getting freaked out, in addition to simply wanting Shadow to wisen up.

Shadow regularly says stuff like "Weapons have no need for a conscience" and "There's no need for a weapon to have feelings," and it's clear the so-called "weapon of war" doth protest too much. He wouldn't be pointing out the folly of Real Boy Feelings(tm) if on some level he wasn't suffering the cognitive dissonance of having them. His disgust at Emerl acknowledging his own capacity for feeling joy and friendship at the end of his story pretty much confirms this.

But even more interesting than that is his dour outlook on humanity: he feels it's a given that mankind must destroy the instruments of its own destruction if it ever wants peace. That it's a weapon's fate to be used and discarded precisely because, in his misanthropic view, humanity is foolish, belligerent, and greedy:

However, despite Shadow's brooding observations, the scene ends on a lighthearted note, with Sonic laughing "Some ultimate weapon you are!" in Emerl's wake:

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

What If They Haven’t Heard?

by Ken Ham

One of the questions Christians have debated through the ages is, “What happens to people who die but have never heard the gospel?” The same question is asked about young children. Skeptics have often used such questions to denigrate Christianity and stump Christians.

Now, we are not going to have all the answers. But in building our thinking on God’s Word, we should be able to have at least a big picture answer, even if we don’t have all the details. God hasn’t revealed everything to us! We will always have an infinite amount more to know.

Now in regard to children, personally, I believe those children are a separate category for which the Bible doesn’t really say much but does hint at with David’s comment when his son died, “I shall go to him, but he will not return to me” (2 Samuel 12:16-23).

In regard to both categories, we should always remember what Abraham said to God, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). And yes, there are times we just have to admit we don’t know for sure and we do need to leave it to God.

However, the Bible does make it clear that, “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). Salvation is only possible through trusting Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.

But what if people haven’t heard?

God’s Word teaches that God has made it evident to all he is the Creator, “For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse” (Romans 1:19–20).

We are told that all humans have a conscience: “They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts”(Romans 2:15).

All humans know God exists. And if they want truth, God will give it to them, “. . . if you seek it like silver and search for it as for hidden treasures, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God”(Proverbs 2:3–5).

In 1 Kings 10:1, we read that the Queen of Sheba came seeking. “Now when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the LORD, she came to test him with hard questions.” She is just one example of someone in the Bible who sought truth, and God gave it to her. It would seem from Matthew 12 in talking about the religious leaders who rejected him, Jesus refers to the Queen of Sheba as an example of someone who was pagan but recognized the truth of God.

“The queen of the South will rise up at the judgment with this generation and condemn it, for she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon, and behold, something greater than Solomon is here” (Matthew 12:42).

Every human is without excuse. If they want light, God will give them light. That’s God’s sovereignty. But then there’s our responsibility: “How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!’”(Romans 10:14–15).

Responsibility and sovereignty work together. We must do everything humanly possible to reach as many people as possible with the truth of God’s Word and the saving gospel. At the same time, we know our sovereign God will direct our paths, will open and shut doors, and will ensure those who want the light will receive the light.

An example of this is found in the book of Acts: “And when they had come up to Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them. So, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the night: a man of Macedonia was standing there, urging him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’ And when Paul had seen the vision, immediately we sought to go on into Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them” (Acts 16:7–10).

The apostle Paul was going to a particular place to proclaim the gospel, but God shut the door and redirected him to others who needed and wanted the light.

We just can’t comprehend God’s ways. As we are told, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD” (Isaiah 55:8).

That’s why we should always do all we can to obey the Great Commission given in Mathew 28, but understanding God will direct our paths:

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).

[lunaversing]

For the fourth sequence, la Luna.versa also turned into a WordPress. This is her first appearance there:.

Welcome home, you have traveled a great distance to be here now. I am proud of you and how you danced across your journey page. It is time for you to rest now, to restore the mind and cleanse thine eye. It’s easy to absorb the fragments from others in the Fall out. They’re flying at breakneck speeds, desperate to find wholeness. You found your self in there, amongst the millions.

You are one in a million, yes. You.

You are chosen as our observer, a prominent place we share will you. What you do with this linguistical play is up to you and your master. I call mine God, others say the universe or their gut feeling conscience. There’s levels to insight, but there seems to be one source I connect to ~ a source with a presence unmistakable and power incomparable.

We resonate, this power and I. You see, we are two peas in a pod. I am part, God is whole. For clarity’s sake, God is comfortable with the masculine pronouns I grew up using yet open to all words as no single one can define Him. We can define our relationship, however. A secret until recently, a scarlet letter upon my chest, a heart on my sleeve. A gaping hole, a missing link, a part in a great big whole was I. We came around full circle, coming to a head when I bit down on the tale that feeds my Soul ~ the line I was becoming between my two points reformed into a shape and suddenly with clarity I had one point, one point alone.

To share my story, the one currently known only in a general way. Admirable, to be anonymous, yet also dangerous. What works for me on my path may not work for you on your path, you need the specifics of my story to see what I see to know how to go forward in your own Glory. I don’t want you to follow my same path, I simply want you to be aware of the pitfalls and the snares that littered the steps that I took to get here.

Who am i? Ultimately, I am curiosity made flesh to pick a bone with you two and to stick a craw up your nest. I’m here to spark a passion in your head for the Truth behind the veil they’ve shrouded us behind. I am a clear mirror for you to see your own reflection in, a matchmaker if you will, between the one you feel at the back of thine eye and the one you glimpse mirroring you left and right. You are one and they are Other.

Me? I’m a literary brother ~ here to ease the crossing of the divide. The Other maybe described to you by people you come across and memories you may have, they maybe how you see yourself through a haze of insecurity or how you wish you were in your mind’s different nature of reality. They are simply my Other ~ I released all the other ones people had formed a long time ago and allowed them to do as they will. I have no control over my reputation or how I am seen and I know that distorted versions of me have been littered throughout history as well as throughout conversations meant to define and cage me. I am the character on the stage while my Other is the audience that truly sees and loves me ~ the true soul mate I crave. When I observe carefully and treat this mirror world as its own realm of possibility I am given hints regarding everything under the sun, not just me and my reflected twin, but of everyone’s.

My name was Brittany Dana Palmer once upon a time. Given to me as I crowned myself after making it through the sacred journey from my gathering place through the opening of the organic walls. I have no memory of the details of what they call my birth, but I do know that I was carried around in an organic ship design to bring me into the testing grounds and battlefields. I am a soldier first and foremost. I came here to accomplish and not to languish. My name died after I turned 17 and I finally let Brittany Dana Palmer rest in peace when I turned 30 and discovered the name no longer fit on me. The amount of suffering and pain that girl went through warped her every instinct and God given desire to the point where she no longer recognized herself in the mirror. She couldn’t even look herself in the eye because all she read there was God I hope you die. I was terrified by that I of the Other. She pitied me and hated me yet always was truthful about the me she see ~ never one did she lie, all she wanted was for me to see the truth.

That I am a Luna moth with vibrant green wings stretching clear up to the sky. She saw me struggling to walk when I was meant to fly and she saw me picking myself to pieces after every failed try. She saw me as my skin reflected my inner battle, when it would be dry and brittle and seem to rattle. She showed me bags under my eyes when I did not know how to stop burning myself out for others more selfish than my boundaries were strong. She pointed out so many different things in my flesh for me to pay attention to that I decided she is the neck of our relationship. She directs my attention to what I need to see in this fleshly map of me. She is who taught me how to take care of myself by pointing out the signs of neglect and unhealth.

I thought at first perhaps she was the Luna moth or my true self or reflection, a copy, or maybe an imagination elf. I watched the original black and white Lost in space and learned quite a bit about mirrors in the eye that bounces around inside of them. I don’t know why but I knew she had her own self just as important and equal to mine yet her role was to direct my attention when I examined with my eye. God negotiated a truce between me and her as he taught me how to stop hating myself. It was not my fault. The world that I grew up in was much different than the world I know now, I blinked one day and it seemed that everything had slightly curved or bent. Everything was exactly as before yet I knew something was different. I don’t know when I really awoke to my own self hatred but I do remember that day I saw every single thing in that mirror except my eyes. I remember feeling a burning emanating from them that was directed at me no matter how I moved. I still pray to God that I had not condemned her to hell during those years, I pray fervently that she is free, freer than I, and has choices to make as a free being. Sometimes I wonder is this Jesus in my reflection. Is this the holy Ghost sometimes I question. She has definitely played for all the right teams as her guidance is good, but she doesn’t bat a 100 perfect as I believe those two do.

