#an utterly hopeless world where nothing but suffering awaits you

[cynoglav]

OMG ENKI HI!!!!!

[fuckblizzardbearlover]

Why ppl who think the writers dont know exactly what they are doing with Sylvannas are dead, completely and utterly wrong: a Thread

from the official overview

“ The Broken Machine The machine of death is broken, and players entering the Shadowlands will find the realm of the dead in disarray. In the natural order of things, souls are sorted and sent on to an afterlife realm appropriate to the lives they lived, but now, but over the past few years, all souls who have perished—including the innocents slain at Teldrassil—are being funneled directly into the Maw. The Shadowlands are starving for anima even as the Maw continues to grow from the glut of fresh souls. Sylvanas has been seemingly perpetrating acts to bring about great amounts of death and destruction. In partnership with the Jailer, they have been working toward a common end for some time. “

so, i’m sure this will be one of the first things we learn in Bastion. or whereever.

emphasis mine.

past few years...BFA...Legion....ok thats a pair... So what if it is not exactly a few (3 ). Draenor sylvannas didnt have anything to do, But in MoP she didnt balk at causing death at Siege of Ogrimmar or Theramore and, in the Cataclysm she wiped out 3 cities. Catacylsm is the expasnion after wrath. After she died

From Sylvannas Windrunner: Edge of Night

“What did it matter if another corpse filled his vacant throne? Sylvanas Windrunner had her vengeance. The vision that had driven her and her people for years had finally been realized. And not a single fiber of her desiccated, animate corpse cared where the world went from here.It was over now. A part of her was surprised she was even still around, without his lingering presence always tugging at the back of her mind. She backed away from the throne and slowly turned to survey the cold gray world all around her. Her thoughts returned to that place of bliss, her half-remembered glimpse of what lay beyond. Home. It was time.

.............

She longed for it. A return to peace. The work she had begun in the forests of Silvermoon was finally complete with the death of Arthas. ,,,,,,,,,,,

...........

She could feel no cold, only a dull ache. She would feel nothing soon. She already felt her spirit reaching a place of calm for the first time in almost a decade. Her weight shifted toward the edge of the drop. She closed her eyes.

.......................

"There are so many!" he barked, falling silent as she raised a finger. "We have only two dozen rangers up there," he said, his voice now a whisper. "They cannot survive that!" Sylvanas didn't turn her gaze away from the dark mass of shambling corpses crushing its way closer to the river ford. It was the height of the Third War, and hours away from Silvermoon's fall at the hands of Arthas's army.

"They merely need to delay them as we fortify the Sunwell's defense," she answered, her tone measured.

"They will die!"

"They are arrows in the quiver," Sylvanas said. "They must be spent if we are to win this."

She was brash. Empty? No—a fighter. She had a warrior's heart.................

Before her waited a grotesque, quivering mass of corpses, their armor piecemeal, their bodies broken, the stench unimaginable. Their plaintive, desperate gazes reminded her suddenly of children. They disgusted her. But their need empowered her. "The Lich King falters. Your will is your own. Are you to be outcasts now in your own land? Or do we embrace the cruel cards fate has dealt us and retake our place in this world?"

.........

These poor people: peasants, farmers, priests, warriors, lords and nobles… they hadn't yet come to grips with what had happened to them. But for somebody—anybody—to assure them that they belongedsomewhere was electrifying. 

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

Already he'd come to embrace his situation, referring to humans as if they were a separate race; she made a mental note to make use of him.

.........

"The humans will serve their purpose," she answered, her mind already calculating. "They believe they are liberating the city. Let them fight on our behalf and spend themselves for our gain. They are"—she stumbled upon an analogy she'd used before—"arrows in our quiver."

The heaving mass of undead clapped and coughed and hacked gleefully in assent. Sylvanas regarded the whole mob coldly. And so are you, she thought to herself. Arrows I will aim at Arthas's heart.

................................

No more would she be the vengeful leader of a mongrel race of rotted corpses. Her work was done, and her long-denied reward awaited her

...............

“"Your people will perish!" said the dark-haired Val'kyr.

.Sylvanas thought about her people. They had come far from their decimated origins, the yearning, confused mob of fresh corpses huddled about the ruins of Lordaeron's wrecked capital. The Forsaken were truly a nation now: a fetid, gore-caked, hideous mass of lifeless husks, skilled in combat, devastating with the arcane arts, and unhindered by fetters of morality. They had been honed into the perfect weapon. Her weapon. And they had struck the killing blow for which she had built them. She cared nothing for their fate."Let them perish!" Sylvanas cried. "I am finished with them!"“

........................

She saw only darkness.

And then she felt—truly felt, for the first time in a long while. She recoiled. In agony.

Here she was, her spirit once again feeling whole, only to feel it suffer. To feel once more, only to feel abject pain. Cold. Hopelessness.

Fear.

...................

There were others in the darkness. Things she didn't recognize, because nothing so terrible could exist in the world of the living. Claws tore at her, but she had no mouth with which to scream. Eyes looked at her, but she couldn't look back.

Regret.

She sensed a familiar presence. Recognized it. The taunting voice that had once held her in its grasp. Arthas? Arthas Menethil? Here? His essence rushed to her, desperate, then shrank away in horrified recognition. The boy who would be Lich King. Just a scared little blond child, reaping the aftermath of a lifetime of mistakes. If any part of Sylvanas's soul were not at that moment torn and tormented, she might have even felt—for the first time—the slightest glimmer of pity for him.

Now the others had her. Surrounded her. Gleeful, tormenting, tearing at her consciousness, delighting in her suffering.

Horror.

This was to be her eternity: the endless void, the dark, unknown realm of anguish.

....

"Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady, queen of the Forsaken… you may walk with the living again through the sisterhood of the Val'kyr. As long as they live, so too shall you. Freedom, life… and power over death. This is our pact. Do you accept our gift?"

.....................

This was her only way out. But she didn't want to give her assent out of fear. She waited until she felt something more. A fellowship. A sisterhood. Sisters. Separate, they were all trapped. But together, they were free… and with them, she could postpone her fate.

.............................

"I was once like you, Garrosh," she answered, her voice quiet and steady, loud enough only for the warchief to hear. "Those who served me were tools. Arrows in my quiver.

......................

What he saw was a great black void, an infinite darkness. There was fear in those eyes, but also something else. Something that terrified even the great warchief.

"Garrosh Hellscream. I've walked the realms of the dead. I have seen the infinite dark. Nothing you say. Or do. Could possibly frighten me."

The army of undead that surrounded and protected the Dark Lady was still hers, body and soul. But they were no longer arrows in her quiver, not anymore. They were a bulwark against the infinite. They were to be used wisely, and no fool orc would squander them while she still walked the world of the living.

