#sacrificing safety for likes and follows

[mafaldaknows]

[goldkirk]

past me squirreled away so many little bread crumbs over the years to lead me back to information and records and things that I kept that I didn’t consciously allow myself to understand I might need someday again

[lafemmemacabre]

The most marginalized of white people will often be some of the most embarrassingly, vitriolically racist ones, even if they refuse to admit so to themselves and see their own racism as somehow Radical and Common Sense.

This isn't only about white trans women at all. Anyone who's followed me for a while knows I have a tremendous soft spot for anyone disabled, with an emphasis on those of us who're physically disabled, very much including disabled white people, and I've seen this pattern perpetuated by them as much as any other group of considerably marginalized people who happen to be white.

It's like you all know whiteness is your only lifesaver within our current social structure and instead of using it to help bring as many people to safety like an actual ally would (the only safety that would guarantee yours too long-term), you use it as a last ditch attempt at ingratiating yourselves with less marginalized fellow white people.

This is a historical pattern. White gays do it, white trans people do it, white women do it, white disabled people do it, ethnic white people do it, impoverished white people do it, white substance users do it, white sex workers do it, fat white people do it...

It's why poc keep saying that in the end, white people are white first and anything else comes after. It's not because there's a bridge impossible to cross or like white people are biologically incapable of not throwing poc under the bus.

It's that, 9/10 at best, marginalized white people will choose to lick the boots of white power for a thin and often delusional hope of climbing the power hierarchy ladder, instead of extending a hand in solidarity to people of color who're similarly oppressed, let alone people of color they don't have something in common with.

It's futile, though. Kissing ass to more powerful white people might save you for five minutes, but since you're not gaining your safety by addressing the root cause - instead gaining it by throwing those who should be your comrades in struggle under the bus - once all of those similarly marginalized poc have been sacrificed for a taste of safety or status, who do you think they'll come for next? Who do you think they'll direct their misogyny/transphobia/ableism/homophobia/etc towards once you're the only targets for it left?

I hope you're ready for it all once it inevitably happens.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Based on this amazing ask.

Dark Thraller - Part 1

Azriel x HewnCity!Reader, Arranged Marriage

Something darker than the night itself lurks within the Hewn City. Something dark and lovely and his. Azriel suddenly finds himself with a bride that he never wanted but when their marriage may be the one thing that saves their world as they know it, duty trumps all.

The female watched from shadows behind the archway connecting a granite corridor to the throne room of the Hewn City, peering into the busy room. She could smell the fear simmering within the room, it stoked at her own power, building as it fueled her senses. She shouldn’t be here, to be caught could mean death, perhaps worse, but this was her only chance to find the Seer.

Azriel stood cross-armed, hazel eyes honed in on Elain Archeron as she gracefully meandered through the throne room of the Hewn City. Its lecherous denizens ogling her as if she were nothing more than a whore in a pleasure house. Her dress was modest, a whispy train of tulle falling from her shoulders and trailing behind her, the perfect decoy for hiding his shadows as they listened in for tonight’s intended target. The gown hugged her slim figure just enough to give a tease of the lithe female form beneath.

He rolled his eyes as he took her in, reminded of Cassian’s insistence that black wasn’t her color but he was wrong - she was the ethereal moon to the Night Court’s midnight skies.

———

Elain knew she did not belong here. Not within the stone walls of this forsaken city. Not because she was too fragile. No, despite the fact that her sisters coddled her and the rest of the Inner Circle treated her like a delicate flower that would wither at the slightest touch, it was often overlooked that she had slain the King of Hybern. Sure, Nesta received credit for the final blow, but it was Elain who had been vital that day.

She didn’t belong here because of its own inherent darkness that mingled so well with the darkness within her own soul. She’d always tried to make the best of life, but years of poverty, being forced into the cauldron, losing Graysen, an unrequited mating bond, their fathers death, being held captive in Hybern’s camp, nearly losing Feyre during Nyx’s birth, the strife didn’t hold a candle to the pain she felt from being granted the so-called “gift” of sight and having no way to decipher it. Her visions were not light and airy, they were dark and inky, ominous at best.

The few times she’d visited this sect of the Night Court, her visions plagued her. Glimpses of gods and shadows, sacrificed maidens, life and death. And then, there was last time. The collision of an outside force greeting her own power, something fearsome and yet- gentle.

Azriel’s shadows gave a tug on the cape of Elain’s gown, working of their own accord. To Azriel’s chagrin, the last time they’d been here his shadows pushed boundaries, ignoring commands to stand down as they searched the space. They’d trailed Elain who had a particularly concerning vision of shadows upon water and whispers of death.

With the concerns of Koschei following the events with the Queens on the continent, it was enough to garner another visit. So, here they were. Azriel watching Elain like a hawk as she and his shadows searched the place.

Eyes diverted away from Elain as the main act arrived, Rhys and Feyre loosening the grip on their power as the doors flew open- their steps echoing throughout the now silent chamber as the High Lord and High Lady approached the dais. The crowd, having learned from previous reprimand, fell to their knees before their rulers.

It was then that Azriel’s shadows completely shrouded Elain, granting her cover as she dipped down a corridor that Azriel had very clearly lectured them NOT to go down. He wasn’t about to risk Elain’s safety, even if it meant failing the mission at hand of garnering more sight into these possible Koschei visions.

Elain took no more than ten steps down the corridor when a voice startled her from the shadows. “You.”

Elain gasped as Azriel’s shadows created a wall of shadow before her.

Not to protect her - but to conceal the source of the voice.

How very strange.

A lump formed in Elain’s throat as she mustered her courage for a moment, composing herself before squaring her shoulders and holding her head high.

“Yes?” She asked.

“You’re the Seer.” The voice spoke again. Feminine. Young, likely twenty or thirty but it was hard to tell with the fae.

“I am.” Elain spoke firmly. “And you are?”

The voice started before turning into a strangled gasp. The shadows cleared for Elain to find Azriel, holding the female from behind with Truth-Teller against her throat.

“I know what you are.” His deep voice spoke into her ear, his heated breath sending chills through the female.

“Azriel.” Elain spoke. “She was only curious. She didn’t harm me.”

Azriel didn’t move a muscle, only lifting his hazel eyes from behind the female to meet Elain’s gaze. “You don’t know what she is. The danger you were in.”

The cool blade pressed against the female’s throat and if it wasn’t for the obvious threat she posed, Azriel would have had a hard time missing the way her body fit so enticingly against his, the way her ass-

He growled. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?” The female puzzled.

Through gritted teeth, Azriel warned, “Your powers will not affect me, Dark Thraller.”

Elain kept quiet but she didn’t miss the smirk that rose on the female’s face at that. There was something about this female that resonated with her. She had a gentle presence, soft in all the right places to enhance her feminine appearance in a way that would leave most underestimating her, yet Elain knew there was more to this female, something deeper, something darker than her bright eyes let on.

Someone who could understand her.

———————————

Keir burst through the dungeon door first, followed by the general of his Dark Bringer forces and his second in command, Lord Thanatos.

“Keir, how nice of you to join us.” Rhys mused. Arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Rhys and Azriel had spent the past two hours with the female, named Y/N, in the dungeons of the Hewn City. She was a Dark Thraller. An incredibly rare power of ancient fae, until today, it had been thought of as myth. She could not only wield darkness and shadow on her own accord but she could steal it, borrowing directly from the source, hence Azriel‘s shadows obscuring her from Elain. It was fortunate that he’d taken her by surprise when he’d snuck up on her, able to pull his shadows from her thrall and regain them as his own. Though they weren’t particularly eager to return to his side. He was still pissed about that.

The fact that Keir had kept this female a secret was enough to chap Azriel’s ass too. Mor’s father should have reported the female the moment her powers manifested, yet, he’d hoarded her. And much like with Mor, Keir and Lord Thanatos planned to breed her, using her as a bargaining chip in an arranged marriage to some noble on the continent that she had never laid eyes on.

“Release my daughter, immediately.” Lord Thanatos boomed.

The female remained silent, still, but Azriel didn’t miss the way her skin paled at his command. Rhys let out a dangerous laugh, not the warm laugh of the brother Azriel knew so well, but the bitter laugh of a High Lord about to put a subordinate into his place, or the ground, depending on how generous he was feeling.

Both males froze in place, faces turning cherry red as they fought against invisible restraints. Rhys placed an errant hand into his left pocket, a cruel smirk plastered across his face. “It seems I have not given enough attention to the seat of my court in recent years if this is how its people choose to greet their High Lord.”

His violet eyes narrowed as he took a tone befitting of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. “Kneel”

And before they had a chance to do so on their own accord, Rhys forced them into a submission. A gentle - considering the force he was capable of - reminder that they were indeed the lesser males in the room.

Rhys released his hold on the males as they gasped for air, remaining knelt until their High Lord dismissed the formal stance.

“It seems, Keir, that you and Lord Thanatos have been keeping this little gem a secret.” Nodding his head toward the restrained female, who easily could have broken the shadows to her submission. A test, then. To see how impulsive she was with her power, what manner of control she practiced over it.

Azriel didn’t trust her. Thralling? Yes, a Dark Thraller typically attracted darkness and shadow with their thralling abilities but how far did her capabilities go? Could she work on the minds of those wielding darkness as well?

Azriel broke from his inner thoughts to find the female staring at him with wide eyes. She was nervous. He stepped closer to her, keeping his gaze firm and narrowed but to his surprise, the nervous energy surrounding her did not increase. In fact, she seemed to relax slightly.

That was certainly a first for him in these dungeons.

Azriel had been so focused on her that he missed the last bit of groveling from Keir and Lord Thanatos. His attention once again fixed on the males and his High Lord as Rhys summoned a large table and five chairs.

Keir scoffed. “This is a conversation for males, she-“ he spoke the pronoun with venom, “has no business in these affairs.”

Rhys waved a dismissive hand at the male. “I always forget what antiquated views you harbor. At this table, she has a place. In fact, she has more of a place here than you do, since you so rudely interrupted our-” interrogation “conversation.”

“Azriel.” Rhys nodded toward the bound female.

Begrudgingly, Azriel released his restraints on the female. She stood, slowly, maintaining eye contact with him as she smoothed her satin gown, the fabric clung deliciously to her curves but Azriel was most taken by those mesmerizing eyes of hers as they held his cold stare. No malice, or hatred lay in her own eyes, the emotion was something that made his heart lurch. The same look a snared creature would give a hunter that held its fate in their hands, the same look a young boy once gave his cruel half-brothers as fuel soaked his hands while they held the flaming match.

Y/N broke her eye contact and approached the table, holding her head high. To her- and everyone in the room not named Rhysand’s - shock, he pulled the chair at the table’s head out and motioned for her to sit. He kept the arrogant mask plastered on and waited until she accepted that he was serious, shifting uncomfortably for a moment, before seating herself. That nervousness once again returning as she looked to the two Court of Nightmares males to her right.

Truly, Azriel didn’t trust her but he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. He’d met her two hours ago and already knew she was too good to be intimidated by these pricks.

Azriel stepped to Keir, seated directly to next to her, Rhys seated to her left - and flatly commanded “move.”

Keir huffed an insidious laugh. “I don’t take orders from dogs.”