Shes quirky and makes mistakes just as I do.

A psychologist once told me that myself talk was going to ultimately decide how I ended my life. I was told that a drastic change in self-talk was an order and that I would never speak to a friend the way I speak to myself inside. She suggested that I address myself every time I speak and to do it out loud as often as possible. She mentioned speaking into the mirror and treating each micro expression as something new and unknown to explore and ask about with gentle questions. She explained to me that people with prosthetic limbs often experience phantom leg syndrome in which they experience pain in the leg that is no longer physically present yet mentally and emotionally quite vibrant and alive and sending signals. By establishing a more direct relationship with myself through addressing myself by name in third person and studying myself as if a stranger, I changed.

I don’t how long I was in this relationship before I realized I was a person. I don’t know if I had ever understood that I was a person before with an entire system of complex thoughts and feelings, a genetic structure and an entire culture of social cues embedded from my nurture and in my blood. I took me for granted as if it was something that would always be there that was just a vehicle for transporting what I wanted to happen to what was happening or back to something that had happened and already was. I was my time machine and my mind would click on and click off depending on the scene in my relationship to the girl stuck on the screen or in the mirror.

As my relationship developed with me and myself, I discovered the eye. Me myself and I formed three ~ Mind Body and Spirit or Soul. Or perhaps it was my past present and future selves meeting in the in between space. I don’t know exactly how it all works or what it all means but I started to fall in love with the way I danced across every line in every bind that every wind created in time to shine or to shade or be neutral. Perhaps I split into multiple personalities that day when I realized this but what I feel is I stopped being so self-centered and realized that each part of me is alive, and that a relationship and friendship and love connection with myself was important to not only survive but to thrive. I started taking cues from all of my healthy relationships at the time and started testing them all out when I had space to find out exactly who was in there. Not only did I discover me, I discovered that there is an observed part and there is a part that lies unseen that orchestrates the conscious data collector most of me spends my time with. I also began to accumulate cues that my reflection in the mirror had parts of me and parts of something else.

My name is Luana, the narrator scripting all the words in Luna’s book. Er well, books. She never stops writing my words across the page and we don’t know at this point if they are thought or if they come to life when a point or scratch is made. It no longer matters if the thought comes first or the sound, once a part of matter and distinct with meaning, my words become my flesh and bone. The Otherkin are mirrorkin and I would say I am wordkin or perhaps flatkin ~ we have not decided on the terminology yet for the literary world we have created with our words and images that explore new lands no physical eye has seen in the physical realm. These places and faces are so real that I know they have weight and dimension on some type of scale even though it is so different from the one governing the life of the physical self, the body.

Just call me Luna, after I realized all of these parts I once thought as the whole of me are multitudes of points scattered across time and space, ultimately forming a group of faces that developed voice and personality as we continued in the relationship my psychologist had suggested I start. Now, she doesn’t know all of the details and I didn’t get so in depth with her as I’m tired of being diagnosed and mislabeled and locked up in the insane asylum. Sometimes it’s okay to tell them that their advice worked and that I’m simply starting to love myself more and to see all my pluses and quirks that bring smiles to my face. She doesn’t need to know that many times I sit alone with a mirror or notepad trading back and forth one liners, and slapping my knee, laughing hilariously to something that only one part outside of me can be seen. We interact and there are two or more, how many I cannot say as I never feel I will reach the end of me in this eternity.

So so please take a seat and welcome to my world. Right now we are spread across different aspects of the airwaves and are different stories populate different platforms and are all mixed up, some full of Glory and one missing be humble l and downright gory. Now that we all are united and under one God, we work together towards a common purpose and our interactions prove to be helpful and edify us. We have a common language upon which we can agree and when we do not understand we wait upon God to explain and do not make up any more tales about what we see.

Truth became much stranger than fiction after that exercise I was told to take in order to stop hating myself. When you love yourself the whole world turns sideways and you glimpse eternity, seen so many iterations that you cannot help but take care as to how you step and also to take heart from the encouragement of every self rep. I never realized how much of outside people I took into me until I spend much of my time unwinding my interactions with them on their dime. It took a while to get all the roommates out but now it is just us again, thank god. I can sense others still who are not kin, but I am no longer hearing their words where mine should be or taking up the cross that lies on their own shoulders. I know how to take care of myself now and how to allow others to find their own self. That’s enough I think, my cup overfloweth and there is plenty here.

This is the end of my welcome home speech. Introducing my page and myself with my cadence and twist of word. I didn’t quite make complete sense but I feel you have the gist of where you are starting and where you might get. Join us as we explore what exactly the human seems to be and how it is incredibly beyond and more. I even came into contact with myself that left in the rapture, we met in imagination land and the Land of nod. Two very real locations nestled in a graph made of theta waves with no alpha or beta to measure or judge. I have met myself in every way I can possibly imagine or manifest, and now it is time to introduce you to both my worst and my best.

I cannot honestly say what will happen with this page but I had to start it. Please forgive me if you are interested and this doesn’t continue and please try to find me in other ways and reach out if you want to start a conversation. The more words Luana has the more fleshed out she appears to be and sometimes I just sit here writing nonsense that is simply between her and me witness publicly yet only certain faces do they see. I want to show you all of me to the best of my ability as I experience me to fully express to you me. Because when we are fully seen, we are fully loved no matter what. Each and every one of us is a complex universe full of magic and designed intelligently to be the spearheads of God’s ever advancing creation.

My hope is that upon meeting me and all of my seams, you were venture forth and practice different things you pick up here and the privacy of your own space where you feel you can relax and relate.

To thine own self be true, little Blu Luna Luna girl.

Thank you for your attention in time,

Love, the Lls

[bizarrepotpourri]

Behind the Scenes: Swift Justice

I checked the details of my story "Swift Justice" and noticed it's been written almost ten years ago - I started writing it on November 23, 2013, but it didn't age that badly.

This post contains mentions of crime, death and copious amounts of hornyposting, so everything is under the cut.

Important info: you can access the link only if you set explicit material to be shown in your Pixiv settings. For a good reason.

I have posted the original version on my previous account, and the one above contains a new, extended introductory scene building upon the fairly sparse original, but apart from that, everything that happens next is pretty much the same.

Like I said multiple times, beheading by sword is probably my favorite method of being executed in my fantasies. Well, beheading is my favorite overall, but this story is an outlier when it comes to reasons why - someone asked me on my previous account about why I'd be beheaded, and from a quick examination of conscience, it turned out that "criminal" was a much more common path to the scaffold than "princess". Namely, out of the stories I've published in various places over the years, I was a brigand leader (in "Brigand Queen", a story that's pretty short and bare but made enough impression on people to give me several pieces of gift art), a pirate (in "Smuggler's End" - but like I said, it's almost the same thing as a brigand, but with more water involved) and a drug mule (in a really, really old story titled "Picnic at the Lonesome Rock" that involved an South East Asian hellhole prison in a former French colony), plus various unpublished pieces that involved indecency and forbidden magic. "Swift Justice" is pretty much the only story as of now that involves morally grey things and actual noblewoman status.

And as for the noblewoman status, the entire background story has been called "the hot kind of wrong" by one of the readers. Your interpretation of the line Madeleine tells the headsman after he's surprised by her... particular skills may vary, as it's at the same time coquettish, vulgar and hinting at trauma. The new opening scene lays it out clearly, much to the consternation of all people present: on one hand, Madeleine put arsenic in her step-brother's wine, but on the other, she not only put up with sexual abuse from him, but also decided it was time to do something when he switched his attention to her younger sister.

Of course, there's still the wordplay about taking and giving head, and the entire "nightly thoughts" thing - I swear, it's been ten years and I still haven't come up with an euphemism that would top this one. Since the story is a self-insert, it's heavily based on my weird fetishes - but also, the protagonist has so little to lose at that point that she isn't exactly holding on to anything. So she gladly loses control that evening before losing her head in the morning.

The final thoughts of the protagonist are pretty similar to the ones in "Smuggler's End", as I reused the idea there, but instead of focusing on pride to calm herself down, the protagonist of "Swift Justice" is a shivering bundle of fear and lust. Her thoughts are pretty much literally cut off, with the final ellipsis marking the moment of the fatal blow. Sadly, I couldn't translate it into Polish, where it sounds even more horny and desperate, but the grammar didn't allow me to make it sound like a complete thought like "I wanted him" and a longer fantasy abruptly cut off at the same time.