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

Now, look at the description for the Maw

“ This horrific prison houses the most vile and irredeemable souls in existence—ones deemed by the Arbiter to represent a threat to the Shadowlands if left free. Ruled by the enigmatic Jailer who none have ever seen—at least none have seen and lived to tell—the Maw inspires nightmares and legends even among the denizens of the Shadowlands. No one has ever escaped this vile place, and any foolish enough to venture there are never heard from again. “

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

So This short story was written before cataclysm launched in 2010. NINE years ago.

So yes “dur Blizz are bad writers that made sylvannas do a 180 and become evil for no reason”

NO. This was the biggest piece of characerization Sylvannas ever got outside of warcraft 3 The Frozen Throne. it establishes that she was a cold person more than willing to treat living people as objects to satisfy the needs of their military and their people. It emphasised MULTIPLE times that i highlighted that she HATED and was disgusted by the forsaken. ANd i emphasised at least twice that She has been using patriotism and their need for someone to care about them as a way to MANIPULATE them. And that was how she was. SHe didnt care about any of them They were just a tool to be used to kill Arthas. and with him gone she was ready to die.

The problem was she was ready to die because she HAD ALREADY DIED. we learn with the SHadowlands that good souls go where they are treated well, and even strong souls are treated well. but Where to evil souls go? either the maw or to the vampire place. She had died and started to enter the good place, Bastion no doubt. as a good protector of the innocent. but Arthas pulled her out and made her a monster

BUT SINCE THEN she became even more of a monster. She let her people embrace hatred. she allowed slavery and torture of prisoners for the sake of destroying life. she thought of nothing but how to USE and ABUSE people in order to get vengence so SHE could get her REWARD.

She became a “most vile and irredeemable soul”. So when she died her soul went to the Maw where it suffered with dark evil souls like Arthas’

and did getting rescued by the valkyre fix her outlook? No . she still saw her people as nothing. but she knew the horrors she’d face if she died, and so she viewed her people as a BULWARK against that.

But whats REALLY interesting is that I think Ion wasnt being completely honest . The lore says that “No one has EVer escaped the Maw of Souls”... however we know that we will do so. And we know that No one has been there. so how can anyone KNOW that no one has escaped. What if they just kept it a secret.

What if the Jailer started to, for whatever reason, decide to take over the afterlife. whether it was personal ambition or seeing the rest as redundant. And he saw this elf soul ESCAPE him. the only one to ever do so. By that Valkyre taking her place. The Valkyre are allegedly created by the souls of hte denezins of bastion, the angel people. So between having a connection to the lich king, guardian of the connection to the Shadowlands, and the fact that they are denezins of the shadowlands.. or were... it makes sense they might have had the power to rescue a soul from the Maw.....with the added help of the soul taking her place.

I emphasised other parts to because i think its important. the Valkyre USED to be denizens of the shadowlands. but supposedly Changed by the lich king. The valkyre emphasised it WASNT just a bond of sisterhood but a bond of hte Valkyre. I think in order to save her from the maw they basically had to enchant sylvannas to magically register as a Valkyre, and thats how they ‘made the switch”. so to speak.

Now remember what happened in Legion? She got a special lantern from Helya, the original Valkyr, who is a master of Death, trapping souls and creating dimensions And who has reason to hate Odyn  who has his own form of afterlife?

So it seems to me that Sylvannas gained the attention of the Jailer when she was the first one to escape. and the fact that she escaped by utilizing Valkyre magic, but she wasnt bound to the ethos of most of the denizens of bastion. I think shortly after her original death she was contacted by him, possibly through the valkyre and they started their pact. 

Ion said that Sylvannas does not have a master, she’s doing things for herself. However that doesnt mean that, just cus the Jailer isnt controlling her doesnt mean he might not be manipulating her.

Jailer starts to usurp the souls. Sylvannas, afraid of going to the maw. begins rampant death,  in order to kill enemies and create a massive army of forsaken to use against any force that would come for her. This rampant death gains the attention of those in the afterlife, including the Jailer who gets more souls do to it. somewhere between Cata and the start of legion he contacts her. When vol’jin is dying he uses his influence to get Vol’jin to name Sylvannas warchief.

She uses her new power to go wherever she wants, which she uses to find Helya, another god of death who has a unique power. Realm magic. using the Lantern, Sylvannas uses the valkyre to send it to the jailer who cuts off the other parts of the afterlife, making it so ALL souls go to the maw. then now that the world threat is over, and she doesnt have to worry about dying herself, she uses her position of power to sew as much death as possible to feed her ally. with the ultimate plan of  them destroying the natural order of life and death.  She gets to be free of him and lets those she deems worthy live free. all others get to be the Jailer’s victims. no more souls wasted on the ‘good’ after lives or regeneration. no more foolish living to ruin a perfect, deathless world.

its all coming together.

[antikristvs]

It's so annoying when people complain about George A. Romero being biased by left wing or similar shit because of how he portrayed the soldiers in Day of the Dead. It seems to me that American dudebros are biased by their worship of the military instead (like mate not every soldier is an incarnation of honor, they are human for fuck's sake and where's humans there's assholes). You know what, alright, I will put THAT debate aside and point out this - the fuck do you expect from people trapped in an utterly hopeless situation for three years or so, watching their companions die away while themselves silently waiting to? Many soldiers who do return in real life suffer lifelong mental traumas. And to them? There's nowhere to return. The world is overrun by zombies waiting for dinner. Remember the scene where Frankenstein asked "where will you go, Captain?" and Rhodes said nothing? It's because Frankenstein was right. There was nowhere to run. All the struggle to prevail, to eradicate the problem was pretty much denial. They weren't even sure if there were any more humans left. It was a catastrophe to which only end was death. Drawing closer slowly. And they knew what awaits after. How do you think it affects an individual's mental state. Of course they fucking went insane. Of course Rhodes was completely hysterical and Steel and Rickles acted like nutsacks. Also... When you really think about it, only these three were crazy. Others were chill. Even Torrez was. All except Miguel who was worse than Rhodes in that sense, so deep in despair he decided to kill himself and everyone else in most gruesome manner. You see, the focus was on star four of nutjobs. Others remained in the background. The focus is always on crazy ones. But people forget it, as well as the fact that soldiers are human, and so obviously reacted to stress differently.

Romero portrayed humans in a cataclysmic situation, not "made soldiers evil because he hated the military". Yes, he did not have too good of an opinion on the military. Yes, it might as well have reflected (by the way, as I always say, you have no right to argue with the author - it's their creation thus they do the fuck they want) in his film. But Hell if you choose to analyze, it was MUCH deeper than that.

