#and more of a 'death would be a mercy when contemplating an existence such as I have'

[luxlightly]

Drawing steps

Step 1: try to draw

Step 2: fail to draw

Step 3: 10-30 of the most intense, violent anger, self loathing and impulse to break things and/or self harm ever felt by mankind

Step 4: anywhere between a few hours to a few weeks of depression and suicidal ideation, occasionally going back to extreme self loathing and anger

Step 5: wait until the temptation to try again grows too strong to resist and go back to step 1

( at least this time my anger and frustration was slightly less aimed at myself and more outwardly aimed at fate. So i guess that's progress. We'll see how long step 4 lasts. In the meantime I'll be face down in bed listening to "please please please let me get what I want" by the Smiths when it doesn't make me want to kill myself too strongly)

[t0yac1d]

My Juliet, my special girl (C. Diaz x Fem!Reader)

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty"

Warnings: gang violence, death, after Olivia's Quince, blood, contemplating suicide

Word Count: 889

It was the morning after Olivia's Quince. The morning after a beautiful party. The morning after Latrelle shot Ruby and killed Olivia.

"It's all my fault."

"I shouldn't have shown mercy to Latrelle."

"I shouldn't have gone after him in the first place."

Cesar blamed and hated himself deeply.

He hated what happened to Ruby and Olivia because in his eyes, that should’ve been him.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got shot.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got killed. 

I need to cry, but I can't get anything out of my eyes,

Cesar sat on the edge of his bed, eyes filled with frustrated tears that threatened to spill but they wouldn’t fall. No matter how upset he was, they wouldn’t pour.

Or my head. 

And oh my god, the night. That night kept repeating in his brain. 

The sound of the gunshot.

The sound of Ruby screaming his name before getting shot. 

The sounds of Geny and Ruben screaming as their son lay on the ground, bleeding out. 

Every little detail played continuously in his brain. It was like a record player stuck in a loop.

Did I die? I need to run,

Days went by without Cesar coming out of the house. He felt like an empty body, just moving on its own throughout the day.  

but I can't get out of bed for anyone.

He was scared. 

Not of Latrelle or any gang member after him. 

But of his friends and Ruby’s family. 

What if they all hated him? He wouldn’t blame them, but this was the last thing he expected that would break the group up. 

He couldn’t get out of bed to see anyone.

 Not for you,

Not even for the girl he wanted to live for. 

When he did get the courage to go outside, he went to school first. He wanted to see if everyone still wanted to be his friend. Because if not, then he’d just apologize and go away. Leave their lives for good and keep them out of harm’s way. 

When Cesar got to school, no one greeted him. It was like he didn’t exist. 

He hated how no one talked to him, but he couldn’t blame them. He took their friend away.

Cesar skipped a couple classes that day. He just sat in an empty and dark classroom, silently sobbing and crying. 

My sour boy is a pain, 

His chest hurt with each sob he let out, 

I wanna shoot him in the brain,

He doesn’t deserve to live. It should’ve been him instead of Olivia.

He feels like if he died, everything would be better for his friends. 

 but I'd miss him in the morning. 

But a part of him says that this isn’t the way to think. That what happened has already happened and there’s not much to do about it but move on and make amends.

It really hurts when I need to so bad, but I can't see her..

He missed you, 

My Juliet, 

He missed you so dearly.

My special girl.

The only girl that can really, truly help him through a time like this.

But I need to understand when I can power through,

Because he knows you’ll get him through this, and help guide him to the right choice here. 

Cesar pulled his phone out with shaky hands and sent a text to you, he was sure there were a few words that were misspelled, but you’ll understand what he meant. Hopefully. 

He sat in that classroom, patiently waiting for you to come to him. But this time alone helped him think to himself, about himself. 

Sometimes I act like I know, but I'm really just a kid.

He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he’s really doing is causing problems.

With two corks in his eyes, and a bully in his head.

And hurting those around him because of his actions.

I wanna make a colour that no one else has seen before 

He wants to get out and do something with his life. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the gang for the rest of his life. 

I wanna be so much more

He wants to show everyone that he can make something of himself. That he’s not “Little Spooky”. That he’s Cesar Diaz. 

You walked into the classroom and saw Cesar sitting on the floor. You walked over to him and sat with him. You didn’t say anything to him, you just sat there and looked at him with a slight frown. 

You didn’t like this. He looked so exhausted. 

He had dark eye bags under his eyes, and even then they were red and puffy from the crying. He had tear marks on his face and his clothes were disheveled. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his head on your shoulder, as you rubbed his back and lightly scratched his head while you held him.

“It’s ok Cesar.” 

He leaned back and looked at you with teary eyes, wondering what was running in your head as you saw him like this. 

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty”

The one thing that was running through his mind at this moment was how you thought of him.

Something I can't believe..

[petite-phthora]

Nova... after a supernova

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 7]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

In-chat nicknames:

OGnerd = Jason

BatDad = Bruce

Discowing = Dick

BloodSon = Damian

TheHotOne = Steph

TheCuteOne = Cass

Omnipotent = Babs

Flashlight = Duke

---

Clockwork watches as the scenes unfold from the screen in front of him, a fond smile on his face.

He chuckles at the awkward farewell young Danny leaves one of Gotham’s Knights with.

However, as his gaze turns to one of the other screens, his expression switches from amused fondness to one of contemplation.

As he watches the recently deceased manic clown cackle his head off at the revelation of his newly ghostly existence, Clockwork can do no more than let out a weary sigh.

As much as he would like to interfere so young Danny would not have to deal with this endeavor, alas, he is not allowed.

Regardless, he muses, Danny will be able to handle it quite well on his own. Clockwork has complete confidence in him, as he gazes at the many timelines that may yet come to pass.

It will all work out in the end...

---

After taking some deep breaths to calm himself somewhat, Jason puts his glove back on before getting back on his motorcycle and leaving the apartment building behind.

He should probably use the rest of the night to sleep, as it’s already quite late.

However, not too long after he leaves he starts feeling eyes on him. He's being watched, and he has a pretty good guess of just who it could be...

And that guess is confirmed when he sees the shadows moving across the rooftops.

Of course, they followed the tracker to find out what he's up to even after he told them not to follow

He lets out an irritated sigh as he revs the engine and makes his motorcycle pick up more speed. At this point he’s most likely going way over the speed limit but, it’s Gotham, so no one’s gonna care.

At least they only just found him and started following him, rather than when he was still with Danny. Small mercies…

Though, he notes with mild curiosity, interestingly enough Replacement doesn’t seem to be with them.

Jason decides not to jinx his luck by questioning it, for now. Tim’s probably just overworking himself on a case again while doped up on so much of his awful Red Bull, Monster, and coffee mixture monstrosity that he should’ve had a caffeine overdose by now 3 times over.

Either way, Jason’s so not in the mood for their questions

Jason wants to keep his family as far away from Danny as possible, for as long as he can. And not just because of their not date, but he wants to help Danny keep people off his back about the murder of the Joker.

While, as he has mentioned to Danny before, most people will probably celebrate his death more than anything, he wants to spare Danny from B’s disappointment and his 5 hour long morals speech at the very least.

At that point, Jason decides to try to throw his stalkers off by making some unexpected, sharp turns and using a lot of alleys. He avoids the cameras and makes a point to also disable the cam and tracker the Bats ‘sneakily’ left in his helmet, again.

…

After spelling out ‘Fuck off’ with the tracker’s path on the map.

Luckily for him, Jason has just made it to Crime Alley, which is his turf. He knows his way around better than the furry brigade that's still following him does and he’ll gladly use this to his advantage.

With a small grumble that's muffled due to his helmet, he decides to try another more blunt method to try and dissuade them from following him.

Or, at the very least, distract them so that he has an easier time getting away.

---

0 days without the Joker breaking out of Arkham

OGnerd: Stop stalking me.

BatDad: Don’t text and drive.

OGnerd: It's speech to text. Dumbass.

Discowing: Jason!! 😃 What’s up, Little Wing? 🐦 Sooo, why didn’t you patrol tonight?? 👀

OGnerd: That's none of your business dick wad. Fuck off.

OGnerd: What part of don’t follow me did you not understand.

Discowing: I just wanted to catch up with my little brother!! 😁 Is that too much to ask? 🥺

BloodSon: Todd. Who are you courting?

Discowing: Dami!! 😠 I wanted to ease him into it before bombarding him with questions 😩

TheHotOne: no damian id rite

TheHotOne: we ned a more direct aproch >:)

TheHotOne: so jayyyyyyy, whos ur mystery boo ;)

TheHotOne:  dont worry u can tell m privtely ^-^

TheHotOne: i wnt tell, scuts honor o7

TheCuteOne: scuts

Omnipotent: scuts

Discowing: Scuts

Flashlight: scuts

Flashlight: Wait, you were a scout??

TheHotOne: no <3

OGnerd: I was just following up on a lead on a case I’ve been working on.

OGnerd: Besides, shouldn’t you all be focusing on finding that clown freak instead of stalking me after I explicitly said not to.

Omnipotent: Do you buy flowers for all of your ‘leads’ or are those just for the cute ones? 🤨

Discowing: Oh!!!! 😲 He got them flowers?? 🌼 That’s so cute! 🥰 I didn’t take you for such a romantic, Jay 😉

BloodSon: Considering Todd’s reading material it should not have come as much of a surprise, Richard.

BatDad: Red Hood, what do you know about the disappearance of the Joker?

BatDad: Is the person you were meeting with involved?

OGnerd: Nothing and no. Now leave me alone.

OGnerd: Middle finger emoji.

~ OGnerd changed the name of BatDad to WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~

~ OGnerd locked the name of WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Red Hood, this is extremely immature.

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Change my name back and come to the cave for a meeting, now.

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: That was a misunderstanding and you know it.

---

Jason turns his phone back off and mutes the chat once again. He managed to throw them off of his trail a bit ago and just now reached his apartment.

They know where he lives, yes, but it seems that they had finally noticed how not in the mood he was and decided to make the smart decision to give up and leave him the hell alone. For now at least…

Jason wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up at his apartment tomorrow anyway. But the metal baseball bat by the door and the gun in his holster should help.

After getting inside he changes out of his clothes and takes his time taking a shower. After getting out, drying off,  and putting on something comfortable he practically collapses onto the couch.

His eyes fall onto the faded number sequence still scribbled on his hand. With a small smile on his face, while thinking of the person who wrote it, he takes his phone back out again and makes a new contact.

While he’d love to call it some sappy shit like ‘Danny <3’, he knows his family and it has enough hackers in it that he’d rather make the contact name a bit less obviously stand out.