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

I re-watched Eastern Promises(2007)

Between David Cronenberg and His son Brandon, this will be the sixth film from the Cronenberg family on this year's list. That has to say something about me and my tastes.

Trying to find the family of a dead girl who left behind a child, a British midwife finds herself crossing paths with the Russian Mafia.

If you were to sit down and watch every David Cronenberg film back to back you'd notice something between the violence and strange horror. You'd notice the ambient noise in the background. Watch the restaurant scene in Existenz and the kitchen seen in this film and there is a similarity in the sound. Busy, yet flat and droning. Does it mean anything? Not really, except it's a very very small detail that shows you how much a David Cronenberg movie can not be confused for the work of any other director. Even this film, which isn't the same body-horror oddity that Cronenberg is known for, is top to bottom his own unique style.

Here Cronenberg works with actor Viggo Mortensen. A team that's worked together before. Whether History of Violence, this film, or last year's Crimes of the Future, it's worth watching their collaborations. Mortensen's low key cool style, often with an undertone of deep sadness and intelligence, fits the worlds in which Cronenberg places him. This film is probably their best work together.

Eastern Promises is a dark movie that shys away from nothing. And, I mean nothing. It's a story of loss, trauma, crime, corruption, rape, murder, and the possibility of redemption. And, in a brutal way, it puts these things on full display for its audience to witness.

The best part of this film is Mortensen's character. He is a seemingly loyal driver and soldier for the Russian mob, who despite having a conscience, lives in this horrific world and must take part in it's horrors. Mortensen is fantastic in the role, giving hints to his inner thoughts with only slight variations on his face. He isn't what he seems, but it's impossible for him not to be at least somewhat corrupted by what he's done, and it shows.

Vincent Cassell is also amazing in this movie. Providing a character that is at first shown to be one thing, but underneath is a product of trauma.

This is a very good film and might be one of my favorites of Cronenberg's.

Yes, I love his body horror films and his ability to alter my perceptions of reality. But, Eastern Promises is so well put together and so interesting from beginning to end, it's hard to not consider it as one of Cronenberg's masterpieces. It's a film that feels tense from the first moment. It's sense of ever present danger and it's tight rope walk of moral ambiguity from one end of the spectrum to the other, make for a film that sets itself above most mob movies.

Its a somber look at darkness, whether it's the pure evil of a mob boss, the pure good of a simple midwife, or those inbetween. The film is shot, paced, written and directed magnificently. And, unlike some other Mafia films, it's not overly long and self indulgent.

And come on, that bathhouse scene is iconically wild.

[wutheringskies]

Extra thoughts on WHY I feel as though Wei Wuxian (specifically) is considered self-sacrificing!

As you said, Wei Wuxian is a highly moral man according to the expectations and norms of that time-line and setting. He shoulders his debts greatly, and forgets the kindness he has offered to people (let us not talk about the tragedy of saving sushe twice only for him to be the reason behind wei wuxian's further tragedy, and the fact that su she's ire wasn't even aimed at wei ying. it's like fate mocks you for being kind.) which is why he is so stunned by Lan Wangji's righteous character right from the get-go when he, intent on punishing, Wei Wuxian, punishes himself too, even though he didn't intentionally break the rules.

Now that the point of his morality is established, it's fair to assume that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are... standards. Tons of disciples got drunk of stolen wine in the Cloud Recesses Era and none of them ever asked for punishment. Tons of children were picked up by sects and none of them went up and beyond to repay their debts by offering their very cultivation base (Su She and Meng Yao - let's not forget WWX was also Head Disciple, as well as that Jiang Fengmian owed a life debt to Cangse Sanren p.s. i'd argue that the golden core exchange isn't to show that wwx cares deeply for people but that he honours debts and promises so strongly, he's able to suppress his own pride to do what he thinks needs to be done.)

So, from Wei Wuxian's point of view, all acts committed by him are done with a moral obligation. Even beside that, he is undoubtedly kind, extending help to all those who hadn't asked; even to those who somewhat antagonize him. Such kindness and such morality is not only a strength but a weakness, as it makes him so predictable. It's like it's own selfishness, the need to have his conscience clean in a world that doesn't offer up their own moral beholding.

The whole MDZS plot is a tragedy that showcases that even when you're doing the right thing, against a system of people who play immorally, you are bound to lose to your own conscientious crimes orchestrated by a world of greedy people (I think Yi City arc was such a great case study. It set MDZS's values STRAIGHT.)

Thus, choosing to uphold morality, despite knowing (and he very well was aware of the consequences that will befall him when he saved the Wens, but "let losses and gains be uncommented on") what fate awaits him is self-sacrificial. Contrasting him to the rest of the their world, Wei Wuxian can definitely be described as self sacrificing. Though his actions are made due to reasons beyond "oh, let me take the blade for you," he is very well aware that eventually, the decisions he makes will end up putting him in situations in which he will need to partake in actions as such.

Wei Wuxian is always thinking, firstly of the fourth way between any three apparent paths. As it was hinted in the lesson in Cloud Reccesses, he is aware of the three paths and chooses the fourth one, using what is around him with genius.

So, he's never jumping to the "I'll take the final hit for you," But if all options run out, he will be willing to take it.

In a way it's confusing because his sense of morality leads him to being self sacrificial. His sense of morality puts him in such situations where he needs to apply his brain creatively. If we were to choose to be immoral, he wouldn't be in danger; if he turned a blind eye like everyone else does, it would be fine (for him). However, out of all the paths, this one isn't even an option for him; he doesn't consider it; it's such an integral trait to him, like Lan Wangji's stubbornness, like Lan Xichen's need to pacify, like Jiang Wanyin's destroying competitiveness, like Jin Guangyao's endless ambition.

So, in that way, I do believe Wei Wuxian is somewhat self sacrificial by a third person perspective. He doesn't consider himself to be, neither has that sort of attitude, because it's just so natural to him.

UHM.

Is there an influx of people who do not process basic reading comprehension on here or is it just me being unfortunate enough to have them as suggestions as a scroll?!

So now apparently WWX and JL are self-sacrificing for their loved ones. No.

WWX is morally good and will attempt to save someone if he can. But he's NOT self-sacrificing. Case and point - he said he'd let go of She She if some did not help. He makes calculated decisions in tough circumstances and tries his best to help people. When he gave JC his golden core he did that out of obligation more than anything. He still had the voices of JCs parents telling him to look after him - he thought he had a life debt to payback for them taking him in (which funnily enough isn't the case as JFM owed a life debt to CSSR and conveniently never mentioned this to her son...) So he felt he had to. Yes, he might well have cared for JC, but he wasn't being self-sacrificing. He felt he had to and there is evidence as such in the novel. The most important one being when we find out WWX lost sleep worrying about if it was the right decision and literally having to try and convince himself it was. His reasoning was that he owed his core to the Jiangs, he felt he owed the development and skills he honed over the years he was living there. That is not someone who has willingly self-sacrificed anything. This is the thought process of someone who felt they had to. Who had been mentally abused and manipulated into feeling this way.

JL is completely different to WWX. He acts recklessly (which WWX does not) and puts himself in danger because JC has made him feel like he has to prove himself. To prove he's worthy of everything he has and everything he wants - to be loved and cherished by his uncle. JC has treated the kid so badly he will risk anything for a little recognition. A little bit of love from JC. Which he has sadly never received.

[laindir]

Just cross-posting a bit of my own deep-dive musings I’d initially keysmashed over on twitter about the JJK0 and JJK key animation artworks here: I love how when all three covers are juxtaposed together like this, it seems, at first, to hint at Megumi’s gradual “fall” in the story. That he, like Getou, may eventually trudge down the path of an antagonist and switch over to opposing sides, aligning himself with either Sukuna and/or Kenjaku’s ideals instead of Yuuji or Gojou.

However, I’d like to think of these artworks not as hard foreshadowing of where the plot is heading with absolute certainty, but merely as a visual interpretation of the characters’ design concepts that illustrates their roles within the narrative itself – particularly, with the Vol.2 artwork which features Megumi and Gojou.

At a cursory glance, it might seem that Gojou would have to fight yet another jujutsu sorcerer from within his own circle (his own ward and student this time), mirroring his past falling-out and broken friendship with Getou. That Gojou and Megumi — both the current heads of their respective clans, and inheritors of each clan’s most prized cursed techniques, Six Eyes and Limitless vs. Ten Shadows — are bound yet again by fate to fight one another to the death, as their ancestors have always done in the past due to bad blood and clan rivalry.