Oh... and don't forget the classic trope of "when a human is less humane than a monster".

Let me end this with a salute... from the star of the film.

[bellsingur]

Lapis Lazuli, a metaphor for depression, attempted sort of recovery, relapse, then recovery again and hopefully it’ll work this time

(TW: Vivid descriptions of depression) Also very, very long post. 

There are already countless pieces written about Lapis Lazuli and the trauma she’s been through, how she’s portrayed as having depression and/or PTSD, and currently on the show, she’s still healing. I have missed all of them, too focused on shipping. :P 

As I rewatch all of Steven Universe, it struck me that Lapis Lazuli, herself and her journey thus far, can be a metaphor for depression and trying to recover from it, and the hardship that brings (She also is clinically depressed too). Especially in season one, where she goes from stuck in a mirror, to free to go back to Homeworld, only to be brought back to Earth. I always thought of her as an immigrant with heavy diaspora, no true place to call home (which is true), but I think this fits much more appropriately. 

Major Depressive Disorder is a mental/mood disorder characterized by intense and persistent feelings of sadness and despair, affecting normal function in every life. Unfortunately, it’s very common. 

When we’re first introduced to Lapis Lazuli, she’s trapped in a mirror for millennia, unable to move or speak, utterly paralyzed. Her gem - her very physical body and mind - is cracked. She’s not doing well at all. 

And that was essentially depression (esp. one where the person has almost completely retreated from society). There’s a list of symptoms, but those are often just observable behaviors, identified/categorized by/for the DSM. The exact feeling and reality of it is hard to describe; people have describe it as being trapped in the darkness, being in a black hole, unable to do anything about it or get out.

For Lapis, it meant becoming an object, no longer a person. There’s no one to talk to. People talk at her, tell her what to do, and she can obey, but no one bothered to even wonder if she was more than a tool, much less whether she was suffering or not. She was kept in Pearl’s Gem, isolated from the world, only able to ruminate on her experiences, knowing exactly what led her to this situation, thoughts playing themselves over and over again. There’s nothing she could do - she’s helpless. She has no idea how long this will last - for all she knows, she’s stuck like this forever. It’s hopeless. 

Suddenly, Steven comes around, and she’s set free, figuratively and literally. Her Gem is healed. And all she wants to do is to go home, go back to her old life, do the things she used to do. Live again. 

The first step to recovery. Or what she thinks is recovery

This is when things go wrong, in a completely different way. 

Homeworld is not the way it used to be. Everything here is so advanced! I can't even understand it. 

It’s been 5000+ years since Lapis has been on Homeworld. Everything’s changed, drastically. She’s thrusted into this new environment, everything is still beyond her control, and though she’s free, it probably felt just as suffocating as the mirror. 

We never see what transpires on Homeworld, so I’ll imagine it. Whereas she’s been stuck in time, in ‘Era-One’, Homeworld has moved on. They discovered new technology, they’ve made new Gems, new rules, new everything. She doesn’t know what to do, or how to do anything. Events, major and minor, has come and gone, and she doesn’t even know what she missed out on. Everything she used to know is antiquated or even obsolete.  

If she ever went back to Blue Diamond’s court, she’s not welcomed there either. Whoever Lapis knew 5000 years ago, if they’re still around, they’ve probably forgotten her - friendships broken, awkward reunions, and changed relationships. There’s so many new people. What’s court life like now, the social dynamic? Where does she fit in? Can she fit it? 

The thing about depression, is that yes, treatment is available, and recovery possible. But that’s an extremely oversimplified statement. Getting better is really, really hard. It’s not even about the mood or what you’re feeling. You can be feeling better, much better. But during your time separated from reality, things have changed. You can’t just hop back into your life from before, you can’t just pick up school, work, relationships, hobbies from where you left off. 

Not to mention that you’re different as well, and the remnants of depression is still there. Your brain and body has atrophied. You’ve spent so long trying not to think or feel that you may find yourself truly unable to think or feel. You’re forgetful, you’re anxious, you’re scared. You’re less confident then you were before, and sometimes things are so hard that you may even wish you were depressed again, just to stop the overwhelming of everything. 

Depression can ‘re-wire’ the brain (and life), change the way you look at and interact with the world. But for Lapis Lazuli, the entire world itself has been re-wired too. 

Then she’s brought back to Earth. 

Back to the place she hated, back to another form of imprisonment and pain. This time, she has relatively more control. This time, she’s not numb or paralyzed anymore, but that’s just been replaced by anger and cynical hopelessness. 

She impulsively traps Jasper in a fusion, forcing the both of them to stay at the bottom of the ocean for time indefinite. She takes out her frustrations of Jasper, kept her prisoner for months; she focuses on controlling Malachite, because that’s at least something to do. She refuses Steven’s offer to help. 

In a way, it’s her way of coping. It’s terribly unhealthy, and while she has more energy than before, she still sees no way out. She’s self-destructive, and she does (in her own words) terrible things - while understandable - that still are negative actions and have their own consequences. 

It’s a relapse. The subsequent effects of time away, the new devastation of being out of place, of not being able to fully recovery, the totally lack of support has - all that can drive you back into the depths. 

For a moment, I really felt like things were different, but they're not. No matter where I go, I'm trapped.

Like before, Steven finds her again. 

This isn't the same world that held you prisoner, not anymore, and I know it doesn't feel like home but maybe that can change, too.

From Same Old World and onwards, Lapis tries again. But this time around, she has support from Steven, Peridot, and the Crystal Gems. She had to accept that she can never go back to where she was before, she had to accept that everything will be different and the future will not be what she had planned it to be. Acceptance is hard but it’ll come eventually.

And that’s okay. 

Lapis takes it slow. She finds a roommate and friend (and sort of caretaker) in Peridot. She gets sunlight and fresh air. She find hobbies. She makes art and tend to crops. She gets a pet. All good things to do when trying to relieve depression. 

With the release of Raising the Barn, she takes off to space with the barn, essentially isolating herself again and cutting off her support system. I don’t think it’s relapse just yet, but if she continues, it’ll become one. The possible arrival of the Diamonds is a terrible stressor, and her way of coping is avoidance and retreat. They can work to bring some peace in the short term, but it’s not sustainable for the long term. 

When Lapis comes back, there’ll be a lot she has to deal with, issues she needs to work out, demons to confront. Lots she needs to fix, as it often happens when people with depression or PTSD or other sorts of mental illness. 

That’s not the say the problems are their fault - often an crisis, people with mental illness take what they see as the best possible option, a ‘logical’ one given what they know and need at the moment, even if it’s short-sighted or dangerous; anything to relieve pain - but they do hold responsibility and an duty to repair any damage they did do. 