It takes a while, but after thinking back on Danny’s space rambles earlier that evening in the observatory, Jason settles on a contact name.

He names it Nova, after a supernova.

He doesn’t know how right he is.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[ishanijasmin]

alive alive

contemplating the living forces of nature, thinking about life beyond biology (the layperson's perspective)

i have been thinking a lot about how the earth is alive. maybe even how the world is alive. like, alive alive. the all-singing, all-dancing, moving, caressing, feeling, vibing atmosphere that we have all found ourselves in. the twinkle of the stars, the erosion of a cliff face, the coming and going of the seasons, the whip of the wind, the rise and fall of the sea, the trickle of a stream. so much of the earth is not what we regard as being alive, and i find it fundamentally unusual that we reserve the idea of life for things that manifest in a specific way. i’m not a biologist, and the science of the universe baffles me. but i don’t know how to stand at the edge of an ocean, my feet slowly being consumed by the waves, wet silt building slowly around my ankles to stabilise me, without thinking, ‘what is this, if not alive?’ what does the ocean do if not soothe? what do the cliffs do if not hold?

last week i took a boat trip to berlenga island, just off the coast of lisbon. i am always humbled by the ocean—by its vastness, and as someone for whom the titanic is always in mind, by its mercy. on the journey back to the hotel, i sat on the floating front of the prow of our little boat for a while and let my legs dangle, watching the waves, and it was as close as you can probably be to riding the sea.

as i got progressively more queasy, i followed the patterns for a long time, and i couldn’t really figure out which direction anything moved in, including myself. lost at sea, immeasurably. so later, i looked it up. did you know waves move in circles? you probably did. i didn’t. i have absolutely no idea how these natural processes work. if i were in an ancient civilisation, i would get hit by wind exactly one time before being like, ‘wow, this is witchcraft, i’m doomed.’ wind: caused by the varying pressures in the atmosphere? hot air rises and cold air rushes in? a mystery! feels plenty alive to me! why does it hit my face the way it does—why some days the gentle stroke of a breeze on my sweaty back in the summer, and others a force big enough to move oceans? why at the same time? lisbon is a particularly significant place to be thinking about this: a city plighted by earthquake, great fire, and tsunami in a matter of hours, and left to rebuild from the wreckage.

i’ve had this in over my head experience with windsurfing and paragliding, as well. the wind, never tamed, but understood by people who’ve been observing it for a lifetime and who still prefer to use modern technology to double check their voyages are safe. a respect and a fear instilled by regarding these changes around us as almost alive. almost.

it’s not that i don’t trust scientists when they explain simple geological concepts to me—i suppose it’s like intellectually knowing something rather than intrinsically knowing it deep, deep in your bones. how can you demystify that? how can the winds—the oceans, the lakes, the tectonic plates, the rock formations and volcanoes—how can they not be alive? they are growing, shrinking, subsisting and existing like all of us, not just to hold life as an ecosystem, but as motion in themselves—erosion, weathering, death and becoming.

i have been reading braiding sweetgrass of late, which is where a good deal of thinking about this comes from. in the book (at least the half of it i’ve read so far), kimmerer talks a lot about the reciprocity between people and land, and the idea that we are all alive and that the earth, the sky, the land and its processes are not a dead ‘it’ while we are an alive ‘they’. the earth is being all the time and so am i and so are we all, and it’s kind of hard to think about and also to not think about.

where am i with all this? breathing through the crushing feeling in my chest that has kept me company every day since i can remember; thinking about doing laundry, about growing a flower trail up the side of my apartment that the kids next door won’t prick themselves on, on getting rid of the fungus gnats that are plaguing a couple of my plants, about my husband who has a headache and is squinting, about recharging. the ecology and community of self is as alive as anything else. dwelling on the world and where we all fit into it and how to preserve ourselves and each other—the human each other, the animal each other, the plant each other, the tectonic plate rock formation beach gravestone church road brick wall limestone cliff fossilised shell firewood smelted and mined ring earthquake each other.

[killedbythehuntress]

Stockholm Syndrome

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Also on: AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Tags/Warnings:

Depression, suicide thought, suicide ideation, thoughts of death and dying, anger, injury, technical self-harm.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Chapter Six.

She didn't know if it was better or worse that she now knew how much time was passing. Whether it was night or day. The watch on her wrist seemed to mock her, the ticking of it loud enough in her ear that she could hear it over the crackling of the fire.

How long had it been? How long since she'd stopped hyperventilating on the floor of the main room before she pulled herself onto the couch? Since her mind had gone blissfully blank and she'd done nothing but stare at her watch. 

Her eyes flicked to the wooden table next to her, the marks merging with the ticking of the watch to mock her further. Three days. Three days since Sebastian had left. Three days of being left alone with no escape, she couldn't break the chain or the collar without her wand and he'd taken it with him. 

Sighing, she rolled over on the couch, her back to the main room. She could hear the spiders outside the front door, the scuttling, the screeches. The sounds were usually masked by the fire or Sebastian's day-to-day antics. But besides her breathing and occasional crying, the cavern was silent. She hadn't done much of anything but lay on the sofa for three days, only moving so that she could get a drink or use the bathroom. 

She'd felt a few hunger pangs briefly, but after a while of ignoring them they went away. Sitting and staring. Lying down and staring. She felt overall numb to everything now. No panic, no upset. Just empty and numb. 

She'd never be found, no one knew where she was, or that the place she was in even existed. 

She couldn't help but think back to that one tale she'd read years ago in her attempt to learn more about the wizarding world. 

The Tales of Beedle something…

Hadn't Niamh introduced her to this?

Most importantly she remembered the last line of one of the tales that seemed almost fitting right now, 'Greeting death as an old friend.'

It seemed fitting to her situation considering the amount of danger she'd been victim to in nine short years. The times she'd almost died and managed to escape deaths clutches mere seconds before he caught her. 

She wondered if he'd be merciful when he arrived, or whether he'd be angry at the chances she'd swiped from him. 

— — — — — — 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

She couldn't ever remember a watch before being so loud. It was driving her crazy. Part of her wanted to rip it from her wrist and throw it into one of the dark corners - darker now since she didn't have the fire going - and another part of it wanted to keep it, her only tether to knowing how long was passing.

Speaking of.

Her stomach growled loudly, seeming to signify that it was not happy to be ignored. But she didn't move to satiate it, instead only rolling onto her back to change what she stared at from the back of the sofa to the ceiling. 

That didn't stop the dark thoughts from pushing back in though, she wondered what would be more quick and merciful. Death by starvation or suicide by a giant man-eating spider. 

Her head fell to the side, looking at the main entrance as she contemplated, all she'd have to do would be to open the door and wait after all. 

No.

As maudlin, as she felt, a very small part of her still held hope that Sebastian would return. 

How long that hope would last though, she didn't know. 

— — — — — — 

Her stomach cramped, and the sound it released could only be described as angry. How long had it been since she'd eaten? 

Checking her tally marks carved into the table, she winced. Four days, give or take. 

Time before the watch was still a mess to her. She didn't want to eat, but that didn't mean she couldn't assuage the hunger slightly by having a drink. 

Pushing herself to stand slowly, she made her way over to the cauldron they kept fresh water in. Picking up a cup, she leaned in to scoop some water up only to stop short. 

There wasn't much left and it wasn't like she had her wand to conjure more. Her brain began to get hazy as panic settled over her once more, her hands coming up to her neck in an attempt to find a way to remove the collar, even though she knew there wasn't. 

Spinning on her heels, she turned to look at the two exits in the room. She had to get out. She could hear the spiders fighting each other outside the main doors and wondered if she could work out a way for them to not kill her - perhaps their venom could help and burn through the chain. 

She'd made a promise to herself after her fifth year that she wouldn't go near them anymore. She'd had enough spiders then to last a lifetime. But needs must. 

Stepping up to the door, she grasped the handle tightly, ignoring the fact her hand was trembling, she pulled the door open and slipped through. 

'Okay, you can do this.' She internally repeated to herself, her eyes scanning the area and finding it clear. She cursed to herself, the chain likely wouldn't go much further. 

Stepping out further as much as the chain allowed, she looked left and right to find the spiders, only to be left disappointed. 

Sighing softly, and realizing the idea she'd had was probably futile, she made to turn back to the cavern. The sound of scuttling from her right caused her to pause and look up. 

Her eyes widened at the sight of the Thornback Matriarch finding purchase on the ledge she was currently on. 

'Have they gotten bigger?' She thought internally, realizing how fucking stupid her idea had been in the first place. The screech from the spider in question was enough to push her into action. Running down the small hallway she'd come through, she shoved herself through the door before pushing it closed. 

She met resistance and was briefly worried that perhaps the spider had begun its way through the door, only to look down and see the chain folded in the door. Cursing softly as she heard at least three more screeches joining the original spider, she kicked at the chain, ignoring the throb of pain in her foot from the heaviness. 

Once it was out of the way, she shoved on the door just as a reddish, pink leg slipped through the gap. The sharp hairs dragged over her aching foot and sliced at it. 

Hissing herself, she gave the door one last desperate shove, sealing it closed and leaving her alone with the now severed appendage. 

Breathing deeply, she rested her head against the door, her eyes immediately finding her injured foot. She didn't even have enough water to drink, never mind cleaning up her wound. 

Perhaps infection was the way she was meant to go. She could hear the spiders outside, clearly angry at having lost their meal opportunity and she stood, limping away from the door. 

She supposed they had a right to be, she'd dangled herself in front of them stupidly. She'd be angry too. 

She blinked and thought back to her time here, she'd felt sad, and depressed. But she hadn't felt anger and now that she'd noticed, she felt the flare in her chest. She just wasn't sure who it was directed at more, herself or Sebastian.

After all, it was his fault she was here. His fault he'd ended up in Azkaban anyway. His fault she'd been left alone. His fault she had no wand. His fault she had no water. 

It was all his fault. In his selfishness, in his strange mindset of how he was doing this because he loved her, he'd doomed her. Trapped her and got caught or killed, meaning that she was also marked for death. 

"How dare he!" She huffed out angrily, grabbing the nearest object and throwing it across the room. The rage she felt inside flickered slightly as if about to go out and then suddenly it engulfed her, a feral scream escaping her as she swiped her arm across the nearest table. The trinkets, books, and other clutter left behind by Isidora that had been piled there at the beginning of their stay flew to the floor. 

She hated him! Her mind whirled, the words spinning in her head and increasing her anger. She continued throwing things, anything within reach, moving around the room as she exhausted options in one area. 