Still, if you think about it within the events occurring in the canon now, even if Megumi is visually placed on the same “villain” side along with Getou and Sukuna here — in actuality, he still doesn’t quite fit the role of a (budding) antagonist/villain, let alone a rival. At least not at this point in the story. Of course, I don’t claim to know what goes on in Akutami’s brain, and may be wrong in future as the plot unfolds further. But for the moment, I personally don’t feel that’s what Akutami is going for, especially when we consider how hard Megumi has been working with the other Juju Tech sorcerers to find a way to unseal Gojou, and how viscerally devoted he is to keeping Yuuji safe and beside him always. It’s pretty obvious right now whose side Megumi is on, despite everything that had happened in Shibuya; he’s pretty much ride and die all the way for Yuuji, even at the expense of his own personal safety if Sukuna manages to be unsuppressed once more. Another interesting thing to note is how Megumi is the only one who is drawn inverted on the covers. Which, again makes me think that this is done to represent his characterisation within JJK, not merely as plot foreshadowing. He is, after all, designed to look (at first) like the seemingly cold and harsh shounen rival that typically goes against the main character with their clashing ideals, but as we know, Megumi is anything but that, being Yuuji’s closest friend and most resolute supporter. He is quite literally an inverse of said shounen rival archetype.

Megumi being drawn inverted and on the “wrong” side could also be a glimpse into his perception of his own self: that he doesn’t think of himself as being inherently right, or a good person like Tsumiki and Yuuji (hence his whole “I don’t care if I’m right or wrong; I only believe in my own conscience, so I choose to save people unequally” spiel, lol). Every one else is drawn standing upright because they believe their way and their truths as “right” at that point of their battles – Yuuta, when pitting Rika and his Pure Love beam against Getou’s Maximum: Uzumaki and Tamamo-no-Mae; Yuuji, while in Sukuna’s innate domain when he says he knows for sure Sukuna is evil and refuses to let Sukuna use his body again after his first death. With the inversion here, it also makes Megumi and Gojou’s placement on the Vol.2 cover to look more like the yin-yang symbol:

So, instead of it simply foreshadowing a final showdown between the two, perhaps it represents instead how the two are contrasting yet relative and complementary forces – both still independent from one another yet remain interconnected with each another, just like their relationship with the world and within jujutsu society; how it is this harmony and balance with each other that may give rise to both of them and to the other sorcerers aligned with them as they continue to fight for their personal truths: to reset jujutsu society/the world from within (Gojou), and to save those they believe as good and deserving (Megumi). 

There are definitely many ways to read into this. Either way, I think we can all agree these covers are just breath-takingly gorgeous. Like, the artbook illustrators and cover designers (Takeji-san and Hiramatsu Tadashi) don’t have to go so hard each and every time, but damn, do they always lol.

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

Madara is (still) Kaguya's vessel

Boruto speculations

I feel it coming... I really feel it coming... 😬😬😬

I think Madara or at least his body as a cyborg version is going to make a come back in Boruto, they send little hint and I'm scared to be right...I really don't want to see him back like this. Its not his era, he already had been resurrected so many time, but commercially speaking, let's be honest, it will attract so much people to the show.

Let me explains what leads me to this undesired theory, based on the information we got up to what we know from now : end of Jigen arc and beginning of Code arc. Below the line is going to be full spoiler so slide down on your own risk!

Learning more about the Otsutsukis thanks to Amado's revelations, made me rethink back what happened during the 4th Shinobi War when Kaguya took over Madara's body. The Karma works like an parasite taking over slowly someone else body. With this logic in mind, do you think Black Zetsu had implant Kaguya's karma on Madara ? Which made him, her permanent receptacle even if he's dead ? I'll explain why I say permanent later.

Black Zetsu is the will of Kaguya, an agent with the mission to resurrect her at her prime. In the same way before being defeated by Kawaki, Isshiki entrusted Code with his will (is it the same will than Kaguya's one? We don't know yet)

To my understanding and correct me if I'm wrong, receptacles are chosen with specific criteria by Isshiki. It's always among poor children having a very hard life, mistreated by their family. Isshiki insists a lot how empty is Kawaki's heart and that's the reason why he is a perfect candidate.

"Despise that emptiness within you. You, yourself...deny your own worth...there's an empty hole in your heart" Jigen/Isshiki

The strength of the future receptacle is as well important. Jigen was a desperate choice made by Isshiki out of survival and therefore not physically fit to contain his power. Both Kawaki and Boruto are strong and healthy fighters.

Momoshiki however seems to have chosen Boruto, not for his background. Boruto is loved by his family and friend and have a confident personality. Rather he was chosen for his bloodline. He is half Uzumaki (Hagoromo ascendant) and half Hyuga (Hamura ascendant), genetically the closest to an Otsutsuki like Kaguya. and apparently that work in his favour since the Kama is working faster on him. Up to 80% of Momoshiki's power and/or conscience are by now on Boruto.

Madara in a way was a bit of all criterias above: his physical abilities doesn't need to be prove. After becoming the second sage of 6 paths he was half close in DNA to Kaguya by being from Hagoromo bloodline through Indra and Ashura, and by implanting into himself Senju cells. He was just missing Hamura's bloodline cells.

I said in an other post here already that his life have some similarities with Kawaki. Both of them are discovered by the reader as ruthless and trusting no one. Kawaki's POV on his traumatic past made us empathise with him. Something which is difficult for a lot of people with Madara by the very absence of POV. Despise that, through second/third-hand viewers (Itachi, Obito, Hashirama), we guess the same traumatic path : being naturally a pessimist character, being born in time of constant war, after loosing one after an other his entire family, his reputation, his clan respect and betray by his best friend. The Valley of the End left him like an empty shell. Black Zetsu puts a lot of hope in him not only he was empty and isolated enough to be a perfect receptacle for Kaguya resurrection. But he as the long term determination to activate the Mungen tsukuyomi and thus giving her back her full power. Not just as a an diminished version as was Isshiki inside Jigen.

Knowing those Informations. Can we draw a parallel between Boruto and Kawaki transformation into Otsutsuki to what happened to Madara in the end of the war? is that correct to think Black Zetsu fix the karma on Madara in the moment he was stabbing him. but contrary to Boruto and Kawaki because he was already a powerful shinobi, the transformation into Kaguya was immediate and didn't take weeks. Or he put the kama earlier in his life and wait that all files are extract into him. But this last theory is strange how come he didn't notice that he was slowly transforming into an alien woman (imagine him chilling in his cave and all of the sudden you start to hear a woman talking in your head).

Amado is a character I can't wait to know better, He strikes me by his knowledge on every single people in Konoha. He always call people by their full name to implicitly say that he had many steps ahead of everyone, putting even Shikamaru in difficulty. Amado is observing Otsutsukis for a long time. As meticulous as he is, there is absolutely NO WAY he didn't study thoroughly how Kaguya resurrects through Madara, 15 years ago.

And let's not forget Madara's body is still there, probably somewhere in a Konoha's fridge. But if Amado can find Jiraya DNA in the depths of ocean, accessing Madara's body should be an easy task to him.

When he revealed how to use the karma he said :

Momoshiki adds as well an extremely valued information :

And oh convenient! Amado is working on a new cyborg able to protect Konoha in collaboration with Katasuke (who literally have the keys to Madara's fridge lol) :

All dots connecting, there is technically only one known person who had been a complete vessel to an otsutsuki, with a body still accessible, containing permanently 100% Otsutsuki's data, who can either resurrect again Kaguya (who is not dead by the way just sealed) or to only use his body as a cyborg able to use Ostustuki's power. : Uchiha Madara. Surely his soul won't come back anymore. But his body is just there ready to be use... And that will be a perfect tension to the story : how the 5 villages who lost half of their effective because of that single guy, will accept that the number one enemy is now going to be Konoha's saviour? The irony...

But I just don't want to see that. I hope my intuition is totally wrong.

See also my other speculations : Did Madara & Jigen ever met during the Warring States Era?

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Ok how about a sweet and silly fic where tiny Fíli and Kíli teach even tinier Ori some pranks? Maybe they try them out on Thorin and Ori is terrified because he thinks Thorin is scary, but Thorin actually finds it funny and then sends them to pull pranks on other people? 💙

OOOOK... family fluff here we come...