Lapis is still alive; she got better, even if just a little; her friends and family are awaiting her return; she still has choices. (The show is still going) There’s still time for change, and I hope she’ll be able to see that soon. 

Some useful links. 

[carrie-organa]

Rosvolio prompt: "If I promised you'd never see me again would you kiss me?"

read on ao3

The Royal Guard snuck up on him unceremoniously. One moment he was in the market, fingers trailing over different pieces of fabric, delightedly thinking about how much it would irk his fiance if he had a dress commissioned for her in a color far more interesting than blue, when two men snatched at his arms. “His Grace wishes to speak with you, Signore Montague.” 

Benvolio is sure that his answering smirk can only be described as glib when he replies, “As my sovereign commands.” 

They drag him to the castle with little thought to the sizable crowd hungrily watching the events unfold. 

The prince is awaiting him in his lavish office, reading through missives that Benvolio half suspects are there just to make him appear busy. In truth he harbors little affection for Prince Escalus and always has, though it has no doubt been aggravated by his troublesome behavior regarding Rosaline. Still, the Montague heir has enough respect for decorum to give the other man a slight bow. 

Prince Escalus sets down a letter and nods in greeting, “Montague. Thank you for coming.” 

“Well, this worked best with my schedule.” Benvolio says wryly. His societal respect for propriety only goes so far, after all. 

A more adept leader would start off with some meaningless small talk, try their best to disarm their prey and put them at ease. Benvolio has no doubt it is what the prince’s sister would do. Prince Escalus, however, is not his sister. “I am sure that you are as aware of the chaos in our streets as I am, Montague, as I am also sure that you can clearly see that your engagement to Lady Rosaline has had no effect to calm the masses. The people are crying for blood and it does not appear as though they will stop.” 

Benvolio grits his teeth. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I am vividly remembering you forcing Rosaline and I into this engagement. Are you now saying that you made a mistake?” 

“Precisely.” Escalus nods vigorously, his dark eyes annoyingly earnest. “I naively thought that I could achieve peace where countless generations of rulers have failed. I understand now that there will never be peace between House Montague and House Capulet, only uneasy coexistence. We must go back to the status quo if Verona is to survive.” 

“And how do you propose that happens? We were bound before God, it would be the greatest sin to turn back on those vows.” His blue eyes narrow as he follows that line of thought. “You would be condemning Rosaline to a life of servitude by reversing your choice.” 

“Oh, I cannot possibly tell the public I regret my decision. A leader must be strong, above all else, and admitting fault at a time like this would be detrimental to my ability to rule Verona.” Escalus explained, apparently perfectly happy with his self-serving reasoning. “No, you will have to flee Verona. Immediately.” 

He left the castle in a daze, hardly processing where he was walking but hoping his path would lead him somewhere in the vicinity of the Montague palazzo. The prince had banished him from Verona, effective immediately. He had said he wanted him gone before tomorrow’s first light or the Guard would be paying Benvolio a tragically final visit. 

Curiously, the thought echoing the most in his mind is that he hadn’t had time to commission a dress for Rosaline. He can almost conjure her face in his mind, eyebrows scrunched in consternation at his impishness, but those lovely dark eyes of hers failing to hide her amusement for his antics. There would be a hint of a smile threatening to break across her luscious mouth. With every conversation, Benvolio was getting closer to coaxing a real smile from her, he could tell. Just a little more time and she would- 

Nothing. There would be nothing. It did not matter how much effort he devoted to making Rosaline Capulet laugh, he would never see her again. Despite all the mystery and drama surrounding their engagement, Benvolio would find himself thinking privately to himself that perhaps a life with her wouldn’t be so bad. She was fiery and fiercely loyal, stunningly beautiful. Indeed, Rosaline was a vexing creature but Benvolio rather found that her stubbornness added to her appeal. The woman was undoubtedly his equal and he’d fancied discovering how he could make her happy, down the road. 

It all meant nothing now, as things so often do. People die. Princes change their mind. And Benvolio is the one who suffers for it. 

Still, perhaps…one more time. 

Rosaline is jolted from her sleep by the sound of infernal knocking at her balcony door. She has already grabbed the dagger hidden under her pillow, a scream ready in her throat when she recognizes the voice hissing her name. “Rosaline, for Christ’s sake, open the door.” 

Quickly, she scurries to unlatch the door, dagger still pointlessly in hand. Though Lord knows the man currently swaggering into her bedroom could persuade her into using it. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Rosaline whispers urgently, certain that something dire has happened. 

“Can’t I check in on my beloved fiance?” Benvolio smirks, though for some reason his eyes don’t dance like they normally do when provoking her. 

“Not in the middle of the night, you can’t.” She seethes. “Tell me why you are here.” 

The smirk falls from his lips and then he simply stares at her, looking for all the world like a man dying of thirst. Rosaline does her best to ignore the warmth settling in her stomach at his burning perusal. “Rosaline…” Benvolio finally whispers, taking a step towards her that has them sharing the same breath. One of his calloused hands comes to rest on the nape of her neck. 

“What- what are you doing?” 

“If I promised that you would never see me again, would you kiss me?” He asked, eyes moving from her lips to gaze into her soul. This close she can more clearly see that his eyes are not purely blue. There is more than a hint of green to them, even some flecks of brown. Rosaline absently thinks that they are small storms. 

She forces herself back into the present. “Are you saying that I could be free of your insufferable Montague arrogance for the rest of my days, all in exchange for a simple kiss?” 

“Hmm.” He hums, thumb now rubbing against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Just a kiss, my Rosaline, and you are free.” 

Rosaline tries to deduce whether or not he is jesting with her, if this is all an elaborate prank at her expense, but it doesn’t make any sense. She knows Benvolio to be an unbearable git on his best day but she has never known him to be needlessly cruel. Besides, the expression on his face is not mocking. No, he simply looks…hopeless. “Whatever is going on with you, Montague, you can tell me. We can figure it out.” 

“Benvolio.” He murmurs. “I have a first name, dear fiance, I implore you to use it.” 

She huffs but nevertheless complies, “Benvolio…tell me what’s wrong.” 

He smiles at her use of his name but remains headstrong. “I can’t. But I can promise that after tonight you will be bound only to your own whims. You can join a convent or marry that bloody prince, whatever you want.” 

“And what will you do?” 

“I’m going to kiss you.” Benvolio replies, trying his able best to be cheeky. “As is the agreed upon price.” 

Rosaline should probably step back, force them both back to their senses, implore Benvolio to see reason and just tell her what’s wrong so they can deal with it. As a team. She should do all of those things. That is the pragmatic solution. 