Azriel remained stoic, refusing to deign the pompous male with even a breath of irritation. He’d been called far worse

Rhys didn’t bat an eye at the command from his Spymaster, knowing Mor’s history, of course he would feel inclined to keep him distanced from a female stuck in a nearly identical situation as the one she was faced with all those centuries ago. “Keir, you truly are going out of your way to play the fool today. Keep it up and maybe we can reenact what happened to your arm the last time you disregarded the station of one of my Inner Circle?”

Keir bristled slightly before tucking his shoulders in a show of submission, pushing himself up, and swapping places with the Shadowsinger.

Azriel didn’t miss the slight ease of tension in Y/N’s jaw as he sat, though her heartbeat remained racing as indicated by the visible thrumming of her pulse in her neck and quickened breathing. His shadows gravitated toward her, intertwining with her ankles and then scurried away when she looked to them in a reprimanding manner.

By the rather adorable scowl furrowing across her brow, he had a feeling she hadn’t used her thralling abilities on them either. Interesting.

For all that they were excellent for spying, the things were incurably nosey to a fault.

Clearing his throat, Rhys began “It has been brought to my attention that lady Y/N is to be married to a male on the continent, not as a marriage of love but as one of title. Given her unique powers I propose that we arrange a marriage within our own court that will be both advantageous to the Night Court and to her in terms of power. Do you wish to elaborate on who you intend to marry her off to?”

Azriel noted the bead of sweat on Lord Thanatos’ brow as he glanced to Keir, vaguely-concealed concern flitting between the two.

Keir cleared his throat. “The male is simply a lesser-noble from a wealthy family on the continent. She is not worth the attention, your grace. Her power will be of no use to your court. They’re nothing more than an amusing party trick.”

Leaning back in his chair, Rhys held his chin between his thumb and forefinger in a show of consideration, before giving a grin. “I do enjoy parties. And it seems as if I could find a suitor that would be far more advantageous considering this unnamed lesser-noble is not even worth noting. Don’t you agree?”

Y/N seemed to shrink in her seat but what Azriel read on her face looked almost like “hope.”

What had she been put through for her future to be discussed as if she were nothing more than loose marks to be spent frivolously and still feel hope? He grit his teeth at the way Rhys carried on with the act, though he knew it was simply that- an act.

Silence filled the space and Azriel didn’t miss the way his High Lord’s gaze went vacant, communicating with someone. A small hitch in the breath of Y/N clued him in to exactly who he was communicating with.

“I’ve decided.” Rhys purred. “Lord Thanatos, your lovely daughter will wed my Shadowsinger.”

Outrage filled the room as the males let out shouts of disapproval before Rhys let his darkness fill the room. “Am I not High Lord? Do I not have final say in the affairs of my denizens?”

The males were silent. Rhys loosened his power further, a rumble sending loose dirt falling from the ceiling of the room onto the table before them. “I expect an answer.”

Lowering their gazes in submission, it was Keir who spoke first, “Yes, High Lord.”

Lord Thanatos let out a growl, shooting a violent glare in Keir’s direction.

“I expect an answer, Lord Thanatos.” Rhysand challenged.

After another moment, he finally caved in to the show of power. “Yes, High Lord.” The male growled.

The darkness faded as Rhys clapped his hands together. “Excellent. This evening just became far more interesting. We shall wed the two tonight!”

To his credit, Azriel said nothing, not one single show of disapproval or questioning.

“You two may be dismissed. We will coordinate the details of the wedding.”

As the two males, completely dumbfounded, exited the cell. The female looked to the floor, avoiding Azriel’s stony gaze- the gaze of her soon-to-be husband. Which was for the best as Azriel sent her a glare reserved for the worst of traitors. He did not want this, he wanted nothing to do with the female. His heart was destined to belong to the middle Archeron sister. He was to share his life with HER, not this strange enigma from the Hewn City.

Moments later, Elain and Feyre entered the room. Elain’s expression unreadable as they retrieved the female, Cassian and Nesta flanking them protectively as they led her off to prepare for the ceremony.

————

Rhysand knew he was a bastard. He took the corresponding show of rage from Azriel in stride, unable to disagree with the cold words and show of opposition to his order to marry the female.

What Azriel hadn’t seen was the terror Rhysand had gleaned in her mind. Her power was not a party trick, in fact she’d been hidden away beneath the Hewn City and put through rigorous training from the first moment her powers emerged. This female was trained to be used as a weapon and treated as such, there was nothing humane or loving about the environment she’d grown up in. But far more concerning than even the abhorrent conditions she had been brought up in was the undiluted panic regarding her impending nuptials. She indeed did not know who she was to be married to but she had suspicions.

Not to be wed to an unknown lord from the continent, not even to the highest ranking of nobility, but to a supreme being of death and decay, to Koschei himself.

And if her suspicions were correct, a power like hers in his hands would bring immeasurable suffering, an end to the world as they knew it. She was the token Keir needed to barter for his own rise to power. Ruling just the Court of Nightmares was never enough for a greedy bastard like him.

“The only way we can get her out of here is by wedding her to you tonight. If she’s wed, they have no contest to-” Rhys bristled as he spoke of the female as anything less than her own entity “They cannot claim ownership of her if she is wed. We cannot risk another moment of her being in their hands, Az. This marriage does not have to last forever, just long enough to ensure she is out of their hands and that we are in her good graces. Your duty is to keep her happy and protect her, if she ends up in the wrong hands, Azriel- more than just our own rule is at stake, Prythian, the world, could be doomed.

Guilt pressed in on the High Lord. If there were any other way, he would take it, but for now this was the most humane route.

And as Rhys shared the female’s suspicions of Koschei with Azriel, he understood. He hated every moment of this but he understood. He didn’t have to love her, he didn’t have to like her even, but he could stomach her as he did with any other undesirable duty.

_________

Azriel stood on the dais before a crowd of sneering Hewn City denizens. For this, his leathers would do. He was to send a message of power to the Court of Nightmares and removing his siphons would not do. Rhys and Feyre remained seated on their thrones appearing bored as they took in the quickly thrown together wedding, little more than wine and night-blooming jasmine marked the occasion. Though Rhys would have loved watching Lord Thanatos have to hand his daughter over to the Shadowsinger, he didn’t want him anywhere near her. She had dealt with enough coldness from the male in her twenty-five years of life, never again would she have to suffer through her father’s unkind hands upon her.

So, Azriel waited, his eyes focused solely on Elain as the doors opened and music began to play. Cassian would escort her to the dais. Azriel spared no glance to his bride as the audience turned in her direction. Even Elain who had caught his gaze briefly, and Lord Thanatos and his equally hateful wife who stood behind her, turned to marvel at the bride striding up the aisle. Azriel’s heart raced. He wanted Elain. His shadows pulled on him. Coaxing him to divert his gaze from the Archeron sister. No. He wanted Elain. His heart beat wildly as a tug pulled at him. He would not look. This female was not who his heart belonged to. He belonged to Elain. Azriel’s shadows hissed in his ears to look as his heart urged him to spare a glance in her direction.

Finally, he shifted his gaze and time stood still. Before him was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. No longer did she appear meek, or nervous- she stood taller with her head held high. A cobalt blue gown hugged her curves, dipping down to reveal her ample cleavage, the fabric clung to the curve of her hips, caressing her upper thighs before flaring out toward the bottom. Her knuckles tightly gripped a bouquet of morningstar flowers and delphinium. Where the dress had been conjured from, Azriel had no idea. The flowers were likely Elain’s doing. He tried to turn his head back to Elain but he couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze away from the beauty before him.

His shadows left his side, flowing down the aisle and swirling around the bottom of her gown, giving the appearance that they were carrying her to him. The crowd gasped at the illusion and Azriel noticed the surprise on her face. Either she was an excellent actress or she truly didn’t have the control over her powers.

But Rhys had said that she’d been trained from the time they manifested. Surely they weren’t going to her on their own accord. Was her thrall that powerful?

Azriel nearly felt his shoulders slump in disappointment as her gaze shifted to Elain who awaited at the foot of the dais to retrieve the bouquet.

As Elain stepped forward, a tear was heard followed by a gasp. Azriel looked to see that the bottom half of Elain’s dress had torn. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with shock. Before Azriel could react, he felt loss of control over his shadows as Y/N flung her arms out commanding them in Elain’s direction. Azriel’s heart lurched, fury clouding him at this attack on Elain, he stepped forward only to halt in his tracks as two shadows darted out to restrain Y/N’s mother, and the remaining shadows shrouded Elain completely.

Y/N hurried toward Elain, stepping into the confines of the shadows, now shrouding the both of them. Azriel almost smirked as Y/N’s voice loudly echoed from the shadows “Don’t mind her. She’s even uglier inside than that sneer she wears on her face, which says a lot.” A soft giggle from Elain reached Azriel’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear. Can your sister bring some wine?”

The crowd parted as the shadowed females made their way out of the crowd, Nesta and Cassian following suit.

This female stopped her own wedding to come to the aid of a female she didn’t even know. Azriel didn’t know what to think of that but he did know that he couldn’t let himself fall for her. He wouldn’t let himself fall for her.

——————————————————

A/N: this will be a 2 or 3 part series! I am too tired to proofread so if there were a bunch of typos, no there weren’t.

Tags:

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Requested tags based on previous excerpt posted: @erikan809 @thalia-as-blog

[sonik-kun]

Reminder that canon Jiang Cheng is:

- Self-sacrificing. There have been numerous examples in the book where JC is willing to lay down his life for his family and sect without a second thought. Charging at Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu in the turtle cave. Stepping in front of his mother to protect her from the core melter hand. Distracting the Wen before they discovered WWX. Offering himself as a hostage in return for JL in the Guanyin Temple incident, etc.

- Fiercely protective of his family. The above bullet point elaborates on this part well. But I would also like to add that he is extremely protective of JL. He follows him on nighthunts and is the first person JL calls for whenever he is in trouble. The moment JL sends out a flare, JC is instantly in there, dropping everything for him.

- He allows JL to be a child. Despite the historic context and the stiff upper lip attitudes of that time period, JC allows JL to be a child still. He is spoilt rotten and never knew the same horrors those of his previous generation had to endure. JC does all he can to keep him safe from that to prevent similar incidents from happening again. He also allows JL to healthily express his emotions and never once scolds him for crying. The moment he sees him upset, he's in there soothing him, ready to throw hands with whoever hurt him.

- He doesn't use corporal punishment methods on JL despite it being the norm of that society. JL explains this to WWX who was shocked to discover that JC doesn't punish JL, despite his threats. JL is horrified by the notion and is very comfortable and secure around his uncle. Secure enough to give him sass even, something JC would never dreamed of doing to his elders.

- He is an excellent and attentive leader. He built his sect from the ground up and recruited people on his own all whilst he was still a teenager, still recovering from trauma and torture. He brought his sect back from the brink of annihilation and built it back up as a major sect on very minimal experience with little next to no guidance.

- He's politically savvy. From a young age, he was always socially aware of everything, valuing the safety of his sect and family above everything else. He correctly predicted WWX's downfall and tried so much to warn him and save him from it. Powerless in that moment, he chose his sect over WWX in fear of them being annihilated a second time should he side with him. WWX understood and respected this, so defected of his own accord.