It was almost cathartic until her chain caught her ankle and she almost tripped. The sight of it was enough to flare her anger once more. She released another, desperately angry scream before gripping at the chain and pulling at it. 

Why had she allowed it?

Allowed him to chain her here? 

She continued pulling, hoping that her anger was enough to fuel the inhuman amount of strength needed to either topple the pillar she was attached to or break the chain. 

He had no right!

One mistake she'd made, in her naivety had fucked up her life completely. 

She hated him. Hated him. Hated. Him. 

The words continued to swirl, the angrier she got the more they crowded her mind. She screamed as she gave another tug on the chain. Her focus zeroed in on her attempt to free herself; she hadn't realized objects sailing through the air. 

Her ancient magic had always been tied to her emotions. 

She continued to pull, surely something had to be happening? Surely her pulling was doing something?

Her anger definitely was after all. Objects flying with no care for where they landed or whether they broke. 

One of the dangling ceramic pots broke free, flying through the air. Even if she hadn't been so focused on trying to pull the chain loose, she wouldn't have been able to move in time before it flew against the side of her head, shattering on impact. 

Everything in the room stopped for a moment, the area silent and still until she fell to the floor. Everything followed suit with an almighty crash. 

— — — — — —

Groaning softly, she didn't dare move, instead taking a few moments to take stock of her body. 

Everything ached. Her head was throbbing. Her mouth was dry. 

Pushing herself up, she finally opened her eyes and looked herself over. 

The slice on her foot from the spider had stopped bleeding, but her toes and foot were an ugly red/purple color. Her knees were scraped and while her hands had a few cuts and friction burn, everything else seemed fine. 

Bringing her hand up to her head, she winced, feeling the cut that had been left by the ceramic pot, the area and hair area around it, sticky and flakey. 

Gods, she was a mess. 

Pushing herself to stand, she grabbed onto the nearby pillar to steady herself as a wave of dizziness hit her. 

Water. She needed water. 

Standing up, she paid no mind to the pain in her foot with each step. Or the shattered ceramics or glass, the bottoms of her feet being sliced up as she made her way to the bucket. She scooped up a small cup full and drank it down quickly, trying to ignore the pitiful amount left as she let the cup fall into it. 

Was there even a point in trying to ration it out? Was it better to just let death come faster? Either way, it was all Sebastian's fault if she gave in now. He was responsible for whatever happened to her. 

'I hate him.' She told herself bitterly, giving in and filling the cup once more. Deep down though, she knew she didn't. She never could. 

He could walk through that door at any minute and she'd be so happy to see him - and that had nothing to do with the fact she'd be able to live longer - that was just because she missed him. 

She'd do anything for him to come back, something she'd been saying since her decision to turn him in at 15. 

She missed him. Why had she been so resistant? Reluctantly, she scooped another cup of water up, guzzling it down greedily before she could think twice at the fact there'd be nothing left. 

Looking into the bucket with a resigned sigh, she set the cup down and made her way to the couch, bringing her knees to her chest and curling up. 

This was it, this was the beginning of the end. She wasn't afraid of dying, she'd had to make peace with that possibility in her fifth year, it was the thought of dying alone that caused her heart to clench. Especially when paired with the fact she'd be stuck here, she'd never be found, she'd die alone and she'd stay alone forever. 

She wished Sebastian to be here more than ever. 

Lifting her wrist, she checked her watch. It had just ticked past midnight. Another day passed. Another day without Sebastian. 

Resting her head on her knees, her gaze slipped over the cavern. Hoping she could find some way to escape that she hadn't before.

It took a few moments before she noticed that some of the rubble in front of the Undercroft entrance had moved. Had she done that during her anger? 

She didn't care much, the only thing running through her head was that now there was less to move. She could probably escape, she could leave. 

Briefly, she thought about how she was completely under-dressed and that was inappropriate for the students of Hogwarts. She wondered if the teachers there were the same or if there'd been a change. She didn't much care. They'd surely help her regardless. 

Pushing herself up, she flung herself up and over to the rubble before dropping harshly to her knees - ignoring the pain lancing through her from the broken shards and harsh concrete. 

She had a way out. She just had to dig. There was hope after all. 

Dig. 

Surely this entrance to the Undercroft was close enough to the secret door and she could get into the hallways of Hogwarts. 

Keep digging. 

She ignored the pain lacing through her body, the cuts reopening on her hands, her focus being on nothing but escaping. 

You can do it. 

One of the rocks she was pulling dislodged awkwardly, her nails stuck in it, but she paid no mind as her nail ripped - more pain, but she was getting out of there. 

Almost there. 

The sound of banging could be heard against the main door of the cavern and she jumped briefly before ignoring it. The spiders knew she was in here, they were probably hungry. 

Ignore it. 

She couldn't help but think as she noticed the blood seeping from her hands mixing with the dirt and rubble. If she were to survive this, she'd likely end up with several infections. 

The banging was getting louder and more frantic and so was her digging. There was only a small amount left for her to dig through. 

Her headache was coming back with a vengeance though, the pounding in her head falling in line with the sound at the door. 

She was so thirsty… She needed to get out of here. She almost was. She could see the Undercroft uncovering itself. She just had to dust it off and hopefully, she could step through. 

The banging stopped and that made her stop, a loud bang echoing behind her before the doors slammed open, the entire cavern shaking and dust falling around her. 

She scrambled forward, the idea of being spider food no longer as appealing as it had been earlier. 

She was free.

And then another stalagmite fell from above and blocked the path she'd just opened. She could hear something making its way across the room towards her, but she was too zoned in on what had happened to look back. It sounded like scuttling, the disarray around the cavern being shuffled with each movement. 

A screech.

"No!" She screamed in anguish, reaching out to smack the stone, another falling and colliding with her wrist. 

Pain bloomed as she heard the bone break and she cried out, her body giving out on her, collapsing onto the floor for the second time in a few hours. 

[skaruresonic]

idw sonic's nonsensical insistence that everyone wants to be good deep down is just stupid.

Everytime he tries asserting this dumb ideology it's with either people who joyfully choose to be evil everytime they have the option (eggman and the deadly six) or people who are literally incapable wanting or contemplating anything other than being evil (metal sonic and surge)

And the funniest part of all this? The one time idw Sonic DOES NOT preach about how everyone could have been good is when Starline dies. Starline the same guy who's biggest crime was an objectively smaller and less cruel version of Eggman's Metal Virus which corrupted/tormented every life form on the planet. According to IDW Sonic, Starline absolutely deserved death but Eggman who's objectively and frequently far worse is secretly a good guy.

This book should have never tried tackling themes of philosophy and free will. It is atrocious at handling the subject

Yeah.

In hindsight, it was rich of people to have spent all this time waxing poetic about how Sonic sees the good in everyone and omg do you want him to butcher his enemies, only to suddenly pull the "why are you feeling bad for Starline? he was a villain" card when it came to his death. Motherfuckers can't even be consistent on who deserves Sonic's compassion. Apparently he's just ~so merciful~ towards his enemies but he also picks and chooses, and it's like? Which is it? Sonic tells Surge he'd have been willing to give even Starline and Eggman a second chance, only to prove his words a bunch of hot air when he eulogizes Starline with "big oof." Because if he really believed that Starline was capable of becoming a better person, surely he'd have lamented the fact that Starline could now no longer change? Even if we examine the situation purely from an in-universe Watsonian perspective, it doesn't make sense for Sonic to be all "lmao rip" because he didn't know Starline well enough to make the judgment call that he was an irredeemable piece of shit. He only met the guy a few times. For all he knew, Starline could have been brainwashed, too.

Eggman, on the other hand, could say "I want to be evil" eight thousand times, no one gives a shit - his puppydog glance in 23 is all the proof Sonic needs to badger him to become "good" again.

Starline? Suffered a nervous breakdown and promptly died in a gruesome way? He was an awful person who had what was coming to him.

Make it make sense, bruh. Pick one.

Of course, as you've said, when you unpack the "Starline had it coming to him" sentiment, you find it really boils down to thinking Starline was somehow a worse villain than Eggman. Which we know to be bunk since Starline stole 90% of his shit from Eggman and doesn't even have a real body count, much less one to match Eggman's. People simply think he was the worse villain because we see the effects of his brainwashing up close and personal in Surge.

Speaking of Surge. :) Don't you love how Sonic essentially dismissed her pain with a shrug and a sigh? Here we have someone who, despite their destructive motivations, is fueled by genuine pain. And yet, because of the aforementioned inability to distinguish nuance, Sonic takes it as another "Guess I gotta whoop your ass until you stop being stupid and shake my hand" case. Which does not help Surge, to put it extremely lightly.

More and more you get the feeling Sonic doesn't care nearly as much as he claims he does, because his actions keep contradicting his words. Everyone is Good Deep Down, except you, Clearly Traumatized Girl. But I guess I'll give you a chance not because I actually believe you deserve one but out of the goodness of my own heart. Aren't I awesome.

The kicker, of course, is that none of this kerfuffle would exist were it not for Flynn's need to answer game questions that don't need to be raised. "Why does Sonic always let Eggman go?" Sonic doesn't really let Eggman go, for one thing; Eggman's good at escaping, for another; and for a third, maybe the games don't tackle this subject because it leads to this particular navel-gazing brand of bullshittery.

Flynn didn't like being called out on this, however. It was when issue 50 and the subsequent discourse rolled around that he decided to derail the subject by deflecting blame onto the audience.

He attempts a deep message, he bungles it, he gets mad when people point out how badly he bungled it, he insists folks should read "more adult material" because Sonic's just for kids anyway and why did you expect intelligent handling of the subject matter from him. When it's like. My brother in Christ, you are the one who brought the moral quandary to our attention to begin with. It's a copout to infantilize people for expecting you to have something to say about it lest you waste our time.