But the smell of him, so utterly masculine yet still clean, paralyzes her. His gleaming eyes stare straight into hers as he leans forward, giving her every indication that she can back out of this anytime she wants to. Rosaline closes her eyes and leans in, tasting him on her mouth for the first time. 

It is a simple meeting of the lips, their only other point of contact Benvolio’s hand on her neck. He is trying to be a gentleman, she thinks delightedly. It is his determination to be as proprietary as possible that awakens a hunger within her. Rosaline steps closer into her body so their chests are flush together and winds her arms around his slender waist. Not to be outdone, Benvolio’s hands are soon wound into her lazily plaited hair. 

His mouth slips open, tongue gently tasting her full bottom lip. Rosaline instinctively parts her mouth and nearly gasps at the intimate meeting of tongues. She is overwhelmed by his heady presence, cannot find it within her to think about even breathing. 

In all honesty, Rosaline could not tell you how long they were kissing but she does know that she was out of breath and flushed when Benvolio finally pulled back so that their noses barely brushed together. “I wish I could stay.” He whispers, hands pulling out of her hair to trail down her arms, finally tangling with her fingers. 

“Can’t you?” She asks, not caring that it is a ridiculous notion. 

His eyes stare at out into the night, now turning from inky black to indigo, signaling the coming of the dawn. “It is almost first light.” He says by way of explanation, although she has the strangest feeling that the sun has a much different meaning for him than just the signal of a new day. “I must go.” Benvolio takes a long look at her and Rosaline almost thinks that he is going to kiss her again. She quite wants him to. “Goodbye, Rosaline.” 

He steps back so that their hands are no longer entwined. The loss of his touch feels oddly permanent even though Rosaline imagines she’ll probably see him before the day is done. 

“You never did tell me what was wrong.” She says, following him out onto the balcony to watch him begin his descent. 

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” Benvolio says absentmindedly, trying to remember his footholds. 

“Benvolio.” He glances up quickly to see her leaning over the balcony. He has no time to react before Rosaline presses a quick kiss to cheek, giving him a beautiful smile as she pulls away. “Goodbye.” 

Her eyes dance mischievously as she turns back into her room, latching the door behind her, finally ready to admit that she is excited for a future with Benvolio Montague at her side.  

[firstumcschenectady]

“Sheer Silence” based on 1 Kings 19:1-15a

Elijah had it rough.  In his time, the people were uncertain about their loyalties.  Their shared story of being led out of bondage in Egypt and to freedom in their own land by a God who cared about them and how they treated each other... wasn't primary anymore.  Their current king was worshiping another gods.  Elijah was a prophet for YHWH, called to speak out for justice, and for YHWH-God's vision of people treating each other well and creating a society where everyone could survive AND thrive.

The other gods weren't into creating fair and equitable societies.  They were into power, and control, hierarchy, and wealth – and most of all they were into themselves.  They were easier to worship because there felt like a direct correlation between sacrifices to those gods and personal success.  (Aka, the prosperity gospel isn't new.)

Worshiping the God of our tradition isn't always easy, and Elijah was proof of that.  He was a prophet when neither the power structure nor the people tended to want to hear him.  He was asked to bring bad news, time and time again, and it was NOT appreciated.  For most of his life he is presented as a very lonely creature.  He is said to have a servant, but he seems to be on his own for the most part.  In the preceding story he claimed a great victory for God over the other gods  -  in a way I find utterly horrific – and gained the attention of some of the people in doing so. He also upset the king and queen, and was running away, certain of his impending death for what he'd done, on the basis that the queen said she was going to have him killed.

He ran, by himself, into the desert.  It seems to me that he decided it was better to control his own death than be tortured and shamed as he died.  Running into the desert was claiming the right to at least die alone.  The Bible, remember, thinks of the desert wilderness as a place where there is not enough to survive without God's help.

I mention this, because I think there are a lot of deserts out there –we have deserts of loneliness, we have deserts of grief, and deserts of exhaustion, deserts of confusion, and deserts of hopelessness, deserts of meaning, and deserts of beauty.  Research says 45% of people in the US don't have enough money for rent and food1, so there are a lot of people dealing with exactly the kind of deserts that the Bible is talking about, no metaphor needed.  However, the rest of the deserts also exist, both for people with enough money for food and rent, and for those without.  For those of us who believe that ALL people are beloved children of God, and who thus want to work for a world where justice rolls down like waters, and mercy like an every flowing stream, our country can feel like one big desert of injustice and mercilessness.

Elijah goes off into the desert by himself, too exhausted and scared and run down to do anything but find a broom tree to lie under.  A broom tree is a little desert shrub.  A devotional about broom trees says “Its deep roots draw in the moisture of land that is otherwise barren. ...In the desert, water is invisible. It lies hidden beneath the surface and is often too deep to reach on our own. But water is there and the roots of a broom tree prove its existence. In the same way, hope can be discovered even in the deepest moments of human suffering.”2 Hagar also lay down under a broom tree to await oncoming death. Hagar, too, was taken care of by God.  It seems that in the Bible utter despair and hopelessness happen in the desert – and because the desert is so HOT and the sun is so unyielding, the little shade that the broom tree offers ends up being the place that people lie down to give up their fight and let the despair win.

And, in the Bible, that means that the broom tree, like the desert, is where God steps in.  For Hagar, that meant helping her see the well that was going to sustain her life.  For Elijah, it is a bit more complicated.  He lies down under the broom tree to give up, and the first thing that happens is … he falls asleep.  He stops fighting. He lets the exhaustion win.

And then, a messenger of God (I'd lean towards assuming a human one, but that's just me), delivers food and water – good food and water from what I can tell – and wakes him up to eat it.  And then get gets to go back to sleep.

I like this part.  I may like this part best.

I like that Elijah doesn't have to do anything more.  He sleeps, he eats and drinks, and he goes immediately back to sleep.  Sometimes, friends, that's all we have left when we've given our all to the work of kindom building, and we have NOTHING left.  Sometimes finding food and drink is too much, and someone has to help us, and even when they do, all we can do afterwards is go back to sleep.  This is also lovely encouragement for the people who tend to be messengers of God who show up with food and drink.  The prophet may get a lot of glory, but the prophet wouldn't make it without those others who prop them up.

Even Elijah, even the one known for standing alone in his generation, even he didn't do it himself.  The food and water to sustain his life came from outside his capacities.  They were gifts to support him.  The work of building the kindom takes many people doing their part, never just one standing alone.  In this church, we do some of those “messenger under a broom tree” type ministries.  We support the people of God by making the journey a touch easier, by seeing what is needed and offering it.  Our breakfast is food and drink in some people's desert.  Sustain is too.  