- He still believed in WWX and held onto hope for him, even when things were looking bleak. Despite WWX siding with the Wen, the sect that almost annilihated his own, JC allowed WWX to go with them and remained friends up until WWX inadvertently got JZX and JYL killed. He still allowed WWX to see his sister and even name his nephew. They visited each other in secret regularly despite the risks of being caught, and JC tried to defend him even in the face of the three most strongest sects. He wasn't successful, but he tried.

- He is more reasonable and level-headed than the rumours lead you to believe. We see this when the prostitute comes to testify about JGY. He calmly considers her word and everything she has to say. Not once was he rude or snappy with her. He also remembers his etiquette and addresses elders with manners and respect. He may at times be quick to anger, but he is also quick to calm himself down and conduct himself properly as we see in his first scene where he lets "MXY" go, despite being a practicing demonic cultivator.

- He let's WWX go in the end. The moment he learns the truth about everything and that WWX wasn't entirely guilty for everything everyone accused him of, JC drops all feelings of aminosoty towards him. He doesn't blame him, nor does he actively pursue him anymore and demand he answers for his "crimes." JC got all the answers he wanted from him and instead of holding on to grudges and resentment, he let WWX go to be happy with LWJ, despite clearly wanting him to come back to Lotus Pier. He understands and respects that WWX is ready to move on and start a new life with LWJ. It hurts him, but he respects that decision.

There are many more positive traits I could discuss here, but I'll be here all day if I did.

JC is a nuanced character with a lot of flaws, but he also has a lot of positives that make his character realistic and relatable but also very likeable. He is a traumatised man with a troubled past, but he never allowed it to truly bring him down. He persevered, built up his sect, and raised a nephew with a pure heart. I think it's safe to say that despite his problems and despite everything he has gone through, JC is a survivor with a strong heart. He has a lot of admirable traits that you mustn't ignore or deny if you truly wish to enjoy and appreciate his character.

[cabotwife]

omgg johanna x reader where r volunteers for annie instead of mags? 🤔

thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

Hey, Brother

Johanna Mason x Fem!Reader, Finnick Odair x Fem!Sister!Reader

warnings: poorly written angst, mention of sex trafficking, not proofread

word count: 1258

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for all the requests, i promise i'm working on them all as quickly as i can.

the room fell into a deafening silence. Finnick stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he stared at his younger sister. the words had left your mouth before you had a chance to think, a desperate plea to the universe.

“i volunteer as tribute,” you found yourself repeating, the words tasted bitter on your tongue. you locked eyes with your brother, his usually bright eyes were dull with shock. his girlfriend, the woman who had slowly become a sister to you, stood beside to you. her eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill over any second. you had just volunteered for her.

the tension in the room was palpable, you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. suddenly, your skin felt hot, and the air was heavy with fear and anticipation, the silence was broken only by the soft sobs of Annie.

“y/n-” Finnick began, his voice was choked with emotion but you cut him off with a shake of your head. you didn’t need his protest, this was your decision, your sacrifice. the announcer, a man with a voice too cheerful for the occasion, quickly moved onto announcing the male tribute, effectively ending the discussion.

the atmosphere thick with suspense as the man reaches into the bowl, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. his fingers dance over the folded slips of paper before finally settling on one. he slowly, almost painfully, pulls it out, leisurely unfolding it as if to prolong the tension. his gaze drops to the paper, absorbing the name written there before raising his eyes to meet the audience's expectant gaze. the name echoes through the silent room, "Finnick Odair."

as the name settles in the air, you can feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, dart to the other male victors, silently begging them to volunteer in your brother's place. but none of them do. why would they? you were all promised peace and safety if you managed to survive your respective games. how dare they betray that promise and bring you back into the fray, turning you against these people you’ve known, and grown fond of, for so long?

your frantic thoughts are interrupted by Finnick gently cupping your cheeks and pulling your face towards him. the sincerity in his voice is like a balm to your fraying nerves as he mutters, “you’ll be okay." his eyes, full of determination and promises, bore into yours. "i’ll keep you safe.” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline before holding your head under his chin in a hug.

Finnick had always been your protector, sacrificing everything to keep you safe, to keep the people he loved out of harm's way. when he denied his body to the capitol, you had been reaped just the following year. in his eyes, that was his punishment for his disobedience.

pulling away from him, your hand presses firmly against his chest as you meet his gaze. “no, Finn, you need to keep yourself safe. okay? you have- you have Annie, you need to be okay for her.” your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back.

before your brother can respond, you are torn from each other's arms, whisked away to your respective rooms as they prepare the train to the capitol.

sitting in silence, you are left alone with your thoughts, which prove to be overwhelming. as much as you want to focus on your brother's safety, your thoughts drift to a certain short-haired brunette girl. your brother’s best friend.

the realization of these thoughts terrifies you, but you know they’re true. Johanna is the only living female victor of District 7, she’s going to be in the arena with you, with Finnick. your mind races with images of the other victors, the potential tributes, most of them your friends, people you’ve practically grown up with.

you're painfully aware that you won't make it out of this arena alive. you don't possess the same fighting instincts as the others. your victory in your games came from hiding, staying just out of sight, letting the others kill each other off. the very thought of having to kill a stranger is unbearable, let alone people you care about. the mere idea of having to harm one of your friends, of losing your brother, of losing Johanna is enough to make your stomach churn.

—

"are you completely out of your fucking mind?!" you hear the loud, scathing words, each one landing like a punch. the voice is painfully familiar and it inevitably makes you flinch, your body involuntarily shrinking inwards.

Finnick flashes you a knowing smirk, patting your shoulder in a show of mock solidarity. "all yours, champ," he chuckles, his amusement clear as the day. he then saunters off towards a shadowy figure in the distance, a girl whose face you can’t quite make out, probably that District 12 girl he knew.

you take a deep, steadying breath before spinning around. there, standing in front of you, is Johanna Mason in all her intimidating glory. "Johanna," you greet, a gentle smile playing on your lips, a stark contrast to the situation at hand. "you look beautiful." attempting to soften the tension, you place your hand on the side of her bicep.

"do not," she practically snarls, her anger palpable as she slaps your hand away with a quick, sharp movement. "what the hell were you thinking, y/n? volunteering? Why the fuck would you do that?!" her stern tone echoes around you.

"Annie... she couldn't handle coming back here, Jo," you attempt to explain, your words desperate. "you have to understand…" as you speak, you silently curse the feelings you harbor towards the brunette. in this moment, you can't help but feel like a chastised child.

in many ways, you are a child. the games stole your innocence, your childhood, forcing you to navigate through a maze of emotions in the most unhealthy manner.

Johanna's sigh breaks the silence. the frustration is evident in her posture, her face, everything about her. "listen to me, okay?" she pleads, placing her hands on your shoulders with a firm grip. "i need you to stay with me, and trust in what i do, alright? i'll keep you safe." her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

you blink at her, taken aback. "both you and Finnick have said that to me now," you groan, shrugging her hands off of you. "i can take care of myself, Johanna. i know you guys don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. i’m just as much an adult as you are," your words are blunt, full of pent-up frustration.

"hey, no," the brunette argues, her grip tightening on your shoulders once more. "i know you’re an adult, y/n, i just- i'll feel a lot better in the arena knowing you’re safe." you frown, about to retort, but Johanna cuts you off, "promise me."

you sigh, "Johanna-"

"no, promise me. now," she insists, her eyebrows furrowing as she holds eye contact with you, her grip unyielding. "promise me, y/n. please."

your eyes search hers, finding nothing but sincerity. "fine." you grumble.

"say it, tell me you promise you’ll stay close to me."

"what if-"

"no 'what ifs', say it," she narrows her eyes, the intensity of her gaze unrelenting.

"i promise i’ll stay close to you," you mutter, puffing out your cheeks in defeat.

[rifari2037]

16. Do you think Zuko and Katara developed feelings for each other in canon or post-canon?

I think, Zutara developed feelings for each other in both canon and post-canon.

If talk about development feelings in general and not specifically about romantic feelings, I can say that their development feelings had been there since the beginning of the season.

When they first met, neither of them cared about each other's existence. Zuko didn't see Katara as a threat, while Katara only saw Zuko as someone from the Fire Nation. They were enemies, nothing more than that.

After they met a few times, Zuko's impression of Katara changed from an unimportant girl and terrible waterbender, to an enemy that couldn't be underestimated.

It's a development of the relationship.

Then, their conversation in the Crystal Catacomb became a significant development in their relationship.

Their feelings develop from enemies, to someone who can understand each other because they have the same experience, which is losing their mother.

Katara trusted Zuko enough to give him something she was saving for a very important situation. Meanwhile Zuko trusted Katara enough to let her touch his scar.

Katara's expression towards Zuko conveys different meanings, in the first scene she looked annoyed and in the second scene she looked hurt. It showed that after Zuko betrayed her, Katara's feelings for Zuko grew from hatred for an enemy to hatred for being betrayed.

No one would hurt when betrayed by an enemy, unless they already trusted their enemy on different level.

Their relationship development changed drastically after Katara forgave Zuko. Their feelings for each other changed from enemies to friends. And they became yin and yang, opposites but complementing and trusting each other.

When it comes to developing feelings romantically, I feel like the spark was there since their journey in Southern Raider. Moreover, I always had a headcanon that Zuko and Katara had a really deep moment together, until Zuko picked up the rest of the Gaang to Ember Island.

The spark was still so small, they could still deny it.

The spark grew bigger when they saved each other's lives when facing Azula. This moment makes a lot more sense if they were the ones kissing in the final scene.

Or if you follow the canon storyline, then their feelings would develop in post-canon, when they finally realised that their 'canon' partner wasn't a bad person, but not right for them. They could no longer deny their feelings for each other and end up together.

17. How do you think Iroh and Hakoda would react to Zutara?

Iroh and Hakoda are wise men, I feel like they wouldn't have a problem with Zuko and Katara's relationship.

First, Hakoda. He initially had a bad assumption of the Fire Nation royal family until Sokka said that Zuko could be trusted. And Zuko proved it by reuniting him with his daughter.

Not only that, Hakoda must saw when Zuko saved Katara from the rocks. Hakoda certainly could trust his daughter's safety to Zuko no matter what the stakes. And that was proven when he gave up his life to save Katara from Azula's lightning.

If they were together, Hakoda clearly had no worries about his daughter.

In post-canon, Katara couldn't deny her feelings for Zuko but she was hesitant. She thought about her mother who died because of the Fire Nation, how she ends up in a relationship with the Fire Lord?

Hakoda would convince Katara that Fire Lord Zuko wasn't the one who killed her mother, instead he was the one who brought her to her mother killer. And her mother wouldn't be happy to see her daughter kill her own heart because of her, after she sacrificed her life to keep her daughter alive.

Then Iroh. He knew his nephew very well, especially his stubborn nature. Iroh is wise and always sees things from a different perspective, he must felt that Katara was a good influence on Zuko. But still, I'm sure he was surprised when Zuko, without any hesitation, asked Katara to accompany him to facing Azula, rather than insisting on fighting her alone.

If they were together, Iroh must be sure they would complement each other, because he knew there was bond between them since Zuko took the lightening to save her.

In post-canon, Zuko couldn't deny his feelings for Katara but he was hesitant. As a Fire Lord, he was afraid that his people would not accept someone from the water tribe to become First Lady. Moreover, this had never happened before in the history of the Fire Nation royal family.