“If you’re not looking to be Thorin Oakencasket,” Dís had said, “you’ll keep a watchful eye on my two precious gems!”

Thorin – who was quite happy with his current epithet – had tried, he really had, but Fíli and Kíli had surpassed his own damn siblings in the art of being slippery.

Dwalin coming in with a pitcher of some artisanal brew he had stolen from some poor unsuspecting soul had not been conducive to successful pebble-sitting either; not that there would have been anything to be gained from sitting around when it came to the two unholy demons spawned by the Mistress of Chaos who – allegedly – had been conceived by the same parents as him.

While Thorin was sure that he was a blessing, Dís was a thinly veiled malediction most of the time…and he loved her so much that he might have torn off his braids before causing her any pain.

“This is your fault!” he grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at his best friend and faithful companion who was staring wistfully at the empty pitcher as if wishful thinking would replenish it.

“How so?” Dwalin looked up – doing his best to replace the dopey grin with a more serious expression of hurt pride and failing – to let his gaze scan the small sitting room.

“I’m sure they’re merely playing,” he grinned after a moment, “they’ve got Ori with them; he’s a good lad.”

“Oh really?” Thorin jeered, “Between Ori converting my nephews to the right path and my nephews ruining Dori’s work, which one sounds more probable? Let me remind you that Balin is an utterly honourable dwarrow and you’re…this!”

“OI! Not fair,” Dwalin grumbled but he had to admit that Thorin was not exactly wrong either, “only, your princely Maj-ass-ty, who was the one to make me stray off the path of the righteous that I might otherwise have followed? Was it not you, oh sovereign fool?”

Bickering back and forth would not bring back his darling sister’s precious gems, Thorin knew, and so, he was tempted to crouch on the floor and follow the trail of sticky hands and smelly feet all the way to the disaster they – no doubt – had gotten themselves into.

Ori was terrified.

Dori would be so furious when he heard what he had done; Dori would be so heartbroken when he learned that he had kind of (a little bit?) ruined his beautiful flowerbed to condemn a handful of worms to the ungrateful fate to be squashed by Prince Thorin’s ultra-royal feet.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Fíli chided him when he saw his pale lip tremble just the tiniest bit over the huge gap in the row of even white teeth.

It was really a shame that dwarven teeth took such a ludicrously long time to come in, but of course, their jaws and gums were much harder to penetrate than those of those mysterious soft creatures called ‘Men’ uncle Thorin always talked about.

A hint of bad conscience plagued him now as he rubbed grease – Kíli could charm whatever he wanted from the kitchen maids – all over Thorin’s belongings while his brother and Ori stuffed worms into his slippers, embroidered by their mothers loving and skilful hands.

Now that Kí was a little older, Fíli liked telling him that he was no longer cute enough to get away with all their shenanigans and so they had roped in little Ori – Fíli had never seen such a mummy’s boy without an actual mother – to have a scapegoat in case they were caught.

A sense of pride and fondness washed over him despite his childishly harsh and slightly unfair thoughts; Fíli loved those two rascals, they were his first followers, his tiny army.

He had his mother’s eyes, uncle Thorin’s eyes, Durin eyes, but if he was ever to have any children, he’d want them to have the dark, soulful eyes staring up at him now. Fíli found brown eyes beautiful.

After all, they were the synonyms of loyalty, bravery, and fun…at least in his book. He had seen humour, anxiety, sadness, and utter joy make light and shadow paint landscapes onto that seemingly boring canvas, and he would never grow tired of seeing them.

“Fí?” Kíli’s hand – pudgy and soft – closed around the hem of his tunic and tugged, “Fí? Uncle will not be terribly angry, will he?”

He might, Fíli thought, but – as the general of this three-men-army – he would take the brunt of the just fury of the imperious and forbidding Thorin II; yes, he was unafraid, and he would face his uncle bravely.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” he whispered, giving Thorin’s sword another good rub with the greasy rind in his hand, “I’ve got you, Kí!”

He said this solemnly, in his best imitation of uncle’s voice; it was a promise, a vow, an oath. Never would he forsake that pebble given and entrusted to him as much as to his mother.

“He’ll be angry…and then Dori will be angry…” Ori whimpered, treacherous wetness collecting at the corner of his huge, dark eyes.

“I’ll say that it was my idea,” Fíli assured him, mussing the copper strands of pure silk – braided carefully by Dori’s expert hands – gently. Ori was a good kid, everybody knew that; nobody would be dumb enough to resent him for his loyalty.

“Ori is an orphan, Fí,” he heard his mother’s warm voice in his head, “and you are Thorin’s heir and my son; Ori is as much your responsibility as his brothers are your uncle’s.”

Fíli had felt immensely proud when she had said that; he wanted to be a good leader and – for a moment – he wondered if he had done poor naïve Ori wrong by pulling him into this.

“Let’s be away before someone comes,” Fíli checked on their progress and waved the other two out of Thorin’s bedroom to go back to the small chamber he shared with his brother.

“You can show us your new book and I’m sure the maids have given Kíli another few cakes,” Fíli smiled encouragingly; it would not do for either one of the little ones to break into tears and give them away now.

If his brother was not very careful, he’d end up like cousin Bombur before even reaching battle-age, Fíli thought with a chuckle.

Then again, Kí had been such a fragile baby and he had spent many a night watching his uncharacteristically slender and elegant figure writhe helplessly on the worn sheets of purest velvet and silk.

All things considered, Fíli was happy that his baby brother had grown to be strong and hardy…and if he ended up a little pudgier than strictly necessary, it would only facilitate his own personal quest for a dam to be his ‘One’.

Two warm, sticky hands slid into his on either side and Fíli grinned to himself; as long as those two followed him, there was not a thing he couldn’t achieve.

Thorin found them – fast asleep – in the boys’ room.

Fíli smelled like greasy rind and Ori’s tiny, narrow fingers were covered in dirt that had made its way deep under his fingernails.

Without bothering to wake them up, Thorin snuck into his own room and cursed when lifting his sword – seeming slightly out of place – and dropping it onto his own foot.

With a sigh, he took off his boot to inspect it for potential damage, slipping his feet into the house slippers his sister had insisted on giving him and let out a very unprincely squeal upon feeling the wriggling worms between his toes.

“Damn those…” he muttered under his breath, shaking out his worm-filled slippers into an empty jar and shaking his head in resignation.

In a flash of longing and melancholy, he remembered how he and his siblings had tossed a whole bucket of thistles onto Thráin’s head. What a mighty bellow his kingly father had let loose upon realising that it would take hours to untangle that crown of thorns from his elaborate braids.

Good times!

Between Dwalin, Dís and his own royal self, they had been responsible for mischief far beyond a greased-up sword and a handful of worms in a pair of slippers, and Thorin missed these moments sorely.

Dwalin’s dismissive chortle from earlier came to his mind; he had called him a ‘mother hen’ for fretting about the three little ones.

“We’ll see about that oh son of Fundin, we’ll see about that,” Thorin chuckled to himself as he made his way back to the boys’ room.

“Don’t be angry at the little ones,” Fíli faced him, chin shoved up bravely and eyes ablaze with youthful courage; had he been old enough to hold a weapon, he might have gripped the handle of it in a show of his brazen confidence.

“I am not angry at anyone,” Thorin smiled, “but I think it might be better if your mother…and Dori…never hear of this. Are we agreed?”

His nephew cocked his golden head suspiciously but – when Thorin extended his hand to him – he shook it as vigorously as he could.

That tiny, still so soft palm in his own – rough from hard labour – was oddly touching, Thorin thought. His nephew would make a great dwarrow one day; he was a loyal leader and that was more important than being a great fighter or an excellent strategist when it came down to the nitty-gritty.

Kíli was munching on a cookie while Ori seemed to try melting into the floor, his ears and cheeks reddened with shame and embarrassment.

“What a brave but devious lot you are,” Thorin laughed in a low voice and tugged gently on their baby braids; he could see that none of them seemed to be willing to sit still for the time it took a grown dwarf to plaid the soft, slippery strands of their hair into presentable hairdos.

Another wave of fond memories crashed through his mind and soul.

“Listen, Master Dwalin is – as far as I know – taking a nap in my sitting room,” Thorin whispered and – as expected – the three boys drew nearer as soon as they smelled the hint of a conspiracy.

Dwalin had decided to sleep off the drowsiness that followed the tasting of artisanal brew rather than help him sniff out the pebbles – sure that they were alright – so he deserved to find out just how perfectly fine they really were.