[luxe-pauvre]

As Freud saw, the real opposite of both love and hate is in fact something else altogether: indifference. And here lies the true horror of the death drive: it is an indifferent principle of destruction. Insensate and unsatisfiable, it may well pulse within you, and undo you, but It Does Not Care About You. Your suffering and your symptoms signify; they ramify personally and in your relationships. The death drive, in its indifferent purity, operates on another order of scale entirely, liquidating you and them alike. It may kill you, but It Is Not About You. To be sure, the death drive is present in murder, war, and our desires to dominate, exploit, and destroy. But we betray ourselves when we call such things examples of “inhumanity,” since they are obviously human, all too human. The death drive both gives a name to this paradox and resolves it by suggesting that we exist at the mercy of an entropic principle that is in-the-human yet downright unhuman in the purity of its indifference to humans and human affairs more generally. It is a kind of dark sublime in the shadow of which our activities unfold and dissolve. Turning again to 2020, the death drive reveals itself in the simple fact that, rather than dramatically change collective behaviors to prevent carnage and save lives, America doubled down on them. COVID merely intensified pre-existing, starkly differential calculi of exposure to premature death, workplace risk, and general immiseration. A nation founded on a continent decimated by settler plagues, cleansed by genocidal war, and fructified by chattel labor unsurprisingly became the same nation where Indigenous peoples, poor people of color, and more recent immigrants from our colonial possessions bore the brunt of COVID at vastly disproportionate rates. By the same token, from the incarcerated to low-wage workers, it was the people already shoved into spaces and consigned to trajectories where, figuratively speaking, they already experienced various kinds of social death, who got hit the hardest. From the very start, even in the first months of the year, the ubiquitous cry for a return to “normal” clearly expressed a demand to return to a status quo of working people to death and otherwise destroying their bodies as the cost of doing business. That the “new normal” meant they might have to die a little quicker was something the rest of us could apparently learn to live with. But not just that: from the dismissal of concerns over childhood infection rates to the casual, matter-of-fact indifference to the deaths of America’s elderly, to the very idea of “herd immunity,” many Americans apparently embraced a fatalism whereby even their own deaths and the deaths of those they loved were more tolerable than having to contemplate the discomfort of social reorganizations that would make life different.

Patrick Blanchfield, Death Drive Nation

[brooklynislandgirl]

[FMK: Reimagined.] Three people, but no names. Someone you've stolen for. Someone you've hurt to help. And someone you'd murder yourself before letting anyone else do it. //Tall dark stranger with a bone condition not matching her vodka shots but probably enabling them... they need to stop meeting like this.//

Three of a Kind || Accepting {{ tagging: @riggsanity & @mynameisanakin & @lokitheliesmith for reasonsTM }}

The question is almost too softly spoken, and if Beth were inclined, she could have pretended not to have heard it. She doesn't do that often but it is something she's employed to distance herself in the past. This is not the first time she has met her mysterious friend, and likely it will not be the last. But what memories does her friend dredge up? "One of the people I miss most, mostly due to being cross country from one another. We used to play all kinds of board and card games. The goal wasn't to win or lose, but to make the other person laugh an' we used to cheat each other elaborately. I really should write or call him sometime. Maybe even give back those little plastic hotels I still have in my undergarment drawer. Not to mention the fact that I've eaten more than half of the fries he ever ordered, even when he got enough to share. And the shirts I took. And the beers he smuggled out of my fridge that I took back late at night while we watched the tide roll back out under the moonlight." She would swear on this mounting bar tab that her Texas still has at least one of her deeds tucked in his boot or in those curls. She wonders where Martin is. If he's found himself like he needed to so that he wouldn't be swallowed up by his own grief. Some of the light that she'd always held onto had dimmed the day he'd left and she's all the poorer for it. "One I've hurt to help is my..." apprentice. The waif of a youth that turned up on her doorstep those few years ago, rattling bones and death in every wet, congested breath. All she has to do is close her eyes and those blue eyes, the golden waves cutting across his sharp bones, he is alive and thriving and smiling at her shyly. It had taken every ounce of her will power to eventually let him go so he could find his place amongst the Traditions. Where she champions Life, he is the other side of the coin and she couldn't teach him how to be a Thanatoic. "Friend. He's a recovering addict, and he was really sick when he sought my help. There were days where death might have been a mercy, and the curses that rolled off his tongue in that bayou accent of his...I can't even begin to repeat. But I know that transformation was emotionally, physically, an' spiritually excruciating." She's quiet for a time. Maybe this friend was only going to have two memories from her before they hit last call. Maybe because the third answer is the hardest. For so long it would have been so easy to contemplate patricide. That she'd be the recipient of the Admiral's last undeserved breath. But that would be breaking her own kapu imposed by Teanoi; take no pleasure in killing. and if Beth were being honest? It might be the happiest moment of her existence.

But that puts her in mind of the other road she doesn't ever stop to consider. She'd once used all of her considerable talents and power to make the arduous journey to xer not-quite-native homeland in search for a bloom that would ease xer misery. She'd done it for love. And perhaps this is why she'd been turned back by that realm's all-seeing Guardian. If she could not heal xer one way, then Beth could only offer the second, perhaps lesser choice.

What was it that was said? Only you could kill your God? "The third...they say...has an adder's tongue, quicksilver and honey in xer lies. They say...Xe is the source of primordial chaos. Nets and spiders and wyrding. But I see xem as... fire and family, of ephemera and stories. Xe is a harbinger of change, of transformation." Of love, hers being enduring, asking nothing of xer but to be. "If xe has to die? Wishes it after everything? Then I can only resign myself to being xer handmaiden in that, too."

[animalechochamber]

I tried to draw but kept getting stuck on a specific image of how Hollystar would end, in this version of TBC the dream chapter instead being hers. I think if I actually was writing it in line with what I think her death would be it would be a lot more sharp and clear that she brought herself to this but I wanted some peace sooooooo that’s what this is

It felt like falling into the river rapids, is all Holly could think as it washes over everything. Every wound, old and new, now being caressed in a way that made her both wince and lean in further. A rough mother’s tongue. Of course her mind would twist back around to mothers. A thought that usually wrestled her from any sort of relaxation simply went with the water. Down down down in the endless current. What drove this stream to be so steady? What secret force lies within it? She could wonder for hours on the secret fuel to the way of the world but it again went right out her other ear. A distinct itch made her twitch, that of power she perceived being lost from her, but it too went away too quickly.

Was this peace? Was she dead? So many times Hollyle- Hollystar. Hollystar had believed her time had come upon her. Her final breaths left her. But it never was. Her heart always brought her right back to this crumbling place. She wished she was still Hollypaw. And Hollykit. When it was all clear cut and open doors. Now she’d shut so many she felt like she was suffocating. Maybe that was the water now breaching into her lungs. It didn’t bother her. Contemplation wasn’t something she had ever found comfort in. Yet in what she believed to be the end’s embrace it was kind. Too kind for a cat like her. She wouldn’t go to an above, Hollystar knows that. Not even this waterway could wash away the blood that clung to her. Despite her having caused so much more damage since him she always first thought of Ashfur when it came to her place in the after. He didn’t get this kind of mercy. She had made it long and painful. Ever since that lightless night she felt his death in everything. His thrashing in the hare that didn’t go down with the first bite, his panic in the bird caught in her claws, his eventual death in the cold body of Berrynose who also bled on her black paws. How many had she killed with her own claws? She didn’t want to continue that thought. And so the stream took the weight from her shoulders, and in turn she opened her mouth open to let it in further. If it could take away her pains then it could take her away.

Hope wasn’t something Hollystar had anymore. She hoped now though. She hoped this really was her last breaths. She hoped the world she left behind would recover. She hoped for her stain to be scrubbed away by the rain. She hoped she didn’t last around for long.

Wishing wasn’t something Hollystar ever had. She was told wishing was for the ones who couldn’t get what they wanted themselves. The cat that told her that originally also met his end to her beginning. It was similarly dragged out and horrible, but haunted her less when it wasn’t so much her fault. Now she wished he never died and left her to live. He never could take the blame. And she never could stick it to him.

Hollyleaf didn’t notice she was drowning. Her brain so swamped with thoughts and thoughts and thoughts. For once fate would give her what she wanted. For once one of her prayers would be answered.

Her final dream was the last shard of all she was. Found by a broken brother. The key to bringing back what she broke. This wouldn’t ever make up for what she did. All that she had done. But it was what she could do for them.

In her explosive end, at the center of the black hole she had become, was a little kit with one big wish. A wish for a world where she didn’t exist, and no more cats like her would be able to abuse the powers entrusted in them to protect. The greed would be cut as buds, wounds patched up, infections never left to fester. Never more would one so small handle so much. She would be the last star on earth.

One last gasp before Mother Earth returned her to where she was supposed to stay.

[chencrownado]

November 10, 2023

𝗠𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙙,

Every new day's display of mercy serves to lighten the burdens of my heart, such is the boundless love of Christ! It is a love so infinitely great that 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗶𝘁. (𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝟴:𝟯𝟵)

In contemplating the glorious gospel of Christ, I find it somewhat odd that my humble writings would ever catch the eye of readers. Each day, as I take pen to journal, I would usually hide away and engage in a profound conversation with Christ, my most Beloved Shepherd. It is not so much a dread of my compositions being seen or being read, but my penned expressions are usually poorly written.

But now it is my deepest desire to display this musings of grace in my life. I ponder at the thought that I should write for my Savior, I have but little of knowledge in words and sheered away from confidence easily. Perhaps, I am the same with Moses when he expressed his feelings of inadequacy by uttering the words, “𝗢𝗵, 𝗺𝘆 𝗟𝗼𝗿𝗱, 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗲.” (𝗘𝘅𝗼𝗱𝘂𝘀 𝟰:𝟭𝟬) 

Nonetheless, I am continually compelled to pour out my heart through this writing, echoing the sentiment Paul Washer shared when he penned his recent book, "𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆." But who am I to write mere earthly words to describe my Sovereign Lord Jesus Christ, who embodies wisdom and is the ultimate source of knowledge? Such is the magnificence of my Beloved! Oh, that I could magnify Your name, O Lord! “𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁, 𝗦𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗻 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗗; 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝘀 𝗬𝗼𝘂, 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀.” (𝟮 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝟳:𝟮𝟮)

It is humiliating if I should write for other things, for everything next to Christ is unworthy of a minute’s writing. For all else pales in comparison to Him and is hardly worthy of a single moment's attention! They are all but contending of power, devoid of true worth—nothing more than empty vanity.

So I’ll try to write this composition as a testifier to the truth of Jesus in my life. I cannot deny that often times my love grows cold and my heart faints in believing that He will come again and He will bring me with Him in eternal life—that there is always this embedding vile heart that should believe He might forsake me, that I would flee away from my Lord when there will be seasons of great change, doubt, and weariness. But the promises of God, fellow believer, THAT I cannot deny—the promises of not just paradise, not heavenly riches but the appearance of my dearly Beloved face to face He will say to me, “𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘆. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.” (𝗛𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗮 𝟮:𝟭𝟵-𝟮𝟬) How precious is He that our betrothal with Him is forever! 