Iroh will convince Zuko that he has made history by declaring the end of the 100-year war, he as Fire Lord can also make history by marrying someone from the Water Tribe. Their marriage will be a symbol of peace between the Fire Nation and the other nations. Also, Zuko has a lot of responsibilities and Katara could help him to lead their people.

18. How do you think the Gaang would react to Zutara?

When Zuko and Katara surprised the Gaang that they were dating, no one shocked, except for Aang.

They were like, "I knew this day would come."

Zuko and Katara didn't realised that their love on each other was very obvious. The rest of the Gaang knew it from the start, but kept it quiet and gave them a chance to develop their own relationship.

I guess, the Gaang started to get suspicious at this point. They didn't know what their problems, but it seemed very personal.

Imagine after that, Zuko went to Sokka and talked about his sister. Since Zuko interrupted his date with Suki, Sokka must've told her and Suki started to wonder, "Is there something between them?"

After a little field trip with Zuko, they seemed to be very close, but they denied it. But, the more they denied it, the more it became clear there was something between them.

It was weird that during the performance of Ember Island Players, the Gaang always commented on various occasions, but they didn't comment or shocked during Zuko and Katara scene in the Crystal Catacomb.

I mean, the show did exaggerate the facts, but it was still based on reality. No one really knows what was going on between them and the scenes on stage were supposed to be controversial.

I was expecting a comment, maybe from Sokka as her brother, like, "Hey, you guys weren't really flirting, were you?" But no, Suki smiled instead and Sokka looked like it wasn't a surprise.

They denied it again when June teased that they were dating. Did the Gaang notice? Of course!

They held hands before, then they slept back to back, then Katara comforted Zuko before meeting his uncle, then Zuko asked Katara without hesitation to face Azula. And Gaang was there to notice all of that.

As I said before, all of the Gaang members are aware that there is something between Zuko and Katara, except Aang.

It wasn't like Aang didn't realise that, he just denied it because his attraction to Katara. He was still saw her as his 'forever girl'. But later, after Aang matured, he finally realised that his duty as the Avatar was far more important than his crush on Katara. The only way to open his chakra was to let Katara go and he did that.

Aang finally accepted the relationship between Zuko and Katara.

[aashi-heartfilia]

Why do we need a Ochako and Hawks conversation before the manga ends

I've been waiting for their conversation for centuries! Like these two definitely need to talk.

Ochako managed to do something that Hawks couldn't do. Toga and Twice both were really nice people and it's just their quirks led them to despair and they both realised this.

Hawks didn't wanna kill Jin Bubaigawara but he did because in his way, he was trying to be a hero, so he brutally killed his own friend but then what kind of hero does that? In MHA, there's a very thin line between heroes and villains and that has been pointed out several times.

Even with Ochako and Toga. Remember when Toga told Ochako how she used Ochako's quirk to kill a bunch of people during their 2nd battle? Ochako was horrified. The same quirk that Ochako uses to make everyone's problems weightless quite literally was used to kill people.

Ochako and Toga are very similar. They're both very cute and shy, they love to tie their hair up in buns, and even love the same boy which is why when Ochako wasn't able to empathize with Toga, she was hurt because she thought at least chako would understand...

Horikoshi loves to draw parallels between certain characters and their storylines and one such beautiful parallel is this...when later on Ochako notices Toga's tears in the final battle.

"She loved seeing people happy. So of course she zeroed in on her tears"

Beautiful narration, amazing storytelling

It is a way for us as readers to tell that Ochako has now grown, as she is now seeing Toga as a person, not as a villain, just as a person who was sad and crying.

Like it's outright stated for us in the manga, so I don't understand people who think Ochako never got any character development because this is exactly where she differs from Hawks ideology.

Hawks was able to sacrifice Twice for the greater good, even if he himself regretted it later. The Public Safety Hero commission must have made him do other terrible things as well and he might have killed some more villains in secret just like Nagant.

We can cut him some slack though cause he was just following the orders, but then so did Ochako. Tsu even points it out, that killing Toga would have been much easier just like Hawks suggested, but her friend Ochako took a harder route and is trying to confront her.

Plus, Hawks had a chance to correct his mistake and yet when Twice (actually Toga) appeared in the battlefield again, his first instinct was to kill him.

MHA is not a story about killing people for greater good. We've seen in the latest chapter how both Dabi and Endeavour survived the war and while Dabi would live for only some time, he would have some moments of peace with his father. They can at least try to heal what was broken.

Killing twice was definitely not a good idea cause his will continued within Toga. She took her revenge and killed so many heroes on the same battlefield. As long as their despair and sadness is not confronted, the problem is not yet solved. We've seen it with Toga and Shigaraki.

Which is why I said that Ochako passed where Hawks failed.

Both Toga and Twice died, but at least Toga died smiling, happily to save someone she loved. Twice died to save his comrades while Toga sacrificed herself to save Ochako, an act of true love by the so-called villains.

And this needs to be addressed.

Plus there has been too much of a teaser about it...

Hawks witnessed the impact of Ochako's speech in ch 325. And she was the last thing that came to his mind before passing out...

Plus even their covers are a big parallel!

So with all that being said, if Ochako and Hawks didn't have a conversation before this manga ends, it would really be such a missed opportunity and quite a shame.

~Sunshine

[muraar]

Precursor

Blissful fools or perhaps it was intentional on thier parts, but something existed between the two of you.

Jiyan x reader. Feat song: like you do- joji

Wc: 2k, gn!reader

Mentions of self-destruction?? i mean its nothing heavy, but the reader is implied to have a destructive resonance ability that causes damage to them as well. 

We're not beating the yearning allegations with this one 🗣🗣🗣

Moonlight seeped over the marred backdrop, bathed in the silvery incandescence, the previously war-torn land looked …serene. 

A quaint stillness presided over the expanse, an aftermath they ever ardently sacrificed for, a respite attained through blood and hardships alike. Vestiges loomed over in memories and corporeality alike, but this night, tonight, languid in its wake, made it all the more absolute what it is that they truly fought for. 

The air felt crisp and clean; a cool breeze blew from the west, carrying with it a scent of wood mingled with earthy dirt and the lingering trace of the campfire. The sky above, clear and bright, held no clouds and offered a magnificent display of stars scattered across the horizon, twinkling against the velvet black void.

 It wasn’t often that the General of the Midnight Rangers found himself in such a peaceful pace, so much so that he allowed his eyes to close momentarily, savoring the sensation before slowly opening them again.

The forested hillside stretched on as far as his eye could see, a dark blanket concealing most of the area beyond, though a few small lights dotted the landscape.

“Come here often?” 

Interposed in your mirthful voice, followed soon after by lazy footsteps as you approached him on a leisurely pace, taking measured steps and being mindful of the support sling over your contused left shoulder. Remnant from the recent clash with Overthrax, one that you hoped to don as a proud medallion one day. 

Startled slightly by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, Jiyan turned around. His golden eyes met yours, reflecting a mix of surprise and relief at your presence. The moonlight played across his angular features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Despite the weight of recent events, there was a hint of warmth in his expression.

“[Name]”

He acknowledged, a faint frown etched on handsome feathers as he took in your oncoming figure 

“You should be resting” 

His tone was laced with concern that threatened to suggest more than just camaraderie, belying a fierce need to ensure your safety and well-being, which was countered with a light and easygoing chuckle of your own, its timbre reverberating against the tranquil backdrop of the night. 

“You worry too much” 

Came your smooth and curt reply, as you continued your trek toward the teal-haired man, taking nimble footsteps until you stood beside him. Eyes gazing over the expanse laid bare before you, one functional hand reaching out to grip the reinforced railing as you leaned your weight over the cool metal. 

Jiyan watched as you moved towards him, the ease of your gait suggesting a familiarity with pain that made his chest tighten.

“Worry is my duty,”

He responded quietly, turning his attention back to the breathtaking panorama before them

“And perhaps a personal failing.”

His eyes flickered towards you, tracing the curve of your profile against the dark skyline

“Only because you don't seem to worry nearly enough” 

A commonly used and familiar jab at the reckless abandon and lack of self-preservation that followed you every time you set foot in any physical confrontation. You shook your head and let out a sharp breath, smiling inwardly at being chastised like this; it's not like you voluntarily choose to have the resonance power associated with risks. But then again, research directed that resonator abilities were influenced by personal experiences and the subconscious. So perhaps….you weren't completely out of incrimination for these maladaptive tendencies. 

It would be amiss to deny the thrill you felt when your life was on the line, increasingly fluctuating odds fueling adrenaline-infused nerves. There was something incredibly exhilarating about self-destruction. Perhaps the way you could feel your heart racing whenever someone threatened you was a form of excitement, or maybe you were just addicted to the chase and had become so entranced by the thrill of danger you'd given up on ever feeling truly safe and secure-

“It's hard not to care.”

Stern words broke through your impromptu round of introspection and seemed to slip out involuntarily, carrying a weight that surprised even himself. There was another short pause, filled with both contemplative and thoughtful stillness, only broken by the soft rustle of trees against the night wind.

You stood still for just a second or so, facing the moonlight expanse, yet your mind was anything but focused on the twilit spectacle.

“I don't worry…because I don't have to” 

Maneuvering and turning your head slightly, your eyes met his protective depths of golden met with resolute ones of your own. The air seemed to be still, and time slowed even as the moment stretched on. 

“You worry enough for the both of us”

The words left your lips with such ease because, and it was easy, intuitive almost. Somewhere along the lines, along the countless battles faced side by side, it had become second nature for you. Blindly, irrevocably, heading first into the belly of the beast, you threw yourself into the gallows, tested the lines between this world and the nether relm, just like your forte circuit demanded of you.

Danger nipped at skin and mind alike. Each confrontation translated into an intimate play between you and death, and every time you bid farewell to her for a teal-haired anchor that tethered you to the land of the living. 

Was this what people defined as co-dependency? A reckless warrior and a general with concern ingrained into his very being? 

Breaking off the intense eye contact you looked down at the injured limb, cradled underneath meticulous bandage work.

“And I don't regret risking myself” 

The confession was resolute, perhaps careless even as the wind tussled through your wild locks, as if nature acknowledged your tempestuous nature. 

His gaze lingered on your face, studying the lines etched by time and trials, wishing he could somehow protect you from further harm while acknowledging the futility of such thoughts. His mind pondered after a moment's pause, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him.

“But there comes a point when caution becomes necessary for survival.”

He sighed deeply, hands clutching the railing a bit too forcefully.

“I don't want to see you hurt”

The unspoken plea hung heavy in the air between them, a testament to the depth of unspoken words.

“Careful there, General, you might just start graying with how much you stress out.”

Came your lopsided reply, cutting clean through the heaviness of the conversation at hand. 

Jiyan couldn't help but chuckle softly at your jest, the sound rolling off his tongue with surprising ease. Yet, the humor did nothing to dispel the underlying tension that seemed to permeate every aspect of their interaction.

“Better me than you” 

He admitted ruefully, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“But seeing you safe and well is worth every strand of gray.”

His gaze locked onto yours, the sincerity in those golden orbs impossible to miss.

An amused chuckle escaped unsuspecting lips, crescent crinkles emerged around your eyes as you entertained the notion just spoken of.

"That's...awfully sentimental. Tell me, have you been watching those hero plays?"