This passage is good to remember and see the valuable work of those who are “messengers of God” with hidden, quiet support.    I think is also honest about the times when life has drained EVERYTHING we have from us, and that sometimes in life we sit under a broom tree without any intention to ever get up again.  At those times, we don't even have a choice.  We can't do any more.

And, friends, I think that's OK.  I think we're allowed to be exhausted, drained, horrified, and in despair.  Elijah is a pretty deal in the Bible, and he gets just sleep under a broom tree!  I don't want to rush out from under this broom tree.  In the stories of the Bible, sitting under them in despair is honest, and real.  It is a reflection of what has happened, and what is happening, and that there is no where else to turn.

AND YET, God is the one who makes a way out of no-way.  God lets Elijah sleep under the broom tree, BUT God also makes sure that Elijah gets the sustenance he needs for the next part of the journey.  I guess that means we get to sit under broom trees, we get to recover, we get to be aimless, we get to rest and rebuild strength, but … it is always a stop along the journey and never the journey's end. However, before anyone feels rushed out of their broom tree offering shade in the desert, let's note that he got to sleep, eat, drink, and sleep again and eat again and drink again.  He got rebuilt before he had to leave.  If you aren't rebuilt yet, I'm not sure you have to leave yet.

But, leave the liminal space of the broom tree of hopelessness, we will. God lets us be there, but not stay there.  Elijah gets awoken a second time by a messenger, who has left food and drink again, and then he gets kicked out from under the broom tree.  

It seems to work for him.  On that rest, recovery, and sustenance, he is able to complete his journey.  His journey is to Mount Sinai, where Moses got the commandments from God.  Like Moses before him, Elijah has the chance to know God more deeply there.  The story makes space for Elijah to name his grievance and be heard, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." (verse 10).  And then and there, from a cave on mountain far from home, Elijah experiences God.

The story takes the time to clarify who God is and is not.  God is not in the destruction, or the fear, or even the awe.  God is not in the loud and extraordinary.  Instead, God is in the regular, the every day, the silence.  There was probably silence under the broom tree, but it seems Elijah needed the journey before he could hear its significance.  So, Elijah emerges from the cave to stand in the midst of sheer silence.  Teachers of Centering Prayer call silence “God's first language.”  In the midst of the presence of the Divine, Elijah is again given the space to name his grievance and his grief. God, who is in the silence, LISTENS to the one who has been exhausted.

Now, God's response at first glance does not appear to be the very empathetic.   Elijah repeats his claim that "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away,"  and God replies, “Go to Damascus.” Which, by the way, is like 500 miles away – through the desert.

See? Isn't it good there was some time under that broom tree before we got to the cave?  I think it is because of the time to be, without trying to do, that Elijah was able to hear God again.  And be ready for the next steps of his journey.  By the way, Elijah was sent to Damascus to anoint two new Kings (one for Aram and one for Israel) AND to anoint his successor.  And, for a while, Elijah and Elisha got to work together for justice, and Elijah didn't have any more work he did on his own.  After the broom tree, things got easier, and there was more support.

Thank God for broom trees, and prophets, and messengers (with food and water), and rest, and restoration, and sustenance, and silence, and companionship, and hope, and a God who cares for all people even when we're too exhausted to care for ourselves.  Amen

1https://money.cnn.com/2018/05/17/news/economy/us-middle-class-basics-study/index.html

2https://fivetalents.org/blog/2017/8/21/beneath-the-broom-tree-discovering-hope-in-the-deepest-moments-of-suffering

--

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ 
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

June 23, 2019

[badonkodank]

Licking Wounds

Rated: G Characters: Bertolt, Reiner, Ymir Relationships: Implied Reiner/Bertolt, Mentions of Ymir/Historia Summary: Still recovering from their failed attempt to retrieve Eren, Bertolt thinks about what they’re doing and wishes there was a better way. Warnings: Contains spoilers for season 2 and current manga chapters. Brief suicidal ideation. A panic attack and general pain, angst, and sadness. 

ao3

The night air tugged harshly at their hair and clothing, the chilliness magnified by the altitude atop the wall to temperatures that had even Bertolt shivering. The winds weren't the only contribution to that bodily reaction, though. Ymir's words continued ringing in his ears, long after she'd spoken them and fallen asleep.

"All I'm doing is returning what I borrowed back then. Because I'm probably the only one that understands the situation you're in."

A mere thank you would never suffice to tell Ymir how grateful they both were for her sacrifice, but it was all he'd been able to manage at the time. Those words alone had been enough to lodge that rising lump in his throat and Bertolt knew if he'd tried to say much more he would not have been able to remain coherent. It was too much to come to terms with. They'd lost Eren, the Attack Titan, the Founding Titan… they'd virtually failed their mission, and without Ymir to redeem them incrementally, he doubted Zeke would have even let them make it back home. As it was, Bertolt wasn't sure they would be greeted with open arms when they did return, seeing as how abysmally everything had gone for them thus far.

They'd broken Wall Maria and Trost's defenses successfully, but Eren had plugged the hole in Trost. They'd managed to keep their true identities hidden for as long as they'd been able and they'd survived the Survey Corps coming after them, but they'd lost Annie in the process, the Female Titan. And if Armin's words were to be believe, she was being tortured. As much as he didn't want to believe that, Bertolt knew just how cruel the humanity could be and wouldn't have put such an atrocity out of the realm of possibilities.

And they'd lost Eren, too. That was what his mind continued coming back to. They'd lost him. They'd had him and they'd lost him. And because of that, Ymir was giving up the possibility of a life with the woman she so clearly had strong feelings for in order to make sure they didn't return home empty-handed. He hated that his immediate reaction was to thank her and apologize for what fate awaited her instead of telling her she couldn't give up her life so quickly for them. He'd never done anything to deserve that- that kind of selfless act. But then, it also seemed fitting that he said nothing more than that; he was a warrior, after all. The Colossus Titan. The strongest one. The poster-child for the destruction of mankind.

It was his responsibility to make sure their task remained at the forefront of his and Reiner's minds at all times. It was his responsibility to make sure nothing they did could backfire too spectacularly, and to keep Reiner from getting too carried away with his Soldier persona. He was the one who had to keep a level head, the one who had to be careful to hold everyone at arm's length, because if he allowed himself to create too strong of a bond with anyone besides his warrior comrades he ran the risk of going soft.

He was glad he'd had the intuition and discipline to do that, because Jean and Connie's yelling (their hurt and feelings of betrayal) had been enough to make him wish he couldn't been anyone other than himself in that moment. He had been honest with them though. Who in their right mind would ever want to willingly hurt people? Who would choose, of their own volition, to kill so many people if they didn't have to?