I have trodden a path of waywardness throughout my existence, yet one thing rests resolutely upon my conscience—that 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗲 (𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝟮:𝟮𝟬), His life and death has been my salvation, His love has been the anchor of my life. It is a wonderful love that has not left me, a love that has cleansed me and sanctified me. This love, and this love alone, possesses the remarkable ability to humble me to my knees when I transgress. Regrettably, I acknowledge that, in the future, I may commit sins more grievous than I dare to contemplate, even against the One who holds me in His beloved embrace. However, I find solace in the fact that I have received love, forgiveness, compassion, mercy, redemption, and a complete transformation through the sacrificial death of Christ Jesus my dearest Lord. Therefore, when I do fall short and sin, like David I will cry with beating-breasts guarded with the truth that God will not forsake me in my iniquity. Instead, He will remind me of His unwavering love for me, He will remind me that it was Him who has loved me first, The Lord Himself will carry me as I enter His throne of grace, and He will bestow upon my soul a blessed assurance that the strength to abide in Him—always and forever resides within His Spirit.

O weary souls, I encourage you to seek the boundless love of Christ, even though 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝘃𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁 (𝗘𝗽𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝟯:𝟭𝟵). His love overflows like an unending stream of water, with nothing to hinder its course. Therefore, I urge you to 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗺 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 (𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝟯:𝟮), to love Him, and to be loved by Him greatly, 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿. (𝗟𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝟯:𝟯𝟭)

The love of Christ to you,

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙣

[narwhalandchill]

ANYWAY now that ive gotten my firefly rant off my chest and on a more positive note about the story overall; i Really liked it!!!! and character-wise specifically the biggest surprise for me in a huge W way was actually acheron??

& given i was actually somewhat committed to pulling her anyway (well. initially as kafka replacement to pull my first lightning carry after losing 50-50 but. Well. she had mercy on me at the v last moment thank goodness 😭😭) so actually ending up liking her character this much just cemented that resolve for good too. cant wait for her!!! like i am still meh on her base design not bc its that bad by itself but simply bc seeles existence just cheapens it so much like. Why are they so similar. but its not bad lmao

anyway to her actual characterization. first of all. the VAs delivery omg yall beidous english voice is already one of my all time favorites in genshin and shes doing an amazing job as acheron like. she started talking and im just INSTANTLY warmed up to her just from that KDJSKDKJK i love love love her attitude and energy!!!!!

n personality wise too??? like ive seen others mention a similar sentiment but its just the way how. even after getting the warnings from now Two separate characters that shes up to no good. im just like. "nah id win" abt it SHSKDKSI like throughout the story she comes off as so damn likeable and grounded and realistically friendly (as in not like. too open n aligned w the player from the get-go to feel believable for the character as opposed to a plot contrivance) that i just. even if shes bad news im team acheron truly.

she has genuinely funny one liners too ??? like not necessarily jokes outright but the kinda comments she says are just . very realistic in that dry witty way that comes off as natural and entertaining shes so charming!!! i love her. the more contemplative stuff she says too

but also like. girl whats up w the ominous red text ily but are we cool 😭😭 and the whole shredding us into thin slices on first encounter in the dreamscape like. Ok uhhhhhhhh ik i said nah id win and team acheron forever but this is kinda. worrisome

BUT that just means im so fucking excited to see her go apeshit too lmao like. oh shes an emanator here to do murder and spread death? COOL i hope she has fun!!

(and ik i said firefly rant over but. what the actual hell is that post firefly merk dialogue option where the games like very heavy handedly implying ur supposed to be blaming ACHERON for "letting it happen" in some emotional frenzy???? bro what 💀💀 0/5 moment i would never. n even if she plausibly did im just. dude her being cold towards firefly is just a plus for me when the narrative has just railroaded the TB into being sooo charmed by her magical presence lmao i Liked that acheron was suspicious n cold)

overall Definitely wasnt expecting acheron to establish herself as such an instant favorite for sure but. shes here now and im v happy abt it im super looking forward to seeing those more dubious goals of her come to the forefront in the future like. im so curious about whats up w her and her memory and that red text and everything

[locustheologicus]

Infinite Dreams (and Possibilities): 

Iron Maiden was probably my favorite band in the early 1980′s (before I went retro and became a devotee of the Clash). Through The Clash I found an expression for addressing social issues, but Iron Maiden had allowed me to contemplate deep theological questions including life in the hereafter.   

“Remember Tomorrow” is perhaps my favorite Maiden song of all time but “Infinite Dreams” is a close second. This song allows me to enter into a spirit of cosmological openness where I feel free to both be restless and to ask open-ended questions. I have mystical moments when I desire to touch the mind of the divine and peer into the great unknown. During these moments I listen to this song and recite the the third, fourth and fifth verses of this song with the same passion that Bruce Dickinson gives it above.

Even though it's reached new heights I rather like the restless nights It makes me wonder, makes me think "There's more to this, I'm on the brink" It's not the fear of what's beyond It's just that I might not respond I have an interest, almost craving But would I like to get too far in?

Every word in this verse speaks to me. It pronounces on the restlessness of my soul. Evidently not everyone has a restless soul but some of us are gifted with this charism: a restlessness for the Truth, a restlessness for God and meaning, a restlessness that many of our Saints expressed from Augustine of Hippo to Thomas Merton. I find a deep interest in pondering the hereafter and to explore the infinite possibilities of existence. The fourth verse continues this mystical inquiry.

It can't be all coincidence Too many things are evident You tell me you're an unbeliever Spiritualist? Well, me, I'm neither Wouldn't you like to know the truth Of what's out there, to have the proof? And find out just which side you're on Where would you end? In heaven or in hell?

The first line betrays an implicit theology, a belief in an intelligent design. In this line I find myself questioning God and His design. I question not for the purpose of placing any judgement on that which I do not understand but because I hope to catch a glimpse of the design itself. An understanding, no matter how limited, of this divine project. Does that make me an atheist/agnostic (as my father thought) or some type of pietist, no, it does not. In a nutshell, I am a seeker, devoted to the search for why and how. Where will this quest we call life take me and what is the eschatological truth that awaits all creation.

Now, after an impressive rift, we enter a theological position with the fifth and last verse. It is a beautiful statement of faith that posits a firm belief in some great universal meaning behind existence.     

There's got to be just more to it than this Or tell me, why do we exist? I'd like to think that when I die I'd get a chance, another time And to return and live again Reincarnate, play the game Again and again and again and again.

But towards the end Iron Maiden explores the possibility of reincarnation. As a Catholic, I do not personally accept this metaphysical worldview. It strikes against the notion of free-will and individual purpose and these are important elements of Catholic theology from which we recognize the principles of human dignity. Catholic theology, however, also struggles with the idea that God’s mercy endures and that the reconciliation of all creation is the ultimate goal, an idea that Origen of Alexandria promoted known as apokatastasis. This has led me to consider a hybrid theory of carnational ensoulment which I currently call, trans-dimensional multi-carnational ensoulment or trans-carnation for short. This concept would allow us to contemplate the world of consciousness as it travels through multi-dimensional points and transcending temporal limits. This theory allows us to rethink our death experience and how we understand our transition in the life here-after (which is an essential aspect of our belief). This is something I intend to develop later. 

Thanks to Iron Maiden I feel a certain kinship with other restless souls (like Augustine of Hippo, Bruce Dickinson, Thomas Merton, or even Edgar Allan Poe) who are willing to search for the truth through dreams and the endless possibilities of our conscious existence.   

[unchainedorchid]

A glimpse of the past.

Suffering, pain, grief — Odette understood it well, etched into her mother’s sorrowful eyes. She witnessed the malevolent man’s cruelty, a relentless stoning of her mother’s spirit, with Odette herself sometimes falling prey to his wickedness. The idea of escaping the city, fleeing to the countryside with her aunt, just the two of them, was a wish Odette had whispered to her mother countless times. Her mother’s response was always the same — she couldn’t leave. Odette couldn’t fathom her mother’s reasons, but she knew one thing for sure; she would stand her ground to keep her safe.

The inevitable hand of fate, cruel and unrelenting, swept through their lives when Odette was just sixteen. Odette lost the person she loved most to a merciless illness. The constant financial struggles made it impossible to get her the help she desperately needed. Even in her mother’s final moments, the man who should have fulfilled his responsibilities chose to remain absent. Odette laid the blame for her mother’s death squarely at his feet; it was he who had slowly, inexorably, taken her away.

One ominous night, Odette’s torment took a more sinister form. Her father, fueled by the poison of potent liquor, descended upon her with the intention of snuffing out her existence. The chilling grip of his hands tightened around her throat, and in the throes of despair she grasped whatever object her trembling hands could find, plunging it deep into the man’s chest.

There was no outcry, no plea for mercy, only a sudden stillness, and the next breath she took revealed that her father had met his demise in her hands. Odette was left with the lifeless body of the man who had been the source of her torment for years.

She had taken a life to preserve her own.

What was this sensation? Odette could not put it into words, could not wrap her mind around it. She was not found guilty; the law, too. She had been granted an unexpected reprieve, a pardon she had not sought, but she knew now, she was free. Free from the shackles that had bound her in the twisted form of a father.

Blood still clung to her hands, an indelible stain on her soul. But regret? That emotion was a phantom. If the sands of time could rewind, she’d seize that moment again, unflinchingly.

In the silence that ensued, she gazed at her bloodied hands, contemplating her mother’s eyes, her mother’s love.

“Mom,” she whispered into the silent night, hands still trembling from the deed she had done. “Do you forgive your daughter, whose hands are forever marked by the crimson of vengeance? In freeing myself, have I become a survivor.. or a monster?”

With no one left to care for her, her aunt, Julie, took Odette to the countryside. And there, under the open skies, amidst the rolling meadows and whispering trees, Odette began to breathe again.

A story written in anguish and rewritten with the ink of survival, a chapter of love, torment, and an unexpected redemption, where the hands that had once been stained in blood were now reaching out to embrace the fragile, hopeful threads of a new beginning.

Odette questioned if she could ever find her own redemption, if the love she so ardently sought could bloom from the shadow of the unspeakable act she had committed.