Using the moment of inquiry, you turned around unsoldierly, leaning back until your shoulder blades rested against the railing that had grown accustomed to supporting your weight.

Jiyan arched an eyebrow at your comment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.*

“Hardly,”

He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just stating facts.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the intensity in his gaze betrayed the casualness of his words.

“We've been through too much together for me not to care about your wellbeing.”

The admission hung heavily between them, punctuating the charged atmosphere with its weighty significance.

His words caused a soft smile to emerge upon your lips, as a foreign warmth bubbled beneath sternum and the organ that rested underneath.

"Been through enough to elicit care and worry...but not enough to have faith in my abilities?"

Jiyan's expression softened at your words, a flicker of guilt flashing across his features before being swiftly concealed behind a mask of stoicism. He leaned into your side, closing the distance between you two, until only a sliver of moonlight escaped from the rift between the parted lips. 

“I do have faith in your abilities,”

He said earnestly, meeting your gaze head-on.

“It's just...hard to watch someone so dear go through pain and suffering.” 

You let out a sharp breath; the air being forced out of your lungs as you felt your chest spasm and convulse, your demeanor tempered by the sheer discipline ingrained in your very being.

“Pain and suffering, huh?”

You mused as the conscious reeled through the twists and turns that led and shaped your life as it is today. 

The life you chose. 

Or was it the one fate forced you to tread on?

All these years on this planet and the real depths of your impulses eluded you still.

“They seem to be the staples of this life though...and better me than some poor innocent soul out there”

But at least there was reassurance that your hands of violence were good for something. At least there was consolation in the fact that your fists weren't merely tools meant to tear apart lives, they were weapons that protected. And if you were destined to die young in battle it was best to die doing your part. To die with honor, a worthy cause.

To die as someone who had earned the privilege of a life worth remembering.

Jiyan nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words.

“You're not wrong”

He conceded after a moment's pause.

“And I suppose it doesn't make sense for me to shield you from everything. And I'm aware of the irrationality of my sentiments. But know this - every time you're hurt or put yourself in danger, it feels like a part of me is ripped away.” 

His voice was heavy with emotion, belying the depth of his feelings for you.

“Then give it to me” 

Words rolled past your lips with no premonition of consideration behind them, instinctual, thoughtless. 

"Join that part with me," 

Your voice a brazen whisper, its emergence a stark act of rebellion against modus vivendi dictated by logic alone. 

"so that it's never ripped away again."

Those words imitated a dare, challenging fate and hearts alike. 

Jiyan's heart raced as he gazed deeply into your eyes, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily upon his soul. A thousand unspoken promises danced between them, their connection forged by shared experiences and a bond that transcended mere camaraderie. Something primal stirred within him - an ancient longing that transcended reason and logic alike.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he leaned forward slowly until his lips brushed lightly against yours. 

“I want to be connected to you…more than anything”

He whispered hoarsely against your mouth, feeling a surge of heat course through his veins at the contact. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the warmth of your breath ghost across his face, the tantalizing scent of your perfume filling his senses.

Just as lips were about to touch, a shrill beeping sound pierced through the silence. Both of them froze mid-movement. Their Pangu terminal vibrated on both ends. The holographic screen flashed with an urgent message from the city: Incoming threat detected.

The spellbinding moment shattered like fragile glass underfoot, scattering fragments of desire and passion across the floor. Leaving them both gasping for air like fish out of water. Jiyan blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the lingering effects of their near-kiss.

The message was clear: duty called.

Without another word, he turned to face you fully – only to find that you had vanished without a trace, leaving behind a gentle tussle of wind and torn bandages, in your wake.

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

a/n

Jiyan convene fucked me over so badly. i cannot even tell you, because its downright embarrassing.

just know that i have him now, somehow.

mans not getting any happy ending from me 😒😒😒. Keep pining and yearning you mf !!! YOU AINT GETTING LAID !!!

[dofushiza]

Doflamingo and the Donquixote Pirates: Does he love them?

Doflamingo and the Donquixote Pirates are one of the most complex dynamics in One Piece, and fans are often split on whether Doflamingo truly loves his family. My take? He does, but it’s incredibly complicated.

From a young age, Doflamingo was raised by people who drilled into him the idea that their lives were expendable for his ambitions.

All the Donquixote Pirates grew up starving on the streets, seeing Doflamingo as their savior. Their journey began as street urchins, struggling to survive in a harsh world. To get by, they turned to a life of crime, driven by desperation and hunger. This life was all they knew until they encountered Doflamingo, a boy with incredible power.

To these people, Doflamingo was a ticket out of their miserable existence. They saw in him a potential leader who could offer them protection, purpose, and a chance to rise above their circumstances. In their eyes, he was a savior who could change their fate.

In turn, they fed Doflamingo toxic ideologies, reinforcing his already warped sense of self-worth and destiny. They told him he was destined for greatness and that their lives were a small price to pay for his ascent to power. This constant reinforcement shaped Doflamingo's mindset, making him believe that true loyalty meant being willing to die for one's leader.

As they followed him, the bond between Doflamingo and his crew grew more complex and entangled. His followers' unwavering loyalty and willingness to sacrifice themselves bolstered his belief in his own superiority and right to rule. He saw their sacrifices as proof of their devotion, not realizing that he was perpetuating a cycle of manipulation and exploitation.

This twisted form of loyalty is evident in many ways, such as Monet willingly sacrificing herself for him to save Caesar. It’s clear that his crew’s dedication feeds into his toxic mindset.

Take Baby 5, for instance. Doflamingo killed her predatory fiancés, but he never had a heartfelt conversation about stranger danger with her . He’s too damaged to provide that kind of emotional guidance.

When Law held Giolla captive and Doflamingo hesitated in his attack on the Sunny, Giolla later expressed she’d happily die for him. This reinforced his skewed perception of loyalty.

He has moments that show genuine care, like getting angry when Law used his powers on Buffalo and Baby 5 or insisting that no one laugh at Pica’s voice. He compliments Diamante, likely to get him off his ass and do his job.

Doflamingo’s care for Caesar Clown is another intriguing aspect. Ensuring Caesar’s safety would keep him safe from Kaido’s wrath, but he also calls Caesar his “cute subordinate” in the original Japanese, indicating some level of affection.

The complexity deepens with Corazon. Doflamingo only hinted at wanting Corazon to use the Op-Op Fruit to grant him immortality after Corazon left and the Navy was conveniently off their tails. He suspected his brother of being a spy and may have wanted to hurt him out of betrayal. Though I might be grasping at straws with this one.

In his own twisted way, Doflamingo tries to “help” by taking kids off the street and giving them powers to fight against the oppressive society they were born into . However, this is a mirror of his own upbringing, where Trebol groomed him to be a criminal and surrounded him with people who would die for him. Intentionally or not, Doflamingo perpetuates this cycle with his subordinates.

Ultimately, Doflamingo’s love for his family is there, but it’s marred by a lifetime of manipulation, violence, and a deeply ingrained toxic mindset.

[therandomfandomme]

I think a large part of why Eurylochus feels so betrayed in Mutiny is because he has put Odysseus on a moral pedestal and Odysseus just put more blood on his hands. Like, in Scylla it's clear he still feels a lot of guilt about opening that windbag, inadvertently killing a large part of their fleet. He let those men die in his eyes, he sacrificed them. And for him, Odysseus is better than him, because he wouldn't do that, which is why Eurylochus brings up the Cyclops and Circe, where Odysseus went the extra mile to ensure the safety of their men. Yet, here he let six men die, but not only that, he asked Eurylochus to light up six torches, to give those orders, to pick the men who were to light their way. Odysseus unknowingly put Eurylochus in a situation where he also had a hand in a situation he never wanted to go through again and he only followed those orders, because he believed that Odysseus would never do such a thing. It's such a gut wrenching mix of emotions, that betrayal, from both sides.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part six

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, blood, and death

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.3k

You had to get out of there.

Tremors shook the ground as another shell made impact somewhere far to your right but it was close enough that the explosion left your ears ringing. You flattened your back further against the fallen wall behind you when you heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire, the rubble that cut into your skin barely registered in your mind from the adrenaline that rushed through you. But the cacophony of noise amalgamated into something continuous, something malevolent and cruel; something that promised death in its wake. 

Bullets embedded themselves in a column, a wall, a body–everywhere–and fine pieces of debris flew and pelted against the exposed skin of your cheeks and against your helmet. Your eyes watered from the fine powder of pulverised cement and the oppressive heat, while your lungs were smothered by smoke and a choking stench–something like freshly-laid asphalt mixed with the distinct, rancid smell of burnt human flesh, sulphuric and sharp. 

Through lidded eyes you witnessed the depravity; the extent of humanity’s appetite for senseless destruction and anarchy. It was total chaos–no, it was worse than that: it was butchery and brutality at its finest; a type of hell on earth.

All around you were bodies upon bodies, men and women alike–children. Their faces, frozen and pallid, permanently bore imprints of terror and agony; their crooked fingers and still eyes fixated to the sky imploring in violent judgment–resentful and anguished in their silence–the unspoken question: 

Why?

Why? 

Why?

Everything overwhelmed you all at once: the sight and the smell made your stomach churn to no end. Even when you heaved the remnants of your stomach to the ground, the nausea remained, pulsing and gnawing.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you brought your camera to your eye and you willed the shaking in your bones to still. 

You took a shot. 

Another round of bullets splattered to a nearby wall and this time, you threw yourself front-first to the ground and you felt the rhythm of your heart reverberating against the mud. And a sinking feeling hit you. You’d bore witness to many conflicts, faced mortal peril, and was familiar to death like it was an old friend. Each time you were in such a situation, hopelessness never got the better of you–it was like you’d always known you were going to make it out each time. 

This time it was different, you could feel it in your bones. You were going to die here and it wasn’t a matter of if, just when and how. 

But you had a job. If you were going to die, you would die being the mouthpiece for the ones who’d already been silenced–from their premature deaths or from the hand of the power meant to protect them or both–to show the world what they’d suffered, what they’d sacrificed.

With that in mind, you steeled yourself. You loaded your camera with another ring of film, fingers stiff from the cold and marred by blood and mud, and you captured the scene.

Repeat.

There were people screaming, running, clamouring for survival. As you moved with them, you kept an eye out for other survivors who needed help to get out of there. You scanned the faces for the familiar ones of Jones and Gilda but they were nowhere to be seen. You’d lost track of them after the initial explosion and the chaos that followed so the only thing you could do now was to look for them as you went and hope for their safety. 

Meter by meter, inch by inch, you moved slowly away from the direction of gunfire. You were farther ahead now but the gunners were still dangerously close, still close enough to be able to catch up to where you were if they continued their pursuit, so you remained crouched and cautious for any sound that could indicate danger. 

When you came across the rubble of a fallen building–freshly destroyed by artillery from the smoke that came from it–you heard a whimper. It startled you; the softness of the sound barely pierced through the ringing in your ear but when you peered under a slab of concrete braced by a rugged beam, you caught sight of a scene that shattered what was left of your heart.

In the shadows, big eyes that you could not mistaken belonged to a child shone with terror, a little girl that looked no more than ten years of age, her mouth partly open in fear. You could discern another person next to the child but they weren’t moving at all and from the blood smeared on the girl’s cheek, you had a sinking feeling that the other person was dead. 