Even now, as the pain of that memory clawed at his tear ducts and his legs dangled off the side of the wall while he contemplated in the back of his mind if a fall like that would be enough to kill him, Bertolt wished he could've had longer to stay there in the safety of Reiner's armor, and explained their situation more thoroughly. Because maybe then they would've understood, as Ymir had understood, and they could've gone home with Eren willingly trailing behind.

That had been what he'd assumed the plan had been, at least as far as Eren had been concerned, before Reiner had decided he had different plans. He'd been prepared to continue the charade and hang onto the humanity he'd almost grown to be comfortable with, when Reiner had shattered it all so beautifully and Bertolt had had to remind himself that before anything else, they were warriors and comrades who had to support and protect the other no matter whether or not they deviated from the afore agreed-upon path.

The friends they'd made along the way would always come last. He had a responsibility to his people to make sure they were protected, and that meant abandoning everything and everyone he'd grown to care for in his three years of knowing them. But if abandoning all of that meant his people could live on, he would do it. He would give up everything -his health, his opinions, his life- for his people, just as Eren seemed so keen on dying for his. As misguided as he was in in the belief that the titans were at fault for all the wrong in the world, Bertolt could understand where the other teen came from.

Having related to Eren in some areas profoundly, he'd half expected him to be willing to help them, but he should've known his hate and hurt would run far too deep for him to be able to look past everything they'd done. Still, having Eren look at him like he was his enemy, like Bertolt had killed his mother and ruined his life on purpose, like he wanted to slaughter him… it had been more painful than any wound he could have inflicted.

Their ancestors had started a war that they now had to fight and it wasn't fair. He knew the other Eldians had to die, but that didn't keep him from wishing that they could coexist with one another- that there didn't have to be pain and death and thirst for the dominance of a superior race. Of course, if ever he said such things aloud around anyone besides Reiner he would most certainly be executed, the power of his titan passed down to the next child who didn't know any better.

Bertolt knew how easy it was for them all to see them as the enemies of humanity, but if they could know the truth, the real truth, they might have been willing to side with them. He wished more than anything that that could have been the case; at least they could've all remained friends until the end.

But it hadn't been in the cards for them. It never had been. He knew that, though he wished he didn't. That itself didn't matter either, because he had always known where his life was headed, and he'd made his peace with that knowledge. Still, he'd almost allowed himself to hope for something different, and that wasn't good.

All he wanted was to complete their mission so he and Reiner could stop being used, which meant giving up all freedoms and personal desires. Which was fine, ultimately. It had to be, especially now, after he'd so thoroughly loused up Eren's retrieval. If he had subdued Ymir, forced her along with them instead of allowing her to stay behind in order to get Krista, things might have gone differently, and they might have gotten away. He'd made an executive decision and it had been the wrong one.

Reiner said nothing about that, but Bertolt knew he was thinking along the same lines. The deep lines that marred his normally flawless face spoke volumes, and he was surprised the blond hadn't gone off on him for the mistakes he'd made. In fact, Reiner had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few hours, which told Bertolt just how incredibly upset he was.

The knowledge that his blunder was what caused that mood in his best friend made him feel all the worse. He could've done so many things differently, but instead he'd gone along with Ymir's desires, just as he went along with whatever everyone else demanded of him. He didn't have to, but he always did. It seemed years of following orders left him unable to make decisions for himself. Reiner was the only one he could speak his mind around, which meant what he truly thought never saw the light of day, his fear of putting Reiner in danger with his opinions being what kept him silent. His devotion to Reiner constantly warred with his devotion to his people, and he would never do or say anything if he knew it would put him into a bad position.

As it was, he had put him in harm's way. He'd put himself in the same boat, yes, but he could take whatever punishment Zeke saw fit to give him when he got to them, Reiner didn't deserve to suffer the consequences when he wasn't the one to make the choice that wrecked everything. Yes, he'd revealed their identities sooner than he'd thought they would, but it all might have turned out alright if Bertolt had chosen different.

It didn't matter, though, because soon enough Jaeger would be back and in charge once more and they would be back to the pawns they'd been before leaving, any pretense of freedom removed from their hands completely. Thinking about what might have been wouldn't change that. He told himself that but it didn't lessen the burning guilt that seemed to cling to wounds that had long since healed. If he hadn't felt utterly hopeless before, he certainly did now.

"Oi, Bertolt."

Blinking away the tears that had begun building up, Bertolt turned his attention to Reiner. The other shifter looked at him, the anger in his face having bled away to reveal a softer, sadder expression. Bertolt cleared his throat to keep from sounding too croaky when he replied.

"Yeah?"

"Go ahead and sleep, already. Nobody's coming for awhile and you need to regain your strength."

Reiner offered a small smile to accompany the suggestion but it didn't come close to reaching his eyes, and for some reason that made it worse than if he hadn't smiled at all. Bertolt drew his knees up from where the dangled and tucked them under his chin, contemplating what he should do. Reiner was right, he did need to recuperate, but honestly, the blond needed more rest than he did. He'd been the one doing all the running around and fighting.

"Go to sleep yourself," he shot back softly, keeping his gaze glued to the land below, "if we do end up needing to get out of here, you're going to be more important than me."

Reiner scoffed and Bertolt looked up to see him making his way over, his posture slouched enough that anyone would be aware of just how not okay he was. When he sat down beside him, Bertolt refused to make eye contact. He couldn't bring himself to, not after what had happened- he couldn't even bring himself to drink water because it meant he'd have to see his reflection. He couldn't bear the guilt and shame, and even if Reiner could understand that if he told him, he still didn't want to. He didn't want him seeing the kind of havoc it was wreaking inside his mind.

"Hey." Reiner nudged his arm and Bertolt clenched his jaw, keeping his attention fixed firmly on the horizon. He couldn't look at him now. If he did he would never be able to remain held together- he was barely managing it now as it was.

The silence persisted for nearly a full minute before Reiner's sigh broke through. "What's is it?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? What was it? It was easy to answer, honestly. But what single thing could he choose? It was the war, which was simultaneously right and wrong. It was Eren and the Survey Corps thinking they had all the true answers to everything when they didn't know truth if it bit of their legs. It was the fact that the world was wrong... He was wrong. It was the fact that they'd already done so much and yet they still weren't done. There was no one thing in particular. It was one terrible thing stacked atop another until there was nothing left but a pile of sins they were meant to be buried beneath.

Bertolt swallowed hard and shook his head, closing his eyes burying his forehead into his knees. He should've found an answer for Reiner, but nothing was going to come out properly no matter how hard he tried. Silence was always the better alternative when there was too much to articulate. At least until everything came out in an exhausted stream of sobs and screams.