[bogesey1]

Acceptance

Is acceptance a fancy word for opinion? In order for someone to accept another they have to cast an opinion about someone else. In order to except or reject someone.  Yes race and gender, plays a heavy roll towards the acceptance. Many feel that their race is superior, dominating, holdibg such prejudices that dictate what another should possess, down to what assets another should be able to aquire. And for many races they are judged according to what the own. Having to explain why they own it or even have it. Accusations presenting itself with prejudice to say either its stolen, or obtained through some type of fraudulent or felonious act. Black, verse, white, verse,  Hispanic, verse, native American, verse Indians north, south, east and west verse, Asian verse, Chinese, verse Japanese, verse all the other over 223 nationalities on this Earth. Of the which accusation manipulators, lie too, deceive with hatred and keep at odds to never allow any to say we are brothers, we are sisters. Together we stand united we fall. We are stronger together against the unseen,  unconsidered forces. Note just because they are denied, doesn't mean they don't exist. Just mean the advantage is greater because of human denial and ignorance. Acceptance, is a fancy word for opinion. There is only one opinion that matters. In the end that opinion will stand against all rebellion, righteousness, idealism, justification, prejudice, hatred and any righteous calamity that is held on to for self justification on God's behalf. Never think what is done without grace and mercy is done on the behalf of Jesus. Opinion is what fulfilled the Prophecies wherein the follow through of the death of our Lord. Banking on those with opinion, to say crucifie him because we don't agree with his lifestyle or his belief in freedom, what he stands for nor the unity in which he brings. Jesus, brought love, instilled Love, justice for all even sat down with those we consider to queer, weird,  unlovly, unwanted, cast out, dirty, a threat to life itself. God is not surprised by us to judge us in that way. Why are we surprised to annihilate whole communities, countries, cities and states. Acceptance is a fancy word for opinion. And that's why Humans are missing the mark and being slaughtered in this War. This Love War that holds many battles. love loves. Acceptance categorizes and cast opinions as to why another should be accepted. Love simply recieves, without malice, receives without contemplation or judgment of anothers choice to exercise their freedom to choose and let Jesus be the only judge.  contemplation. Yes I know what it say in our basic instructions before leaving Earth in 1 Corinthians 6:2 1Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints? Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world? and if the world shall be judged by you, are ye unworthy to judge the smallest matters? Know ye not that we shall judge angels? how much more things that pertain to this life? However, I'm saying this is not written. That we judge without reasoning leaving nothing but hurt, separation, anxiety, frustration and killing any opportunity for reconciliation. Jesus preached, love, acceptance on a level unknown to human however not unable to obtain. This enables us to love God and love one another just like we would a blood relative. Say what, but I hate my neighbors I have the worse neighbors. And that interracial couple with their Trans son that they love, why I would never bless God. Trust me when I say those words and attitude is not blessing the God over all of heaven and earth. Maybe the god of earth only, I bet my life to go to he'll on that that one! You don't know him if you think like that. You ever once think you just may have it wrong and you just maybe missing the mark on the lice walk? Acceptance, verse receiving, verse opions. Think about it.

[kotokos-cafe]

Mahiru Koizumi and Mukuro Ikusaba's Gender Neutral S/O Barely Surviving Being Stabbed In Their Absence

Mahiru Koizumi

Mahiru had been at work when you had an off day.

Now, it's no secret that Mahiru has plenty of enemies from her time as a Remnant Of Despair.

But neither of you expected one of those enemies to attack you for it just to get back at Mahiru.

When you sat down to watch television, you didn't even hear the assassin jump out of your closet.

You see, this person had been hired to make Mahiru feel the despair she had brought to so many others. And the quickest way to break Mahiru's heart? Through you.

Therefore, when the assassin reduced you to a pulpy mess of blood and flesh, writhing in agony and praying for the slightest hint of mercy, you could never have imagined that falling in love with a wonderful girl would be the reason your life was taken...

As you blacked out on the floor, a saving grace came as Hiyoko Saionji entered the room.

Hiyoko isn't the nicest person. At all. But she didn't want to see you die. You made Big Sis Mahiru happy! What kind of little sis would she be if she let you die?

So she immediately called 911 and they came and took you to the emergency room.

They were able to save your life, but just barely. You would be comatose for a while.

When they looked through your phone for contacts, they saw Mahiru listed as your girlfriend, and they immediately called her to inform her.

When she heard the news, she was... heartbroken. She thought she had moved past that, and that she was finally getting a second chance to live life.

But now that you've been the one punished for all her misdeeds, she can't help but feel responsible. Her actions had been the driving force behind your near-death.

She rushed home from work, leaving her photo shoot directly in the middle, not even caring that she would most likely be written up. You were more important.

Honestly, on the way to the hospital, she was contemplating whether or not she should break up with you. If it meant your life would be safe, even if she was no longer in it... Although it hurt, she felt it was best.

However, as she arrived to your hospital room, she saw your sleeping body, and you looked truly... peaceful. The face she fell in love with. And that's when she changed her mind. She couldn't do that to you. Neither of you would last long without each other. You needed each other.

She sat down at your bedside, and softly held your hand, speaking to you and hoping you could hear her.

"Hey... S/O... I don't know if you can hear me or not, but... I'm hoping you can. I... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean for this to happen... You deserve so much better. So I'm going to find this person, and I'll make sure they pay for what they've done to you. I promise."

And true to her word, within the week, the person who had been hired to kill you was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

This... was a brutal, savage attack, and one where you had been targeted simply because you were a tool to hurt the person you loved most in the world.

But even so, months went by, and she heard no news of your recovery. Or even that you were progressing at all.

They couldn't keep you on life support forever... That wasn't fair to you.

She never even so much as looked at another potential person in that way. They may have been nice, sure, but they could never replace you. Only you were you, and no one else would fill that gap in her heart.

Even nearly a year into your coma, whenever someone would flirt with her, she would still proudly claim "Sorry. I have a wonderful S/O."

Such a loyal baby, we love her- 😭

Never once did Mahiru give up on you or disavow you. Maybe you were comatose, sure, but it wasn't like you never existed. And to pretend it was that way would've been a betrayal of her love for you.

So instead, she kept doing things she knew would make you proud.

She grew a garden, made a scrapbook of the memories she made with her class so you could see them, and among so many other things, all the while visiting you in the hospital for at least two hours every other day.

Every time, she would talk to you, too. As if you would respond back to her, even though she knew you wouldn't.

"Hey, S/O... Did I ever tell you about that silly thing Hiyoko did?"

"Mm, S/O... Mikan's seemed really sad lately, and I want to do something to cheer her up... Any ideas?"

"Today, Nagito and Sonia were doing some weird kind of therapy session today with Usami... Until Ibuki joined in, and then the entire place caught on fire. Those two really are bad luck."

She would try to imagine what you would likely say in her head, and take that as her answer.

Throughout most of your coma, she never gave up hope. She knew you were fighting so you could get back to her, it was just taking a bit of time.

She was starting to consider taking you off life support. It wasn't fair to you, and if she would never get you back anyway, maybe it would just be best... to... let you go...

But then, the day she was going to do it, a miracle happened.

You woke up.

Mukuro Ikusaba

Mukuro decided to head upstairs and clean off some of her knives and guns while you sat downstairs making lunch. Yesterday, she made lunch, so today, it was your turn.

But on this particular day, something was... different.

You had felt the sneaking suspicion that you were being watched, but brushed it off. If there was something in the house, Mukuro would've already caught it by now...

Right?

You didn't realize what had actually happened until you were already bleeding out on the ground, stomach slashed open and the assassin staring down back at you.

Those who knew of Mukuro's work as an Ultimate Despair with Junko wanted her dead. Or at least wanted to see her suffer, to see her wither in the despair she once craved so much.

Luckily, Mukuro happened to finish her cleaning at that time, and she carefully treaded down the stairs for the chance to surprise hug you from behind, like she always did. It never failed to startle you, but always ended with a lot of giggles.

But as she saw this cruel person straying away from your limp, writhing body, she snapped. It took less than ten seconds before she lunged for the person and quickly stabbed them to death on the floor, the same thing they had tried to do to you.

Then she scampered back over to you, military knowledge on how to care for severe wounds kicking in. First, she took off her shirt, and wrapped it tightly around your stomach to cut off bloodflow. Then she called 911. When she got off the call, she stroked your cheek and kissed the bridge of your nose, promising you it would all be alright before you lost consciousness.

And true to her word, you woke up several days later in a hospital room with Mukuro pacing back and forth vigilantly, protectively. Scared to let you out of her sight. She was grinding her knife on the wall with every circle, until you finally spoke.

"Muku?" you quietly asked, causing Mukuro's head to jerk in your direction and an immediate hug from her, complete with tears of relief streaming down her cheeks.

"I-I'm so sorry, S/O! I failed to protect you!"

Usually, she isn't this emotional at all. But she couldn't help it. You were the person that gave meaning to her life after she realized the way Junko had used and abused her all her life... and she nearly let you die.

She couldn't begin to imagine what she would have done if she'd lost you... If you were gone, she would have had no reason to live anymore... It's likely she would have followed you within the week. After everything with Junko, the five stages of grief would've been too much for her.

"Hey, Muku... It's alright... You didn't do anything wrong," you assured your girlfriend, wiping her tears away.

"B-But I—! You—!"

You quietly shushed her again and pulled her to rest her head on your chest. She found this comforting, hearing your heartbeat. It confirmed that this wasn't a dream. That this was real. That you were, indeed, alive and holding her in your arms again.

Eventually, she managed to stop crying, but that was when the doctor came in to deliver some horrible news that would change both of your lives.

"...Mx. L/N... I'm so sorry, but... it looks like you'll be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of your life. I'm so, so, so truly sorry..."

That was just another sign in Mukuro's eyes that she failed you, because now you lost a useful function of your body...

Though it was hard and you couldn't deny that, you looked on the bright side. For Mukuro's sake. If she heard you saying anything negative about it, she would immediately think she deserves another punishment. And so... she would give herself one.

It was heartbreaking to watch your girlfriend fall into a deep depression like that, even if she thought you didn't notice. You were more observant than she gave you credit for.

You started to hide her knives until she went to work so she couldn't hurt herself with them. You didn't want to see her in so much pain anymore.

Eventually, her habits died down and although she still felt guilty, Mukuro wasn't punishing herself anymore, no matter what you said about your newfound paralysis.

But occasionally, you'll wake up in the middle of the night and hear her heartwrenching cries and regrets.

"...It's my fault... I-I... I could have saved them... They wouldn't b-be paralyzed if I h-had been faster..."

It breaks your heart every time...