Gunfire echoed somewhere behind you and you flinched at its closeness. How did they get so close so fast? You needed to get the both of you out of there. If you could save this child’s life then maybe, just maybe, your life was worth something after all. 

You raised both of your hands up and spoke gently, hoping the little girl would be able to understand that you were there to help as you stooped to fit through the gap. The child hesitated and receded further back into the rubble so you tried again as you inched closer to where the other person laid unresponsive, patient despite the ever-closing sound of shots being fired. 

You reached the other person–a woman–and when you placed two fingers against her pulsepoint and found no rhythm, you bit your quivering lip and looked at the child, chest heavy. And as if the little girl finally understood that you meant no harm, she inched towards you and placed her small hand in your open one. With a firm yet gentle grip on the girl, you guided the both of you out of the rubble.

Once outside, you carried the little girl behind a wall, heart breaking when you felt her shiver and at the fact that it took little effort carry to her for she weighed so little. And now with light and cover, you inspected the little girl.

To your relief, other than the trail of flaking blood that originated from the crown of her head and on her cheeks, the little girl looked like she didn’t sustain any other physical injuries. Satisfied for the time being you began to tend to her, gave her water and what little food you had on you, and then wiped away the blood.

After she finished, you detached the velcro of your bulletproof vest and unbuckled your helmet before you put them on the little girl. Then you hoisted the girl up on your back, leaving your camera dangling heavily on your chest.

You managed to sneak across the district without being noticed but you knew the danger was never far away. A little farther on, you began to recognise key landmarks that let you know you were close to the base you came from. So even when the muscles in your legs protested for you to rest, you pushed on.  

Not a moment later though did loud shots fill the air and immediately, you fell to the ground, feeling fine rubble and shrapnels cut into the side you landed on as you manoeuvred your body so that the child wouldn’t get hurt. The little girl cried out and adrenaline coursed through your veins, instinct driving you to keep the child safe so you pushed the two of you against a nearby wall, your back to the open space while you shielded the child with your body, her head safely caged between your arms and chest.

You craned your head over your shoulders to figure out where the shots were fired but then a feeling of lightness passed through you followed by a growing thickness at the back of your throat. You coughed, the force of it made you keel forward, and as you looked down you saw fresh blood splattered on the face of the girl, her eyes wide with horror as she looked up at you.

Then you felt it, a burning sensation that enveloped the entirety of your right side which left you cold. When you looked to your side your shirt clung to your skin, soaked with blood.

No. 

You sputtered again and you tried to breathe but the pain only intensified and instead of feeling relief, the act smothered you–it felt like you were drowning. Then everything began to blend together: the shapes lost their edges and some images doubled, but the light seemed to intensify on its own, swallowing all in its wake. Then you sagged forward and the ringing in you ears, too, blared unceasingly.

No.

You must… 

The child… 

Wait. 

Alexia–

“–are you okay?”

You started as Derek’s voice brought you from your reverie, your mind someplace else that you’d already forgotten but the feeling that you were missing something important lingered behind in the back of your mind.

“Huh?” 

“Honey, your brother’s been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Are you alright?” The familiar voice of your mom brought your focus to her. She sat at the head of the long table while Derek opposite you, and you found twin pairs of blue eyes looking at you with concern. Your mom stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor as she did and she made her way towards you. She put a palm over your forehead once she was close enough before she asked, “do you have a fever?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m just–” You began but suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over you which left you cold. It was as if a sheet of ice was put over you and you felt the coldness cling to your bones, weighing you down as your body slowly began to freeze over. “I’m–I’m just tired. I think I’ll rest up now.” 

When you moved to stand, staggering slightly due to the weakness in your knees, Derek snatched your hands and clung to them, and you looked at him in alarm, eyes wide.

“Please, don’t. Don’t.” He said through gritted teeth, the corners of his mouth drooped low in a pained grimace, blue eyes glazed over and brows furrowed in a silent plea. 

His obsecration confused you and you were about to ask him why you shouldn’t rest if you felt tired when your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle yet firm. You turned to her and when you found her gaze, she wore the same expression as your brother. 

“You’re brother’s right, honey. Just–please, just stay with us for a bit more.” 

What was going on? Why weren’t they letting you go?

Another wave of fatigue doused over you but this time, pain erupted from your chest. So intense was it that it nearly made you keel over the table, nails digging into its hard surface as you tried to catch your breath but with each inhale the more it felt like you were running out of air.

“I’ll–I’ll join you in a bit. I just… I just need a nap.” You staggered to your feet, pulling your hands away from Derek’s grip with the remaining strength you had and brushed off your mom’s protest.

As you passed the full-body mirror just beside your bedroom door, you saw your reflection, haggard and pale, and with her were the familiar silhouettes of the people that haunted you… your mother and father. They stood there behind you–your mother to your right and your father to the left–but you only found an empty space where they stood when you whipped your head back to look for them.

So there you stood, rooted in front of the mirror as you soaked their images in but for some reason, your couldn’t quite discern their faces. They were blurred; it was as if someone had swiped their thumb over the freshly laid ink of their image and made their features indecipherable. 

Longing prompted you to reach out a hand to try and trace the lost edges of their faces but instead of meeting the mirror’s smooth surface like you expected, your fingers sank into the mirror like it was made of water. Quickly, in fear that it would hurt you, you retracted your hand and you watched in awe as the mirror image went still again, back to the reflection of yourself and your parents.

Then out of curiosity you plunged your hand again into the mirror and instead of feeling pain, you felt… nothing. The sensations in your hand in the mirror stopped as if it had ceased to exist completely. 

Would it soothe then the pain in your body if you stepped into it?

The thought tempted you and you stepped forward, ready to sink into this silver miracle, but something stopped you–a weight on your shoulder pulled you back from the mirror. You staggered backwards, caught off guard from the force of it, but when you looked back you found nobody however this time, when you returned your attention to the mirror, the reflection of your parents was gone. 

Emotions bubbled in your throat, bitter grief and burning confusion a familiar taste on your tongue. Where did they go? Why did they leave you? And as these questions filtered through your mind, another wave of exhaustion doused over you, its weight was unbearable. You needed relief, and soon.

You were ready to step into the mirror–into oblivion–but it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, everywhere you looked there was nothing, just negative space as if the light had dissolved all existence but you. You looked down and you saw your reflection on the still water you were apparently standing on. 

It was so still, so peaceful, and you feel so heavy. It would be easy to just sink into this blissful nothingness–this silence–after… that’s right, after having witnessed the revolting boil of humanity’s thirst for blood. Yes, that was it, the reason you were here: you were here to forget. 

The longer you stared into the water, the more your will to remain standing frayed. 

Not a moment later, you let yourself be plunged downwards into the cold water. Into nothingness. 

You woke with a start, breathing sharply as you did, the sensation of falling still with you and the memory of the dream you just had lingered. It was about… what was it?

When you opened your eyes, you found golden light and you squinted at the stream of the early sun that found its way through the gap between the heavy curtains. Your cheek was warm against Alexia’s bare back and you relished the way her muscles shifted beneath her skin as she breathed, still deep asleep. 

With her so close like this a sense of peace and calm washed over you, the kind that only Alexia’s presence could provide. You turned your head slightly and shifted closer to her, pressing a soft kiss on one of her shoulder blades before you nuzzled the nape of her neck where her scent was most prominent.

You sighed as you breathed her in.

“What are you up to back there?” Alexia’s voice, rough and heavy from slumber, met your ears and the question elicited a small laugh from you.

“Nothing. Just getting comfortable.”

Alexia hummed then she murmured, “come here.”

You moved as she began to turn and disappointment filled you from the separation but when she pulled you into her embrace after she settled on her back, the disappointment quickly faded away. And when she kissed you, soft and languid, everything melted away except for the tender warmth of Alexia’s lips.

You were content.

Suddenly, a gnawing feeling seeped into the edges of your mind and, little by little by little, apprehension filled you. There was something you’d forgotten, somewhere you needed to be.

You pulled away from Alexia’s lips. “What time is it?”

“Don’t go.”

Her answer jarred you. You lifted yourself up on your elbow and considered Alexia, confused as to why she would say such a thing. She knew you had to go. How could you not go? Where else could you possibly be? So you asked her as much.

“No, you don’t have to. Please.” Alexia placed a hand on your cheek, her eyes glassy. You sighed, turned your cheek away from her touch, and extricated yourself from her warm embrace. You stood at the foot of the bed and regarded Alexia again who was now sitting up, the sheets pooled around her waist, her chest bare, shoulders hunched forward as she looked at you. You only shook your head before you went into the en suite bathroom to get ready.

Once you got in the shower you, unsurprisingly, thought of Alexia and your confusion returned twofold. Why was she making this difficult? She knew you had to go. You already told her… 

At that thought, you frowned as you tried to remember. When did you tell her? Why did you need to leave? The questions were beginning to make your head hurt so you left the shower, wrapped yourself in a towel and headed to the closet. In there, you found your stack of simple white clothes. You picked a white shirt and a matching pair of jeans and you made your way to the bedroom door. 

As you passed by the bed, you saw Alexia just as you left her and from where you stood, you saw how small she looked. And those eyes… they shone with something you could only name as plea, the tears in them now in danger of falling. 

Your chest ached and so did your head. 

You shook your head and made your way to Alexia, pressed an apologetic kiss against her temples, then you moved to the door.

You opened it and an abyss greeted you, a world of no outlines, shape nor colour, just a brilliant white that called to you. Its pull was magnetic, like a tide that wanted to sweep you away, but there was something keeping you in place, an invisible tether and it was anchored to the woman sitting in your bed.

“Please, don’t go.”

You had one foot out of the door when Alexia spoke with such gentleness you couldn’t do anything but look over your shoulder. The sight of her crying made the pounding in your temples unbearable and the pain in your chest blazed anew, excruciating and cruel. The world blurred and warmth slipped down your cheeks. 

Why were you crying? Why was this difficult? You had to leave, you were about to miss something important.

“Alexia, why?” You sobbed, clutching your chest. It hurt.

She was out of the bed now, right beside you, and she reached out and cupped your face with one hand, the other went to your hand on the door handle. Her touch that used to soothe you, that used to bring you peace and clam, sent pain to every nerve in your body. You gasped, your chest was in danger of bursting and your knees lost their strength. And then you remembered why you needed to leave: you needed this pain to disappear; you had to get better.

Finally, your knees buckled under your weight but Alexia was there to catch you, her body strong and firm, and oh, so warm.

“Alexia, please let me go,” you sobbed into her arms. 

Everything hurt. But she held you, unyielding.

“Stay. Please, stay with me,” she whispered in your ear and the words were followed by another wave of pain. This time, you screamed in agony and clawed at Alexia’s shoulders to get yourself away but still, she didn’t budge.

“I got you. I got you. I got you,” she repeated as every nerve in your body screamed at you. Everything coalesced into a singular, never-ending noise but Alexia’s voice pierced through the veil like a silver lining, a life line that you held onto as you were washed away into an ocean of light.

[hispg]

Safe haven

Pairings: Leon x Reader

Wc:4.0k

Summary: How Leon deals with his ptsd over the years.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, depressive thoughts, suicidal intent, Leon hating himself.

An: This one follows the cannon order, so it starts with r2 Leon, r4, r6, vendetta, ends with Death Island.