He worried his lip from the safety of his arms and wanted to hurl himself off the wall when the a small whimper crawled up his throat. He cringed at the noise and bit his tongue when another tried to follow. The moisture building up behind his eyes refused to be blinked away by then and he gave up trying, letting the few tears that fell land silently in his lap where reiner couldn't see.

"What's wrong?" Reiner pressed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bertolt leaned into the touch unconsciously and shrugged. He knew the inquiry went further than what was currently wrong, because Reiner knew by then that he reacted badly to missions even when they were successful- after destroying the Wall he'd been nearly inconsolable for several days.

Reiner knew him, and he knew when things became too much to deal with properly. He knew how to handle him when he was in that state, it was just a matter of getting him to talk. And while he still wasn't ready to have a conversation, Bertolt decided he could at least give a small answer that would help him to understand.

"Everything."

The whisper was as strained and as hoarse as he'd imagined it would be, but at least he'd kept his sob at bay.

"Bertl…" Reiner wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to his chest, and any attempt to remain stoic fell useless around his ears as his breath hitched violently and the first of many ragged sobs. He wanted to pull away from the comforting and familiar hold, because he didn't deserve to be cared for when he'd messed up as badly as he had, but knew it would be no use because Reiner wouldn't release him. And that wasn't fair either, because Reiner was upset too, and yet here he was, comforting him, trying to make him alright.

It was still so strange, how their roles had changed since childhood. He could still recall when he'd been the one to tuck Reiner under his chin and assure him everything would be fine, that he wasn't weak and that he most certainly would be chosen to inherit one of the Nine Titans.

How things had changed since that time. It seemed after he'd received the power of the Colossus titan and Reiner the Armored they had switched. Suddenly, Reiner was the strong one and Bertolt the one who constantly had to be assured that things would turn out alright. Which amused him still, considering he was the one in charge of keeping them on track.

Reiner's free hand carded carefully through his hair. The same hand Mikasa had cut into. Bertolt shuddered and curled into himself further, sniffling and desperately trying to quiet his cries.

"I'm sorry."

The whisper dragged from his mouth multiple times until the words ceased to sound like words at all, and by then he couldn't stop. The air burned his lungs as if it was the steam his titan constantly emitted and his head was a tangle of thoughts and feelings he had no control over, and he couldn't escape any of it.

"Bertolt."

He heard Reiner, felt him change their position so he was no longer hugging him but gripping both of his shoulders tightly, but couldn't get himself together. He wanted to. He hated when he couldn't control himself.

"Bertolt, stop!"

Reiner shook him hard enough that his neck cracked when his head whipped back and forth, and just like that the world slowly came back into focus. The ringing in his ears lessened and though the air still stung coming in, he at least felt like his lungs were inflating. The tears continued to pour and his breath still hitched loudly, but everything suddenly seemed less extreme and more manageable.

Bertolt let himself fall forward, hiding his face in the crook of Reiner's neck and wrapping his arms tightly around the blond's chest. Reiner returned the embrace, saying nothing, but not needing to. Bertolt didn't need him to speak to understand that he was there for him, that he cared and wasn't going to leave. No words were ever needed for that.

They remained that way long after dark enveloped the sky, until their fire had burned down and Bertolt's sobs with it. Until the entire world felt like it had fallen away and for just a moment they didn't have to worry about what they needed to do next. Bertolt wished they could've stayed like that forever.

"If you two start making out, I promise I will kick you off this wall."

Ymir's sarcasm-coated comment shattered the moment and left Bertolt blushing deep scarlet and shifting away from Reiner until they were at a more respectful distance. He looked over to see the woman stretching and walking over to the fire to poke around at the embers. If she heard what had been going on earlier she made no mention of it.

Bertolt got up, groaning under his breath when his stiff limbs protested, and offered Reiner a hand. The two shared a look and Bertolt look over at Ymir before moving his attention back to the blond.

"Do you think she'll be alright?"

He felt like he already knew the answer to that question, but needed to ask it anyway. He knew where she would ultimately end up when she came back with them, but whether or not they were kind about it would be another factor entirely. They would put in a good word for her, let them know she had cooperated and helped them immensely, and hope that that sparked their empathy, but they wouldn't be able to do more than that.

Reiner shrugged and stared at the freckled woman, a distantly fond look in his eyes. "She's Ymir."

It wasn't an answer, and yet it was, and Bertolt accepted it. Whatever way they treated her, she would find a way to be okay with it. She was resilient and more kind and understanding than she let on, and no matter what they did to her, she would be at peace with her decision to come with them. Still, he hoped they would be kind to her. She was good and deserved to be treated as such.

"Alright. Let's just… act normal, then."

"Yep," Reiner agreed.

After that they made their way over to Ymir, who was watching them from the corner of her eye, and they sat beside her. Reiner punched her in the shoulder and laughed lightly when she gaped in surprise and glared at him.

"You're only saying that because you'd be jealous, Ymir."

"Ha!" Ymir barked, "That's a laugh!"

She smirked at him then and threw her arms up. "But, far be it from me to keep you two from getting it on. I mean, it is the end of the world, after all."

If it was possible, Bertolt blushed even harder and he struggled to not cover his face in embarrassment. The air of normalcy didn't feel forced, as it certainly was since none of them were truly feeling the witty banter, and or that he was thankful. If tonight would be the only reprieve they had before Zeke came, then no matter how forced, he would be glad to have the easy conversation… Even if that conversation was so easy because it was at his expense.

And it helped, jumping back into their roles and pretending he hadn't just had a breakdown moments before. And whether or not Ymir let him on to the fact, he was certain he'd been what woke her up. How much she'd seen or heard, he didn't know, but she seemed to be content with pretending she had noticed nothing, for which he was extremely grateful. She was a better person than most thought.

Reiner elbowing him in the ribs playfully and grinned mischievously pulled him out of his thoughts just in time to hear the Shifter tease him.

"Well, if we have her permission..."

He did cover his face then, a shocked stutter making it's way past his lips, too.

"R-Reiner!"

Their responses were to laugh boisterously and after a second, Bertolt joined in, though his mirth was much softer and more contained. He looked up at the night sky while Ymir and Reiner continued chatting, the topic filtering into something else that he only paid half attention to.

They had a long road ahead of them, and it would be filled with so much more pain and heartache, but after releasing his fear and pain, for the time being, it all felt more manageable. And at least until morning, they had this. He had Reiner and the woman who had remained their comrade through it all and would become their saving grace. They had each other, and while they'd all rather be somewhere else, they could still take some form solace in the other's presence.