[cryptiql]

riptide

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, some mildly suggestive flashbacks + detailed descriptions of drowning. as always, please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 4.9k

a/n: welcome to the sequel of smoke signals. perish :)

dabi made a mistake. the knowledge sits in the bottom of his stomach like a lump of lead; his innards twisting into a knot whenever the memory of you crosses the expanse of his sleep deprived mind. the burns under his eyes might as well be bags, but they aren't large enough to bear the weight of his guilt. it isn't much better sitting on his shoulders, but the repercussions of pain are what keep him from letting it go, and that's exactly what he wants. no—it's what he deserves. he deserves the feeling like his head is going to burst; the ache in his spine from too many hours spent hunched over himself with a bottle clutched between his shaking hands; the burning intensity from overuse of his quirk. the extra inches of marred skin serve as reminders of what he did, but it's not half as satisfying when the pain doesn't last.

he wants to scratch at the wounds until they ooze that bitter garnet liquid; until he's suffocated by the metallic scent and forced to endure as the taste of blood engraves itself on his tongue when he chokes on it. he wants to suffer—the slower the better—because not even the strongest alcohol can cleanse his sins, nor the stench of his regret.

dabi made a mistake. it won't be the last time, he's able to admit, because his ego is too shriveled from the lack of your warmth, and his heart yearns for the passion of your kiss that still lingers on his lips. when the loft echoes with fragments of the city's ambience, drowning him in an incessant racket, he longs for the lighthouse. this place is infested with selfish ingrates, scuttling about in search of the next outcast to torment, and it makes him wish he still had that safe space at the shore. your siren song was a drug to put him at ease, and now he is without it, and the withdrawal has taken effect.

he knew this would come to pass. dabi overdosed on your love; your affection; your everything; all while watching the consequences unravel at a snail's pace, almost as if he were being teased by the inevitable end. he let it happen. he did this to himself, so he won't shake his hands at the sky, cursing gods he doesn't know exist; as if they would concern themselves with the faults of men like him.

he knew this would happen.

but then, so did you. you had to have known by the empty space in your bed where he used to lay; by the dates that kept getting postponed and the meaningless promises made to make up for them; by the shortage of visits, even just to say "hello" before he dropped from the face of the earth once more. if this were true, it meant that you were suffering just the same—nay, more than him, by forcing yourself into a state of compliance whenever he told you it was time for him to go. dabi could pretend like he didn't see your fingers twitching; resisting the urge to reach out for him; just as he could pretend like the rivulets of tears on your cheeks did not exist, though they begged to be swept away by him. god, he wants to hold your face again, noses brushing together and your dreamy sighs melding with his raspy laughter.

he had told himself that you wouldn't deter him from his goal, but even that seems like a pipe dream now. he feels like an underachiever, chasing a future that can't be set in stone when he already had you, which should have been enough. dabi realizes that the flames of his own passionate desire for freedom have burned you in the process, and it hurts more than he can put into words. you were always better with words, he reminisces, tracing the coffee stained parchment sitting in his pocket.

dabi has long since stopped reading the letters you sent, but he still carries them with him wherever he goes. they anchor him to both earth and sky; the reality that he's lost you, threatening to swallow him from under his feet; and the hope that he'll find you again, one day, after all this is over. "and just what do you think you're doing?"

you can see his reflection in the stove's glass sheen, his mouth drawn up into a devious smirk as he leans on the bedroom doorframe, clad in nothing but his briefs from the previous night. the purplish burns scaling his collarbone and abdomen give him a roguish look that—if you possessed no self-restraint—would normally have you lunging at him like a starved beast. you manage to smirk back at him, subtly shaking your hips while opening the stove door to pull out the doughy mound of bread inside. to your delight, you hear him grumble something not-so family-friendly before he snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. you had never once thought that the feeling of staples against your skin would feel so good, but now you can hardly imagine being without it, and you immediately melt into dabi's touch.

he breathes softly in your ear, chuckling when you flinch in response, goosebumps stippling your flesh. by the way your cheeks puff out in embarrassment, he should take that as a sign to stop, but fuck, your pouting is just too cute for him to resist, especially when your worship-able body is basking in the afterglow of dusk. you keen when dabi starts peppering your shoulder blades with kisses, but nearly dropping the pan causes your senses to return, and you whisper a plea. luckily, he appears to be in a merciful mood, because he relents his onslaught of affection to rest his chin in the crook of your neck.

when he finally notices what you're making, he can't help but squeeze you tighter.

"is that a cake?"

you turn to give him a peck on the nose, which is rewarded with a halfhearted snap of his teeth just millimeters from your mouth.

"that'd be right. though, i'm astonished you know which way is up after last night." your sing-song tone of voice spurs him to squeeze your thigh, and you would have shooed him away if not for how much you liked it. dabi murmurs something unintelligible, the vibrations shooting straight down your spine, and proceeds to remove himself from you in order to better observe the baked delicacy.

"mm. what's it for?" he asks, discretely swiping a bit of the pink colored icing from the bowl to his right. sweet, but not sickeningly so.

you are none the wiser when dipping a spatula into the contents and smoothing it over the cake, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"you never told me when your birthday is, so i'm taking a wild guess. figured i'd whip this up as a surprise, but you woke up earlier than i suspected." dabi swears that his heart is about to burst from behind his ribcage, and all because you're too goddamn perfect. you may as well be a priceless work of art in museum that he's been prohibited from touching. however, the fading marks on your skin signify that he's done more than just touch, and he takes pride in the fact you can't seem to move further than two steps in any direction without faltering.

"i know angel food cake is your favorite—" dabi silences you with a kiss; bruising and passionate; and takes the spatula from your hand, blindly setting it aside on the counter. your protests are short-winded as he lifts you from your behind before promptly turning the oven off and spinning on his heel. he's memorized these halls well enough to not bump into anything during his trek back to the bedroom. you pull away, albeit with a hint of reluctance, just to glare at him.

"what about the—" dabi kisses you again, and while you don't seem too happy about being interrupted twice in a row, the shared heat between your bodies distracts you from being upset.

"you're off by about two months, doll. besides, i think i'd much rather have you as a late birthday treat."

dabi clenches his jaw at the memory, his knuckles whitening with how tenaciously he grips the tattered fabric of his jeans. the league's new base is just as rundown and close to crumbling as he feels, but his despair is masked by the rage that overpowers it. why couldn't you have been a normal couple? why couldn't dabi have grown up with a father who loved him; with a quirk that didn't gradually destroy him and without the resulting scars that made him a hideous monster in the eyes of all who saw him? why couldn't he be as beautiful on the inside as you said he was on the outside? why couldn't he just be happy, after all this time?

why? why? why?

dabi finds his answer hidden in the ashen battleground strewn with rubble and remnants of burnt remains. he finds it in the fear of his victims' expressions before the snare of death claims them in a flourish of blue inferno. it's written there in bold, ichor dripping from his fingers as they smear the message with red.

the privilege of living a normal life is, and always will be, beyond his reach. murder does not warrant mercy, and the only person willing to give it to him is miles away, still desperate for him to come back.

as fate would have it, you and dabi lived worlds apart, but you still look at the same sunset; the same array of stars forming constellations that told stories of your life shared together. they replay in his head like a record stuck on repeat, and only when the song ends does he find himself back in the clutches of his childhood trauma, rather than your embrace.

"dabi? dabi!" his trademark scowl automatically takes place when a finger prods and pulls at his cheek, the familiar voice of twice shaking him from his deep contemplation. jin has been so unfortunate as to suffer minor scorches from the ravenette's flames, on account of him being too bothersome at the wrong moments, and so he instantly backs away at the first indication of danger brewing in the air around him. with how on edge he's felt lately, he really should have gone on a walk to relieve some stress, but the looming knowledge that he can't go to the lighthouse would only ruin the trip.

dabi is fully prepared to smack jin's hand away until he sees what he's holding. he'd recognize that handwriting anywhere, and even without it, the scent of saltwater and freshly baked bread clings to the paper, altering him of yet another one of your efforts to communicate with him. dabi feigns indifference towards the object; quite the contrary to his thinning patience as twice waves it above his head excitedly.

"you've got mail! who's is from? probably a useless nobody! or maybe a secret admirer? but who would admire you?"

to his dismay, the commotion has grabbed toga's attention, and she veers over to their location with a giddy grin on her face. she all but drapes herself over dabi as he snatches the letter from jin, and it doesn't help his struggle when she clings to him like a koala. after a bout of kicking and shoving, he manages to break free of her grasp, grimacing at her lengthy, high-pitched whines of disapproval.

"and can you believe hawks was the one to deliver it? i didn't take him for a carrier bird. . ."

dabi doesn't hear the rest, nor does he intent to, because he's already making his way to the nearest exit with haggard breaths. whoever calls out for him and whatever they say are the last of his concerns right now, and they're abruptly cut off when he slams the door behind him. the summer heat wills beads of sweat to paint his forehead, but he soon finds comfort under the shade of a tree, cicadas buzzing noisily overhead. he would sooner keel over and die than thank the birdbrain hero for catering to him—and by extension, you—but now that the note is there, begging to be read, he can't help but feel some sort of gratitude.

"i need you to do something for me."

the bristles of hawks' feather hover over dabi's pulse in a threatening manner, but he feels no more in peril than he would at the cruelty of a baby chick. he knows the number two hero won't harm him, at least not without regretting it later, and this is the perfect time to use that to his advantage. hawks narrows his eyes at him, nose wrinkling in accord.

"why would i do anything for you after that stunt you pulled?" he snarls, and dabi almost has to laugh at the drastic switch in personality. the way he presents himself to the public is a true contrast compared to the persona only he and the league have had the pleasure of seeing.

"because if you don't, everyone will know you've been fraternizing with the enemy, and we wouldn't want number two falling off his high pedestal, now would we?"

this time, dabi audibly laughs when hawks' guise wavers. the other grits his teeth, slowly withdrawing the feather and allowing it to fall limp at his side. he revels in his victory, short though it be, and reaches into his pocket to procure a letter marked with your name and address. putting your location at the disposal of a hero isn't something he's proud of doing, but it's all he has left, and he doesn't have the resolve to tell you directly.

coward, his conscious mocks as he holds it out for hawks to take. the winged man stares at it with befuddlement, his movements stalling here and there when he seizes the paper between his thumb and pointer finger. dabi tuts lightly but menacingly, yanking hawks towards him by the wrist and igniting his quirk to leave a faint mark there.