“You like to draw, little Ori, don’t you?” Thorin tried to charm the most reticent of the three.

A shy nod.

“Well, tonight there is an important feast and I’m sure Master Dwalin would love to be pretty,” Thorin had to bite his tongue upon using that term for his old friend, “and I’m certain that you can help him by sprucing up that blank skin of his.”

“You mean…paint on the shaved skin around…” Kíli’s eyes grew round and sparkling, a perfect copy of Dís’ when an unholy thought took root in her mind.

“Yes, let’s say I leave these pigments here – unattended – and step out for a second to get rid of a jar full of worms that have – mysteriously – made their way into my room…you boys can look after yourself for a moment, can’t you?” Thorin winked at them and went to retrieve a few small pots of ink he had wanted to bring to the library.

“Yes, uncle,” Fíli tapped the side of his nose before huddling with the other two troublemakers in an impromptu powwow.

Whistling a merry tune, Thorin Greasesword, Thorin Wormfoot, Thorin Pebbleruiner, went to free the poor creatures and to clean his belongings before entering his sitting room.

“Now, go wash up,” he commanded, “and I’ll see you lot at dinner.”

They flew to the washing room like rats scurrying away while Thorin grinned at the colourful decorations of tiny pebble-hands all over Dwalin’s skull.

“Why are my sons’ hands discoloured? Does it have anything to do with the honestly strange style Dwalin has chosen for tonight?” Dís’ voice was cutting but there were threads of humour interwoven in the melody of her annoyance.

“I have no idea whatsoever,” Thorin replied with a placid smile, “they’re children! Remember how we were at that age, sister dearest.”

“That’s exactly what I thought of,” she grumbled but seeing the chequered grin on her baby’s face and the triumphantly proud expression on Fí’s, she let it go easily enough. Tough luck for Dwalin, she thought, one couldn’t always win.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thorin – her stone-faced brother – wink at Dori’s little brother who beamed in obvious delight and careful joy back at him.

Whatever those dwarrows had done while she had been out, Dís didn’t need to know.

Visibly, they had all had an amazing time and nobody had ended up hurt or maimed which was a rarity when the much-fabled but very elusive impish streak in the Durin blood acted up.

If you liked this, feel free to send me requests and prompts...and I'll try to write you something short :D

Please feel free to reblog and/or comment, I love hearing from you all <3

[ferinehuntress]

　⊰ ⸻ ⊱　Barely a blink and Kayle caught the apple so quickly it's as if it didn't even soar through the air. Morgana had hoped she might taste it, these apples were sweet and crisp like morning dew, but in the end, all she did was let the fruit drop. "Mother is the aspect, we are only half. We are still human, no matter how much you try to convince yourself," Morgana moved over and picked up the apple, holding it in her hand as she brushed off the grass. "Justice requires emotion. Empty justice is just as bad as a murderer with no conscience," Morgana expressed as she lifted the apple to her mouth and took a bit. Delectable and sweet, the juice dribbled down her chin as she smiled, brushing her finger up against the small droplet to put it back in her mouth.

"Even your sister?" Morgana questioned as she tilted her head. "We used to work together, and we were good at it. It was our emotions that kept us together, made us who we are. to lose that part of yourself, Kayle... you lose yourself and the path you so desperately want to follow," Morgana moved to reach out for her hand, but hesitated as she pulled it back and let out a breath. Her sister had become so cold over the centuries, each day another droplet of snow left her lips as if she became as frozen as the heart she held. Mother had tainted her, in her opinion, and as much as she hated her mother that was the worst part of it all: It was still her mother and she wanted her back.

She wanted them both back; with hearts and emotions full.

The pendant caught her eyes as she looked down at it, the way it shimmered a little. "Guidance, sister. We can show them a different way. Not everyone is without a chance, there is justice in mercy and redemption. Not everything is so black and white," Morgana shifted around so she could face her sister better.

"Tell me, a thief who steals for his hungry family, is that not something we should help with, not punish? How can you condemn a man for wanting to make sure his children do not starve? A murderer, a woman who witnessed her wife cut down because she was a mage. Can you not see the broken heart of a woman who strikes out of grief, not an emotionless heart? By what you say, every soldier on the battlefield who kills deserves to die at your hand, every child who has yet to learn lessons and who steals a little bit of candy, should die. Do you not see the senseless bloodshed in that?" Morgana questioned, knowing it would only unless a fury within her sister. But Morgana had to try.

What was she if not a relentless sister trying to save her sister from the corruption of a hollow heart?

The brief hint of rage gave Morgana hope. For rage was a mask, the tip of the iceberg to other emotions underneath. But as quickly as it surfaced, Kayle hindered it. Yet Morgana froze, nearly leaning her face into Kayle's hand as she brushed her fingers along her hair. it had been too long since she felt her touch; despite the armor she wore. Blue eyes tried to catch Kayle's as she shook her head. "But you're still my sister, Kiki. We used to have the most fun in forests like these, climbing the trees, chasing after animals," Morgana laughed softly as she held onto those memories.

"Try to remember what it was like back then, just to be carefree,"

Kayle caught the apple so fast, an onlooker might have just missed it. Brushing it over her breastplate as if she wanted to clean it off dust, steel-grey eyes inspected the waxen, gleaming, deep red surface. She said: "We are not supposed to be human, Morgana. We are Aspects; representations of what humanity oughta aspire to be. Justice must be free of the passions of emotions. A tired mind is a clouded mind. A clouded mind leads to misjudgement. I cannot have that."

Her hand with the apple lowered before her fingers relaxed; and she idly dropped the fruit onto the ground, causing it to roll away. "That was a long time ago", Kayle said, "I do not have the time for shared sentimentalities. If I become biased towards anybody, then my duties are compromised."

It was hard to conceal the wavering in her voice at the word 'biased', however, Kayle powered through. Over the many centuries, she had learned to not just keep her face calm and stoic, but even her commanding and expressive voice, despite being so emotive, seemed to always belong to someone else. The pendant on her armour glowed briefly as Kayle once more channelled her sisterly love, her frivolous emotions, those needless distractions, into it. She had to be above emotions, good and bad alike. Otherwise, she would not be the impartial judge her mother had been.

Kayle responded: "How can we protect when we are essentially giving those, who wish to do harm, the satisfaction of committing evil? By doing such a thing, Morgana, we are allowing others to be hurt and for evil to take root in man's hearts and in Demacia's city. You cannot honestly tell me that allowing a murderer to do their evil deed or a thief to steal is somehow a good or honourable action."

Her wings unfolded, their ends trembling in anger before their owner reigned them in as if even expressing an emotion concerning her own views was already a mistake in Kayle's book. She stepped closer and tugged a strand of dark purple hair behind Morgana's ear. For a fraction of a second, a sadness made Kayle knit her brows upwards. She lowered her head and vented the air through soft parted lips.

"Of course, I remember, Mo. But we aren't children anymore."

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Stuck on You (Levi x Childhood Friend! Reader) Part 2

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been kinda a while but here is part 2~ I have this habit of writing and rewriting my pieces since I’m never fully satisfied by them, but overdoing that is just as bad so I’m going to leave this as is ajflkajada  The amount of love my first part recieved was so genuinely heart warming and I cannot express my gratitude enough. I’m nervous to post this because of it, to be honest, because I hope it lives up to the expectations. Thank you to everyone who has shown me support, it means so much! If you guys want a part three, or maybe just a short epilogue, I will consider it so let me know! Also if you would like to be tagged in my future works, comment below or send me a message <3 I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, Season 1 and No Regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 4k

If you haven’t already, read part one here

As a former member of the Scouts yourself, you knew the ins and outs of the military’s regulations. Because of this, you also knew your request was a strange one, seeing as soldiers weren’t typically allowed visitors, but you hoped your letter appealed to the more personal side of Commander Erwin. Apparently it somehow moved the man, seeing as you had been brought by carriage to the legion's base the following night.  

The clopping of horse hooves eventually stopped, and you were currently being escorted into the building by another familiar face, her hand already outstretched to help you out of the vehicle as soon as the door swung open.  

“I understand your reservations about this, but you’re brave for coming here. I think he’ll be relieved to see you, (Y/N),” Hange spoke, her fingers hovering over the small of your back as she guided you down one of the many hallways, lantern swinging in her free hand. “I think he could benefit from seeing a familiar face.”

Your eyes were downcast, staring at the floor as rooms upon rooms passed by along your path. You couldn’t speak if you tried, words seemingly stuck in your throat and unable to keep up with your racing thoughts.