Denial

Since Leon returned from Raccoon City, nothing has been the same. You've seen the man you knew die day after day, his personality changing like water to wine. And he knew it, he knew it better than anyone.

You still remember perfectly when he arrived, covered in blood, with a bandage on his arm, a face with the most terrified expression you could imagine.

The horrors he had witnessed in that place were simply out of this world. What should have been a simple first day at work turned into a living hell. There were things he wouldn't erase from his memory, the way he had to kill all his co-workers, the way he saw everyone around him die. He felt bad, guilty, even though he had no control over it.

It was a lot for one person, a lot for him to process.

A night that would mark him for the rest of his life.

In order not to involve you too much in the subject, he never went into too much detail, just briefly saying something or other. But you could imagine, the way his fear was clear on his face, his lips trembling every time he tried to talk to you about what had happened.

You saw the way he woke up every night, covered in a layer of sweat, whimpering and almost screaming in his room. He never slept properly, always woke up in a state of sheer panic, and it only got worse as time went on. It wasn't something he could control, not even he himself could believe that he had come out of that nightmare alive.

And he often wished he hadn't.

All he forced himself to believe was that it would be something momentary, an event that he would forget or at least get better with the passage of time.

But it didn't.

He beat himself up every day, unable to forget a single second of that night. He could have helped more, he could have done more, maybe he could have saved more people.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible. A simple situation where a hundred were sacrificed to save one.

There were days when he couldn't even leave the house, and he also begged you to stay with him. A panic attack that haunted him almost daily, he needed you to be there. At least he knew you would be safe by his side, and he needed you, as if you were the air he breathed.

All this was due to the fact that he couldn't cope on his own, if you didn't sleep next to him every night, he wouldn't even try to close his eyes. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to doze off for a single moment, not that he'd ever get a good night's sleep.

He often refused, refused to believe that it was real, refused to believe that it had ever happened. But every time he closed his eyes and heard the screams of agony echoing in his head, he remembered the painful reality.

It was almost customary for him to try to recover from everything he had experienced, to lift his face, wipe away the tears and force an expression from someone who was fine.

But you and he knew it was just a lie.

Everything took a turn for the worse when he was interrogated and basically forced to work for the government. It was a 'deal', he would work for the government in exchange for the little girl safety, a little girl called Sherry, who he found and saved in the middle of the chaos that night.

Although he didn't want to, he didn't think it was fair to let a girl as young as her suffer in a laboratory, maybe it was crazy to compromise his life for someone he barely knew. But that was him, the guy who put others before himself. So he accepted the 'agreement'.

He just wanted to be someone normal, to forget about that damn trauma, to forget about the pain of that night and to put all those events behind him.

But he couldn't, and maybe he wasn't ready for that fact.

The Leon of before no longer existed, maybe a small sketch left, but he would never be able to get back on his feet and be like before.

Never.

Anger

Leon's life began to turn upside down even more, after the hell that happened in Raccoon City, he was forced to go to military training, supposedly to serve the government. Even years after what happened, the night was still incredibly vivid in his mind. Every detail was stagnant in his memory, a mark he couldn't remove.

All he felt now was anger, all hidden in that sullen face that had become his usual expression. He hid behind it, hoping you wouldn't notice how cold and indifferent he was becoming. It was the only way to protect himself that he found.

And he hated that things were this way.

What he didn't expect was that he would become an agent working for the President. Everything that had already happened to him was enough, and he still seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Like a bottomless pit, he just fell lower and lower.

At this point he no longer cared about much, he was becoming more and more stressed with work and that damn training.

You lost count of how many times he came home scratched, bruised, with some part of his body purple. One time he even arrived with a broken rib, and he didn't even try to explain to you what had happened.

He just did his bandages silently, with your help. And he didn't even say a single word about it, and you worried like crazy. You didn't even know if he would arrive in one piece the next day.

It wasn't difficult to assimilate all the abuse he was suffering in that place, you had already heard a few times the way some of his training partners spoke to him on the phone. They weren't friendly at all.

All he did was hide what he felt with that sulky face, more and more you saw him becoming closed off. It was rare that he talked about his training, or his day.

Even he had become increasingly discreet about his nightmares, or even his anxiety attacks. He always thought he could handle it on his own, it was his problem. That he had learned to cope, or at least he thought he had.

Because it was the same story as always. Just a man doing what he hated, reliving the past and charting a hateful future.

And that couldn't be avoided.

And well, nothing got better when he was called to a mission in Spain, looking for the President's daughter. He didn't feel excited about the situation at all, he didn't even want to go. However, there wasn't much of an option.

He tried to warn you, in fact he didn't warn you, he just said he was going to Spain, just like that.

It wasn't hard to imagine that this caused a small fight between you, since he could at least tell you what it was about. But he didn't say.

"Don't pressure me, don't even try to look into things that's not your business." Leon hisses at you, turning his back and leaving you behind with tears in your eyes. All you heard after was the door slamming, and he disappeared for a few days.

Surely he knew the shit he had done, and every moment that passed he felt his heart tighten. His anxiety reaching its worst peaks. As he began to understand what was happening in that old village, he felt terror wash over him once again. The fear of not being able to return terrified him, he doesn't even know how he managed to stay upright in the face of all that.

He felt trapped in a nightmare again.

Another hell, he didn't even know that he would go through a situation similar to Raccoon City again, but to his displeasure it happened. Once again he doesn't know how he came out alive, he was terrified of witnessing death several times in a row. The only thing he thought about was going home, he needed a place to call home. And he needed you, in a way he couldn't put into words. So many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, especially seeing more people around him die. After having done everything he did to survive.

He needed someone.

Everything he had planned to tell you went down the drain as soon as he got home, the first thing he saw was you lying on the sofa, wearing one of his shirts.

It didn't take long for him to take off his boots, and walk towards you, he was shabby, a complete mess. It was no surprise.

He gently gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, so as not to wake you, and sat down on the floor next to you. He intended to spend the night there, as he certainly wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

With his fists clenched, his face set, a strange feeling running through his body. Once again he felt like it was a tantrum, but it wasn't.

A single tear wet his cheeks, followed by several others.

And then he realized, the reality of the facts caught up with him.

And the terrifying feeling returned.

Understanding

A few more painful years passed, and it was indeed optimistic to say that things had improved. It was as if everything was exhausting, he couldn't have fun with the things he liked.

As if his life was in a loop where he couldn't stop, he couldn't get out of it. It just kept going again and again, it shouldn't be like this.

But was.

It wasn't hard to notice how grumpy he had become. He was no longer someone of many words, and now he was even more closed off. If it was possible.

The grown beard that only showed how disinterested he was in his own appearance. He was at a point where he barely looked at himself in the mirror, his dark blond strands falling down his face. And he didn't even bother to trim his hair and leave it the way he liked it.

He didn't even look in the mirror, he hated every time he saw his own reflection. He learned to hate every one of his scars, every mark that remained from his missions, he hated with all of his heart. It was an otherworldly aversion, he shouldn't feel this way about himself, but that didn't matter. Not now.

He learned to hate himself.

He hated the way that even after all these years his traumas still haunted him, the way he still had those terrible nightmares. He hated the way he treated you, so cold and distant.

So different from what he once was.

Since it all started in Raccoon City, he always knew that the part of the soul he lost there he would never recover. But he didn't imagine things would be this bad.

It was as if no moment was good, as if everything revolved around his work and the problems that came with it. He became such a focused person that he would sometimes go days without showering, with his hair all messy and his face completely tired. From someone who hadn't had rest in days. And that person was exactly him.

He would often make minimal effort to talk to you, try to start a conversation and tell you how his day was going. But who said he could? The poor man got so used to keeping things to himself that sharing it was complicated.

The words tumbled in his mouth, he couldn't form a sentence that made any sense and didn't sound desperate. But he failed as soon as he said the first word, and just ended up changing the subject.

Therefore, he learned that nothing would be the same as before, even after all these years in which he hoped that things would change, for the better. But to his chagrin this didn't happen, and everything went downhill.

He tried his best to come to terms with all of this, since he was already someone who had seen a lot, and had already done a lot as well. But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, from feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

And it wasn't?

At that point he ignored what he felt, if he was called to a mission he would simply go, even though he was extremely upset about the matter. Because in those moments he realized that he was just an object of the government.

A powerful weapon that was capable of stopping the crap that happened here or there, and that was it. Just it.

Nothing more than a weapon.

What else could he expect? The turn things took only made the government's intentions clear, and he didn't approve at all. He was always against it, but who said he was listened to?

He had already accepted this, a cruel fate from which he had little option of escaping. He had already dealt with it.

He forced himself to believe those words.

All he could do was hate himself more and more, every time he came home tired and saw you, his heart broke.

How did he still have you by his side? How the hell was such a sweet person still willing to stay by his side. It wasn't fair.

He deserved to be alone.

Day after day he found himself looking for things to get rid of the bitterness that his life had become, what he found was drinking.

One of the few things that let him breathe, even if just for a few hours. It started slowly, but he needed to increase it.

It was an obligation, it was either that or get home and feel like the worst person in the world. This addiction started slowly, in a subtle way.

However, it then got out of control, and once again he found himself in his worst state.

"There's no turning back.." A whisper coming from him, drunk and completely out of his mind.

His life was a dead end, and he had no hope that it would get better.

Another day of remorse, another day living in his shoes.

Depression

The only consolation he found now was drinking, at least it helped the pain go away for a moment. Even though at some point he had to increase the doses more and more, he needed it to take effect.

If at any point he had tried to have some closeness with you back, that had ended in the last few months. He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone take care of you.

He was a different man, and not in a good way.

At that point he already accepted that he had lost himself, that he no longer had salvation, his mind was torturing him.

It was suffering just to be alive.

The fact that he always lost people around him, that he had to kill his own team because he wasn't able to save them. How the hell was he supposed to survive with this? How could he say everything was fine?

Everything around him was dying, like he had a curse around him or something. Not even he wanted to understand this. The weight of the years he lived in this torture was catching up to him.

And nothing could be done, once again.

The nightmares, the weight on his conscience, the memory of each of the missions. It was an unhealthy cycle he was trapped in.

Certainly an addiction wouldn't solve the situation, but what would? Pay nicely as always? Hold his head up and follow orders like a puppy?

"Piece of shit." That's what he mutters when he sees himself in the reflection of his cell phone, disappointed with the way everything is happening. How he was dealing with all of this. His appearance was different, hair more swept to the side, a longer beard. Clothes that not even he knew he would wear at some point.

But what would be the other way? How?

Disappointment, anger, depression, all mixed up in his head. He didn't know what he should do with these bottled up feelings that were haunting him day after day.

All the missions, all the people he lost, everything he experienced. How could someone go through so much like that?

How could he have gone through this and still somehow moved on?

This time he didn't even bother trying to hide from you the displeasure he had created for life, he rarely spent time at home, and when he did it was all day grumbling or drinking.

A great guilt invaded him when you cried because nothing you tried to do seemed to help, but this wasn't about you.

It was about him.

His mood only worsened when Chris called him to another mission, actually it wasn't really a call, more like a statement that he was going to another mission.

This was his life for the last few years, mission after mission, without even a moment for himself, not that he was going to do anything other than drink in the meantime.

What could have happened special this time? Another mission where he comes close to death several times, where he simply doesn't know if he'll return home in one piece. And he could swear he didn't care about it or not.