"you're gonna deliver this for me, no questions asked. don't you dare open it."

despite the clear uncertainty, hawks took heed of the ominous demand and carried it out later that night. he had not expected a young man with tear-stained cheeks to greet him at the door, much less the endless babble of 'thank you's as you took the letter with shaking hands.

dabi hadn't wished for you to send one back, but the ongoing stream of them was considered fair, after he'd left without much of a trace. still, he had promised himself that he would never read them, for fear of it opening the wound inflicted by having to say goodbye.

dabi can't understand the sudden change of mind for the life of him, and yet, he finds that he doesn't care whether it opposes every rule he set to keep you safe—to keep himself safe. he tears open the envelope and slumps against the tree trunk, bark and leather grating together as he hesitantly unfolds the parchment, briefly shutting his eyes as a last act of resistance to the helpless cry from within; longing for the familiarity of your poetic words. instead of the delicate precision that was to be anticipated, dabi stared down at your messy scrawl, a carnal fear rising from within and causing his throat to clamp up. the memories begin to flash at a faster rate, like an old-timey picture film. dabi has just finished putting the kettle on to boil when hears the floorboards creak, followed by the sound of your slippers shuffling across the floor. he snickers, remembering that the only pair you have is the one he bought you; a well worn match that looks oddly like cloud bunnies. you've made sure to exemplify how much you love the gift by wearing them around the house on rainy or lazy days, all paired with a wistful smile. this morning is no different as you worm your way under dabi's hold and press your face into his chest, a satisfied groan escaping you when he cards his fingers through your hair and scratches the scalp.

the robe you wear is half-hanging from your shoulders, which makes for an enticing view from where dabi stands, but he simply kisses the crown of your head and continues waiting for the pot to simmer.

"did you hear that noise?" you slur, just barely discernable over the kettle's shrieking. dabi quirks a brow in question as you rub the leftover grogginess from your eyes, tiredly nodding at the back window.

"little past midnight, i think. coulda sworn i heard somethin' rifling around in the trash." dabi squints at this new information while eyeing your appearance. the dark circles and intermittent yawning indicate a lack of sleep, and if he weren't there to keep you steady, you might collapse onto the floor as a snoring heap. if it really disturbed him, he should have woken me up, he thinks, pulling you closer with an ever-deepening frown. you snuggle up to him as if it's second nature, sleepily giggling away when his digits stray too close to your side.

"s'probably raccoons, but if you're worried, i can stay longer just to make sure." you look up at him with nothing short of pure, unbridled adoration, cupping his face and squishing it gently, to your own entertainment. after a moment of consideration, you shake your head.

"nah, you're probably right."

the feeling hits dabi like a tidal wave, dragging him below the raging surface; far below where the light of day cannot touch. it suffocates him and brings rise to the sickening taste of bile on his tongue, but he doesn't have time to spare in throwing it all up, so he swallows it. withered patches of grass crunch under his feet as he peels himself from the tree and breaks into a dash, sparing your letter the flames fueled by his anguish as to let it drift in the breeze, the single sentence written on it already engraved in his mind.

it wasn't raccoons.

dabi doesn't care what shigaraki will have to say about this when he gets back. the only thing he cares about is that you'll still be alive to say anything to him when he reaches you, and that whoever has invaded your home is willing to die for what they've done, or what they're currently doing, and fuck—he isn't even sure if this is you calling for help or not, but he can't risk being right.

the distance between the base and the lighthouse feels lightyears apart, yet simultaneously at arms length when dabi is running at speeds he hasn't ever been able to achieve before. if he stumbles at any point during his sprint, or if he happens to bump into an unsuspecting civilian on the street, he doesn't notice. the resonant thumping of his own heartbeat is all that he can hear as he thanks the gods for the flow of traffic being so spaced out, otherwise it would be near impossible for him to reach you in time.

in time for what? he has to ask. dabi doesn't even want to think about the repercussions, but the scenarios arrive in rivulets despite the mental trapeze he goes through to push them down, and they only continue to grow into oceans; darker, colder and harboring thoughts too gruesome for even someone of his caliber to handle. he won't realize until much later that he'd forgotten to put on his disguise, but the way people ogle at him with fear and disgust does not suppress the need to protect you.

even now, he can sense the pressure building behind his eyes, though it's more painful that it used to be. dabi hasn't cried in months, and it shows by how unabating the rivers of blood trickle from his skin grafts, despite his feverish attempts to stop them. look at yourself, holding together by a thread and weeping in public like a child whose lost his mother in the crowd. it wouldn't have come to this if he had stayed.

something shifts in the scenery; a distinct line drawn between the city and its neighboring countryside; but it makes no difference to the impending peril that looms ahead. the closer he gets, the sooner he'll find you waiting for him, dead or alive. dabi staggers, his breath hitching at the thought, as well as the harsh sting of pain that erupts when his knee collides with the gravel below. he pushes himself forward in little time, a strangled yell ripping his throat raw as his vision settles on the top of the lighthouse, peeking over the hillside. you have to be there—you just have to. he isn't done with you yet, and you're sure as hell not done with him.

the earth is damp beneath his feet, and it soaks through the canvas of his shoes whilst he darts past the boulevard and onto your property, crying out to you. surely, you must hear him. surely—

dabi practically hurls himself at the front door, his blood running cold when it opens for him effortlessly and swings ajar to reveal the living room, upturned and scattered with broken bits and pieces of furniture. there's no sign of you or whoever did this. the oakwood flooring groans under his weight as he barrels down the hall, peering into every room, beneath your bed and any other place where you could be hiding. nothing. his search ends in vain at the front doorstep, where he stands hunched over and dry heaving. no, no, no. you can't be gone.

"y/n!" he shouts. his only response is the crashing of waves against the shore and the incessant cawing of seagulls. for a moment, dabi forgets how to breathe, and then the ability returns to him; his legs aching horribly as he rushes to the beach. the arrangement of rocks is sporadic at first, but they gradually form large clumps the further he carries on, urging him to squeeze between the narrower openings. it comes with some difficulty, but at last he is able to hobble onto the sandy coast and rest his sights upon the vast sea. he can recall when seeing its murky blue sea would have put him at ease, but now it only causes his senses to be clouded with distress.

"y/n!" the once calm ripples rise into rolling billows that drench the shoreline in frothy heaps of algae, wreckage and blood. it curls and disbands within the ocean to pollute its cerulean hues with ones of scarlet red, and just like that, dabi's heart sinks like the titanic. he'll never forget the sight of you, face-down in the water; your favorite shirt slashed to shreds, clinging to your body as nothing more than a tattered mess. dabi wades into the water until it reaches his ankles, completely numb to its freezing temperature as he sinks down to hoist you up. he rests you on his thighs and presses his lips onto yours with urgency, shortly pulling back so that he can thrust his palms upon your chest and push. he doesn't care to remember how many times he repeats this, but when he finally sits back on his haunches to release a stifled curse, the feeling of dread has only just begun to take control.

you've never looked so pale.

a guttural sob wrenches itself past his grinding teeth as more tears arise, dappling your cheeks like raindrops. it wracks his body and sends forth a surge of agony to course through his veins. dabi cups your face with a shaking hand, the other secured around your waist while he kisses you, his erratic pleas falling upon deaf ears.

"come back. . .come back." his bawling ceases to end, no matter the abrasive pain blossoming in his gullet.

"c'mon, doll. where's that sweet voice of yours?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip as though beckoning you to speak. when nothing follows, he makes a pathetic sniveling sound mixed with something broken; a blubber or whine, he does not know. the burden of your lifeless form causes the reality to set in; a dagger piercing his insides and twisting as to drag the most blood-curdling screams from him.

dabi loved you, and he wishes he had the strength to say it when you were still there. it was only within the presence of his own demons that he was able to utter his affections; curled into himself and waiting for a reply that would never come, carried on the wind that bit his skin. he loved you because you held him like a child when his father hadn't even the heart to acknowledge him as his own. you spoke his name—his real name—as though the blood on his hands was not there; like you had washed it away yourself through acts of tenderness that he did not deserve.

and now you're gone.

you're gone, and—

dabi's entire body jolts with a start, a familiar heat dancing across the grafts of his marred skin. a faint blue glow radiates from his fists, which are tightly fastened the weighted blanket that lays crumpled atop his legs. he lets go with a shuttering gasp, observing the black smudges that reside where his flames once were, then blinking owlishly at his surroundings. the room is shrouded in darkness, all save for the bedside table to the left of him that is dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. that, and the spaces illuminated by the moon's brilliance, showering the floor with multicolored spots as it glistens through the stained glass window. something slots into place, but all it does is send dabi's mind into overdrive.

where is he? where are you? are you really dead? everything hurts.

his nails drag down the length of his arms, seeking some sort of comfort in the pain that blooms there. it doesn't last long, however, when the bed suddenly dips, and a soothing warmth is placed on the small of his back.

"touya?" you croak, your words lingering with the remnants of sleep. dabi—no—touya, swears that he could cry again, right then and there. his eyes flit over your torso, where several scars in varying sizes have desecrated the skin. as he idly traces the pink lines, one final memory surfaces from the depths of his subconscious. him, desperately pounding your sternum; the last threads of denial snapping in tune; and you, coughing and spewing both curses and whatever seawater that had clogged up your lungs. touya held you in that same position for hours, listening as your ragged wheezing turned into hiccupping sobs. hauling you inside had been no easy feat, and having to hear your muffled groans while he stitched you up by the crackling hearth was no better, but the evening after had been pleasant.

you could not recollect the face of the intruder, and with such little information to go off of, touya was left to wallow in self-loathing for love he had almost lost. no amount of therapy could prevent the following nightmares and panic attacks, but in time, the rekindling of your relationship was proved successful, and dabi was prepared to repay you for the moments where you consoled him.

it wasn't just a dream. it had all happened, and yet here you were, alive and well.

a pensive look crosses your features when you note how quiet touya is, and you take it as a sign to break the tension with a tried-and-true method from the past. he doesn't resist as you coo softly, pulling him under the covers and wrapping yourself around him, a garbled tune fleeing from past your lips before you press them to his shoulder. you trail the faintest of butterfly kisses along his neck, his jaw, his cheeks and so on. the anxiety coiled in touya's chest starts to untangle, leaving him as a trembling bundle of nerves in your arms as you shush him, your nimble fingers carting through his hair.

if he weren't so tired, he would have laughed at how the tables have turned; with you cradling him in the way he's so used to doing. still, not even he can deny that it feels nice to be held like this.

"s'alright sweetheart. i'm here. . ." you whisper, and the effect is instantaneous. touya stills as he inhales the scent of buttercream and fresh pine that wafts into the bedroom, his eyelids fluttering shut. all he can hope for is that your presence will drive away any nightmares that foreshadow his well-needed rest, and that when he wakes up in the morning, you'll still be at his side.

dabi made a mistake, and thousands more will come to pass, because underneath the grit and grime that makes up his callous exterior, there is a human being; struggling to survive and struggling to please, just as much as the next. but he'll never leave you again. he had promised you as such with the band of gold now encircling your ring finger, and as long as he lives, he'll never break it.