Deep breaths, (Y/N).

For better or for worse, there was no need to reply, as Hange came to a halt not a second later. She squeezed your shoulder gently before bringing her knuckles to the wooden door, knocking once, twice.

Your hands were clammy, heart thundering in your ears as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Levi, someone is here to see you,” Hange’s voice rang out firmly.

There was a distinct sound of a chair being pushed back, and footsteps growing nearer. Time slowed down, and you began to second guess every decision up to now. Would Levi even want you to be here? Will he be angry? You felt like bolting away and forgetting about the whole idea, suddenly afraid of his reaction. Afraid that your presence would only make everything worse.

Your eyes were widening as you realized the possibility of leaving was too late to explore, Levi already turning the handle from the other side. So instead, you swallowed your pride, stood up straighter, and pushed away the growing sensation of nausea in your gut.

“Who could possibly be important enough to interrupt my--”


The second his eyes met yours, Levi halted in all movements. Your gaze was fixed on him as well, every bit of longing settling back in your bones the second it did.

He looked nearly the same as the last time you saw him, clean and kempt as ever, hair styled the way it always was-- the same way he’d keep it when he used to chastise you for running your fingers through it.

And those stoic, gray irises that drew you in your were fierce, yet somehow emptier. At the sight of you, his flooding emotions became too much to properly register, unlocking every moment you’d ever spent with him as they replayed all at once.

“(Y/N)?” He couldn’t hide his disbelief, eyes widening ever so slightly. 


“Hello, Levi.” 


~~~~~~~~~

Never did Levi think he would grow to care for another group of people the same way he had for you, Farlan, and Isabel. But sitting around Petra, Gunther, Eld, and Oruo, he found their excited chatter over the dinner table endearing more than anything. The ever stoic look on his face didn’t change, and he would never openly admit it, but it felt reminiscent to be surrounded by trusted company like this. All of Squad Levi had full faith in one another; it was necessary for the battle field. This created an unspoken bond between all of them that the unreachable Ackerman did not picture building with others again.

Fate worked in funny ways, he supposed.

Sounds of clinking silverware and chatter filled the mess hall, sun setting outside of its many windows and painting the expanse in an orange light. The males eyes drifted towards the entrance of the room expectantly, where a clock rested above the doorway. He took a sip of his tea whilst squinting at it, attempting to get a better read before feeling a slight jab in his side.

“Looking for someone, sir?” Petra inquired, with a hint of deeper emotion in her tone that went right over the male’s head.

He glared at her in annoyance, having almost spilled his drink as the thought of you returned to the forefront of his mind.

It was strange, seeing how capable you had become after spending those months by yourself in the Underground. They made you a bit more calloused than when Levi last saw you, carrying over to your skills as a Scout. You never used to be skilled at riding ODM gear, not even when Levi tried to teach you in your youth. Seeing you slash Titans without blinking an eye was like watching someone completely different.

But you had to learn, since you had no one to protect you.

Your open displays affection had grown fewer and farther between as your time in the Survey Corps dragged on. At first, Levi thought nothing of it. Truthfully, the Captain had hardly noticed, with how busy the both of you were. He wrote it off as stress, or the workload catching up to you. Or, maybe, it was that nagging thought in the back of his conscience he dared not dwell on: he had turned you into this, after being away for so long and then failing to protect your friends.

But as your words replayed in his mind like a broken record, too late he realized this wasn’t the case.

“I see the way you look at her. I see it because you used to look at me that way.”

“Captain?” Petra repeated, leaning forward to study his distant countenance and successfully pulling the man out of his thoughts. “She’s probably just training.”

He rested his hand on top of her head, turning it away from him and sighing.

“Eat, Petra. I don’t need you to be whining about hunger during our patrol tomorrow morning,” he chastised, forcing his eyes away from the doorway.

After that talk, Levi had watched you go, telling himself that you’d return soon enough. Yet could not shake the feeling in his gut that there was something amiss. He pushed away the pit in his stomach. You were safe, you were healthy, and that was all that mattered. Humanity’s Strongest had other things to focus on, after all, and tuned back into his comrades’ conversation. The man blended back in easily, occasionally offering a few of his own comments as the meal dragged on.

Every so often his thoughts would shift back to your conversation earlier that day, and he realized that you were wrong. As close to Petra as he had gotten, there was a stark difference between you and her:

No matter how strong you’d get, and no matter what you thought of him, Levi would always shield you from as much of this world as he could.

But it was better this way. Better if you moved on from him and easier to do if you thought it was because he wanted Petra.

If only he knew your last words to him “I’ll be back for dinner,” had been a lie.

It had been strange for him when you didn’t return. Levi tried not to think about how Kenny had done the same, instead grasping for a reason. For once, he could not read your thought process. The male had no idea why you’d voluntarily leave, after everything. He knew better than to hold onto certainty, but you’d thrown him for a loop. You were always the one to communicate, the problem solver, the one who understood him without much direction. Didn’t you know that you were irreplaceable? He should have come clean: told you that he didn’t see Petra that way, and just didn’t have the heart to admit he didn’t feel good enough for you anymore.

Did he ever even get the chance to say “I love you?”

His regret multiplied tenfold as he began to understand that maybe if he had, you would’ve stayed.

~~~~~~~~

A strange sense of comfort washed over the man as you smiled softly, small hands clasped together in front of you. He blinked, wondering if you were simply a mirage caused by his sleep deprivation. But you remained where you were, after all this time, standing at his door. For once in the man’s life, his mind was drawing a blank.

“I’ll leave you guys to it, then,” Hange stated, excusing herself and soon disappearing out of sight. 


Her statement pulled the both of you back into the present, and you were suddenly self conscious of Levi’s stare. You tucked your hair behind your ears and gestured towards his office, unable to gage his reaction to your presence.

“Would it be alright if I came in?” you asked shyly, astonished he hadn’t slammed the door in your face the second Hange left. 


To your shock, Levi simply nodded, stepping aside to let you through. Your movements were unsure and hesitant, stark in comparison to his: calm and collected as ever.

Just like any space Levi occupied, the area was clean and tidy, a lantern sitting upon his desk the only source of light against the cloudy night sky. It smelled like tea leaves, sandalwood, and disinfectant, a signature scent that made you fill with nostalgia. As the click of the door echoed behind you, the reality of your situation set in, and you turned around to face the man you were here to see.

His gaze had never left you.

“You’re hurt,” was the first thing that left your mouth, concern evident as you studied the bandaging that peaked above his knee length shoes. 


“Long story,” Levi offered curtly, eyeing you up and down from a few feet away. “One I don’t particularly care to tell you.” 


“Of course, that’s fine,” you agreed softly, a weak smile pulling at your lips.

You did your best to mask the hurt, knowing you deserved to feel it. It hurt to be here, the fear that Levi hated you previously keeping you away. Now that you were facing the music, that fear seemed more realistic than ever. Your brain wracked to change the topic before your mind could continue overthinking; desiring instead to cut the unbearable, building tension that never used to exist between you two.

“How are you, Levi?” it was a stupid question, but you no longer knew how to talk to him.

“(Y/N).”


The way he said your name was sharp and challenging. You quickly cleared your throat and looked away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you’re--”


“--Why did you leave?” Levi effectively cut you off, orbs narrowing as you dared to come closer.

The question caught you off guard. You thought you’d made it obvious with your last conversation with him those years ago. Surely, he had some idea, although his pained expression said otherwise. His fingers twitched at his sides, a movement you didn’t miss as your eyes flickered back to his in surprise. He had been so composed just a moment ago, that the sudden shift gave you whiplash.

Now his fists were clenching, as he waited in the painful silence, knuckles turning white.

“Why did you leave?” The phrase echoed tauntingly in your ears, over and over again.  

You don’t know what came over you. All you knew was that you needed to rid him of the rare, defeated look etched into his countenance. To purge him of this feeling you caused. Whether reaching out would help or hurt, you didn’t know.

But you needed to be near him.  

Levi’s eyelids screwed shut as you brushed your thumb across his cheek. The action was so simple, so delicate, so unsure and so familiar all at once, and at the feeling, the Captain’s composure finally came undone.


He reached up and gripped your wrist, as if you’d fade away if he let go. In previous years, it was always you who craved skinship, yet it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off Levi’s shoulders to have you this close. Your touch still felt like the comforting warmth of a campfire; the type that would make anyone want to stay forever.

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off without me,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to cause you any pain.”

He let out a breath.

“Then why are you here now?” his question was more defeated than hostile, which you hadn’t expected.

If someone asked a few hours ago, your answer would have been much clearer. But now, the logic that brought you here seemed overshadowed by doubt. After all this time, and after everything that had happened between you and Levi, any semblance of a relationship with him seemed unsalvageable. You told yourself this mantra over and over until it stuck. So why were you here?

Levi must’ve thought it audacious, for you to run away like a coward and still think you were relevant to him.

“I owe you so much. Whether I ended up being wrong or right, I’ve always acted with your best interest,” you sighed, thumb brushing over Levi’s dark circles. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m any use to you now. I might be the last person you want to seek comfort from, but on the off chance that I still matter to you, I’ll always come back,” you whispered earnestly.

Levi’s grip on your wrist tightened imperceptibly, and you longed to bury your face in the crook of his neck; to feel him wrap his arms around you in his embrace once more. It seemed as if Levi was staring into your soul, his shallow breaths mingling with yours at this close proximity as he opened his eyes to fully drink you in.

“I’m here to tell you that if you need me, I’ll stay.”


He looked to the side as if brushing aside your touch, hand falling away from the raven-haired man’s face as he did so. It felt like rejection, as if he was brushing all of you away with a simple turn of his head.

Silence.

“You’re a real idiot, (Y/N),” he spoke finally, voice nearly out of place against the stillness.

Moonlight suddenly peaked through the window, showering you in a bath of silver light. Levi recognized this look. You were wearing your heart on your sleeve, offering everything you had to give; eyes wide and honest, shining with a vulnerability that even after a lifetime of knowing you, he had never seen before. The man felt conflicted at the sight, annoyance prickling under his skin as you somehow managed to hold him together and tear him apart all at once with your presence.

Losing his squad twist that knife in his heart, convincing him that he was cursed to be left by everyone and his superhuman talents only doomed him to live a life alone.

But now, here you were, standing within arms length: despite the pain you caused, still the only person he had left. Only you could draw this much emotion out of the typically monotonous man. He couldn’t tell if you were a blessing or a curse, but in the moment, all he knew was that he didn’t want you to leave again. He needed you to stay here, with him, the way it should be. Because you were family.

And true to your word, you did.

“You should really get some sleep, you know,” you stated after a while, closing the door with your foot as you entered with two fresh cups of tea. 


You watched Levi fill out paperwork on the other side of the desk, bringing the cup to his lips in the strange fashion you always teased him for. His gaze flickered up boredly.

“You know I don’t sleep. You go on ahead, though. The bed’s behind that door,” he paused, gesturing somewhere behind him. “I hardly ever use it.”  

You shook your head, reaching forward and plucking Levi’s pen from his hand.  


“What you’re drinking is caffeine free. I switched it, so you have no excuse now.” You ignored the indignant scowl growing on the Captain’s face, urging him to listen. “Please, you really should rest. You know you need to.”

It took an entire hour of imploring and convincing for the man to finally give in, him grumbling as you helped take off the boot on his injured foot and ushered him onto the bed. You knew you were the last person with any right to tell the short Captain what to do, but knowing Levi, he was running on an hour or two of sleep while his body was begging for rest. And yes, you were very much hypocritical, draped across the couch in Levi’s office, staring at the ceiling. But none of that mattered to you, as long as he was okay.

You had been lost in introspection, being a room away from your childhood best friend and first love after so long a surreal experience. It felt strange to be back here, but you were too tired to dwell on how strangely out of place you seemed in a place you once called home.

The weight of your abundant emotions from the day finally crashed down, fatigue settling in. You rubbed your eyes, and snuggled closer to the cushions, letting the darkness claim you.

And in the other room, as Levi slipped out of his uniform, shaking his head in exasperation. His last thoughts while he inspected the door as if he could see you through it, was that of course only (Y/N) (L/N) could be more stubborn than he was.

As he slipped under the covers per your command, the ghost of a smile spread across his lips at the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps it was the constant danger of where you grew up, and the need to always stay on your toes, but for as long as you could remember, you’d been a light sleeper. If someone so much as stared at you for too long, your body would jolt awake, ready to take action within a moment’s notice. There had been many instances where this came in handy in your past; even after years of seldom disruption in your now boring life within the walls, this was a trait you never seemed to grow out of. So it wasn’t hard to notice the heavy breathing and panicked movement from behind Levi’s closed door.

Just like for you, some things never changed-- when it came to old habits, you knew the man like the back of your hand. The reason he rarely ever slept was one you were quite familiar with. One both of you struggled with, and probably always would. Nightmares never seem to stop. You’d gotten through so many of your own rough nights with your friends by your side.

Levi, however, always refused to admit how they affected him. Insisted on going through it by himself.  

The subconscious urge to look after one other was most likely one you'd never grow out of, even if Levi had. You didn’t think twice before making your way across the office, swinging your legs across the sofa, awake within seconds. Without missing a beat, you stood up and made your way to Levi’s personal sleeping quarters, knuckles rapping against the frame twice. Levi’s shallow gasps quieted, and when you realized he didn’t plan on opening the door, you steeled your nerves to do it yourself. This was what you were here for, wasn’t it? To offer some comfort?

He did want me to stay.

“Levi?” You called into the darkness gently, feet padding foreword as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

His silhouette was upright in the bed, no doubt staring at you menacingly.

“I'm fine, (Y/N). Go back to sleep,” he snapped.

That didn't deter you, for he would never openly admit vulnerability. This was by no means new behavior. Besides, the strong emotion behind the Captain’s voice was an easy tell that betrayed his words. You pressed on, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Do you remember the time we were teenageers and you got sick, but couldn’t afford medicine so I took that sketchy job you specifically told me not to?” Your back was to him, yet you could feel Levi peering at you.

“Obviously,” he humoured you with a reply, knowing you weren’t going to leave. “You came home half alive and I felt like the most useless piece of shit in the world.”

You chuckled, fingers fiddling with the white sheets beneath them.

“Yes, which was unfair to yourself but also something I did not realize since you called me pretty much every name in the book,” you smiled, the memory oddly fond despite its events. “You were so angry, but I was also scared out of my mind... which was more important than your anger, I suppose. So you let me lay next to you that night. That was all it took to make me feel safe again.”

There was a long pause, you trying to get your words together in a way that could allow Levi to understand how you felt right now.

“I know what you’re thinking; what you’ve been thinking your whole life. You haven’t failed anyone and that stupid idea should be the furthest thing on your mind. Take it from someone who knows, alright? So many lives have had meaning because of y--”

His hand closed around your wrist, the grip much like it was the day you left him.

This time, he would not let go.

“--Stop, (Y/N). Don’t.”

You hadn’t realized there were tears falling down your cheeks until Levi turned your face to look at him. Trying to look away in your embarrassment, you laughed bitterly. His grip did not budge as he examined you sternly.  

“Just be quiet and go to sleep, alright?”

You wiped at your face, determination etched into every fibre of your being.

“Mark my words, Levi, I will make you believe me.”

Levi rolled his eyes but tugged at you once more, opening the duvet in an invitation. When he sensed your uncertainty he simply nodded, arms winding around your waist as you finally crawled in beside him. Both of you knew that there was so much that still needed to be said; so many buried feelings and pain that would only take time to unravel. It felt like a miracle to find yourselves in this situation, pushing aside the thousands of emotions and questions and misunderstandings the two of you had, if only to stay together in this moment.

You didn’t need Levi to know that you still loved him; not while he was coping with another loss. It would be selfish to spring that on, and that was not what you were here for. But you had to tell him:

“I missed you.”

Levi hummed, nose brushing against yours in the close proximity.  

“You better not be gone when I wake up,” he chided in response, orbs fluttering shut.

Your fingers threaded through his onyx black locks, brushing through the knots soothingly. Knowing you’d help this man heal no matter how long it took, you took comfort in the realization that he’d finally let you do just that.  

“I’ll be right here. You’re not alone, Levi. I promise you never will be.”

He pulled you closer, thankful that there was at least one source of warmth left in his life that he could hold onto-- especially after coming to terms with and almost having been certain he’d never experience this feeling of contentment, again. But here you were to prove him wrong, a living slice of home in his arms.

It may have been wishful thinking, but you could have sworn you felt Levi’s breath fan across your hairline, a soft voice whispering “Thank you, (Y/N).” before you felt yourself slip away into slumber once more.

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