At least he thought so.

But perhaps the fact of working with people close to him this time made him see that things could be worth it again. Although it wasn't the friendliest place to think this, he couldn't deny that it gave him some comfort since he worked with people he knew, especially Chris, who was one of the few people he liked at work. Despite grumbling a lot.

He appreciated the fact that things ended well this time, for the first time in a long time.

There was still a little light in the good things, in the little daily things. Sometimes things didn't always have a bad ending.

The people around him wouldn't always fade away or betray him, that wouldn't always be the course of things.

Maybe now he was ready to start improving a little, maybe yes, maybe no. He would only know if he tried.

Once the madness of the mission was over, all he could think about was you, he could only think about seeing you one more time after everything that had happened. It was a desire so big that it couldn't fit in his chest.

You can bet he was counting the minutes until he got home, he needed to feel your presence again. He needed to know that he had people who were there for him.

He needed your comfort, your reassurance.

Once he got home the first thing he did was look for you, it was more than a desire, it was a need.

Without you even realizing it, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter, with an almost unremarkable smile. You even surprise yourself, since it had been a good few months since you had seen even a trace of a happy expression on his face.

"I'm back.." He says in a whisper, looking at you gently for the first time in a while.

You look at him a little hesitantly, wanting to give him a hug, not knowing if he wanted that or not.

A simple gesture but one that made your day, he opened his arms to you, waiting for you to do what you wanted.

Without a shadow of a doubt he needed this as much as you did.

Maybe there's still a way out. Maybe there is still a way.

Acceptance

Leon was trying, he was trying his best to be a better man. You could tell that, the way he was cutting back on alcohol, the way he was trying to be more attentive to you.

These little things indicated an effort on his part, he didn't want to hate himself anymore, he didn't want to feel so indifferent anymore. Maybe it was time for a change, he didn't need to be like this anymore.

He had people he could count on, and after all, he had you. That even after his coldness in recent years, you never left him, it was time to reciprocate.

And of course there were things he couldn't let go of so easily, especially his problems with trauma, and he already knew that it was a weight he would carry for the rest of his life.

He would never forget.

But he was also trying to learn not to be like that anymore, things could still have a good side. He could still have hope, even if it was a mere drop. Life had been hard on him from the beginning, but he needed to find some motivation. He couldn't live regretting forever, putting himself down every time.

It was time to rise again, time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Little by little, and of course he would never be the same as before. But he could be a better person, and he would do everything he could to make that happen. You could notice this drastic change even more, since he came back from the last mission, he was different. So proof is that, as soon as he got home he hugged you, and spent a good ten minutes like that.

Probably feeling overwhelmed with yet another mission, duties that seemed to never end. But he wouldn't think about that now.

He wanted to try to be happy. At least one attempt.

Small efforts, for example trying to open up to you, saying few things, but it was a great start. He knew that if he continued like this he would be able to share his problems with you, it certainly wouldn't weigh so much on him if he could share them with you.

His mind was still a mess, but he was trying to organize himself, put his thoughts in order. It was a long and difficult road, but he wanted to bet that he would make it.

It was the glimmer of hope he had.

Leon now went out with you, took you for rides on his motorbike. He begins to realize that life could go beyond work, that not everything needs to be so bad.

You could see him smiling more, he had even gone back to making those corny jokes that never failed to make you laugh. Most importantly, he seemed content, sometimes even at peace with himself.

The desire he had to disappear, little by little was fading, and he began to gain a little more zest for life. Things wouldn't always go wrong, and he could relax a little, even try to let his guard down whenever possible.

Even once you caught him laughing like a fool on his cell phone, only to see him having fun watching a video of a dog, which in his eyes was incredibly funny.

Seeing this, you decide to give him a pet on his birthday. And you almost cried once you saw the joy in his eyes, that sparkle in his eyes that you missed so much.

"I love you." A shy and low voice, accompanied by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. How long has it been since you last heard this? The sweet way the phrase slid across his lips. A moment so subtle but so sweet, and one that you hoped would be repeated more and more.

Life was worth it, he would make it worth it again.

[miraculan-draws]

If I was an apostate born to a family of apostates living in the most unsafe place for people like me in the World, and yet I continuously risk my safety to help others like me be free and happy at every turn, for years, with my best friend witness to all of it—

And then said best friend implies the only reason I did any of it was to impress/please my significant other who also runs in these circuits? To have my best friend diminish what I had done and sacrificed to...attempted flattery? To have him by my side for six years, my rock, suddenly turn around and say he doesn't actually feel one way or the other, that he was just humoring ME and I took it too far? That none of this would have happened if it weren't for old what's his face? That would break my heart. That would be grounds for an ultimatum that would shake the foundations of the city.

Like how dare Varric, honestly. No wonder he feels like he wants a redemption arc in inquisition. Maybe it's sinking in that his centrism, if not his refusal to look anything ugly in the face, is what broke a very special and important bond. Anders didn't pull Hawke away. They were always walking in the same direction. Varric just saw a fork in the road and froze instead of following.

This is not Varric hate at ALL I am just chewing on the delicious gristle that is Hawke&Varric friendship. They are soulmates. They needed each other, but weren't meant to remain. They were a lesson. They were a growth opportunity. Each of them made the other famous.

[exrellian]

Replaced MC AU

Three parts in one day! This part gets a lot more serious and where the drama really starts!

TW: Descriptions of pain/burning, the brothers being assholes to MC, manipulation.

Could things get any worse?

The rest of the day came and went, MC just stayed in his room, holding the tears from overflowing. MC didn’t sleep a wink that night, instead deciding to clean his room and organize all his things… just in case. Luckily for him, Amelia must have spent the night in someone else’s room so he didn’t have to worry about being suspicious or having Amelia find where his valuables were.

When it become morning MC made his way to Lucifers room. Raising his hand to knock on the door, he stopped, hearing voices from inside.

“Don’t worry Amelia. We will make sure he will never hurt you again.”

“Please don’t be mean to him! I don’t think he is a bad person, he might just be jealous! You and your brothers seem to like me more so I can see why he is bothered!”

“That is no excuse for him to attack you and hurt your beautiful face. He will not bother you any more.”

‘Did someone attack Amelia? Was it a demon?’ The door opened, interrupting MCs thoughts, he was now face to face with an injured Amelia and angry Lucifer

“Hey, sorry for eavesdropping but was Amelia attacked? Are you okay Amelia?” He asked, inspecting the wounds littering her face, it looked like a pretty bad attack

“Don’t play dumb MC. Are you trying to completely ruin the exchange program?” Lucifers voice was filled with a poorly restrained rage, as if he was about to unleash “All of my brothers have told me of how mean you’ve been to Amelia and it is unacceptable.” He continued, pushing Amelia behind him as if to protect her

“What? I’ve been nothing but kind to Amelia! She is a human and I know how dangerous the Devildom is!” MC tried to defend himself, unsure why he is being blamed for the attack on Amelia when he hadn’t left his room all night

“Stop talking. Your excuses will not work on me. Now Amelia insists on not sending you back to the human world like I had originally intended, so, we will be separating the two of you for her safety and you will be staying at Purgatory hall for the time being, at least until you have learned how to be a decent human being. I have already discussed this arrangement with my brothers and lord Diavolo and we all agree this is the best course of action. Be better, MC”

MC walked back to their room in deafening silence, what was happening? Why was everyone turning against him?

Amelia’s POV

“Thank you Lucifer! I actually wanted to ask you and the brothers something at breakfast, but MC can’t be there so let’s get going!” She giggled, dragging Lucifer to the dining hall, him following with a small smile, what an adorable human.

When the two got to the dining hall the other six were already eating

“Everyone, Amelia has something she would like to ask so pay attention.” Lucifer drew all eyes to him and Amelia

“Where is MC?” Satan asked, growing more concerned when a chorus of scoffs and groans came from his brothers “What happened!? Is he okay?”

“He will not be living here anymore. He has crossed the line by attacking Amelia and has been moved to Purgatory hall, he is up packing his belongings this moment.” Lucifer explained, rolling his eyes at his younger brother

“What!? He attacked Amelia? He would have no reason to do that though, they have been getting along well and MC is absolutely not the type of person to attack someone without reason.” At this point Satan had stood from his seat and completely disregarded his book. “Has MC not saved this family on multiple occasions? Has he not sacrificed everything for us? Why are all of you suddenly turning on him!?”

“Satan. Sit down. The decision about MC has been made.” Lucifer scolded, his demon form emerging

“Satan… I also have faith in MC! I was the one who convinced Lucifer not to fully kick him out of the exchange program! Please Satan, just listen to what I have to ask” Amelia spoke, not breaking eye contact with Satan. Satan sighed and sat down, attention still on Amelia “please, I want all of you to do me a favor, break your pacts with MC.”

MCs POV

As he was packing his belongings into his bags, MC felt a scorching pain flowing through his body, like someone had replaced his blood with molten lava. He screamed in pain before collapsing to the ground, seeing the pact mark on the back of his hand burn and fade away

“Why… why did Satans pact mark… burn off?”

He had no clue what was happening, he couldn’t even think due to the pain coursing through his veins. After a few minutes the pain dissipated, leaving him with just an ache through his whole body as he lay on the ground, curled into a ball beside his bed. With that, the boy lost consciousness.

When he awoke, the pain was only faint.

“Oh dear, why are you on the ground? Have you really stooped so low you would do anything for attention?” A slightly feminine voice spoke from above him, looking up he locked eyes with Asmodeus

“Asmo… why did my pacts burn away? What… what happened?”

“Is this really ok because we broke our pacts with you? You being this dramatic for something as minuscule as that? Foolish human.” He scoffed at the boy on the ground before leaving the room.

‘They broke their pacts with me? But why? What did I do wrong?’

His mind was racing, he knew he had to finish packing and get out as fast as he could. That task seemed to be easier than expected, seeing as his side of the room was suddenly stripped empty, none of his belongings anywhere to be found, even his DDD which was previously in his pocket was missing.

MC wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what happened and that he had zero chance of getting any of it back. He had one more place to look, where he had previously hidden some spare change, just about 50 Grimm in case of emergency. He lifted his mattress of the bed frame and looked for the small tare in the fabric, finding the Grimm he had hidden… thank god they weren’t smart enough to check here.

He left the house in silence, noticing a note on the door that was addressed to him

“To; MC

I am extremely disappointed in your actions toward Amelia, it is shocking to see someone as kind as you give into your emotions so easily. I expected better from you. Due to the recent events you will be suspended from RAD for the time being, I will reach out when you can come back.

Sincerely;

Lord Diavolo”

MC didn’t even react to the letter, just shoved it in his pocket and left. Not going to Purgatory Hall, he couldn’t trust anyone anymore. He had no clue where he was going.

MC found himself in an alleyway, tired and hungry, unable to go buy himself food without wasting all of his emergency money. As if the world just wanted to make things worse, he felt a few drops of rain turn into a downpour. Could things get any worse?

[virtualreader]

silver blade

deanwinchesterxfem!reader

summary: reader heroically kills a shapeshifter to save Dean, but not without getting hurt in the process. When the blood covering the reader's hands, nearly triggers a panic attack, Dean is quick to comfort her.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: gore, not natural creatures (if u know, u know), anxiety, panic attack, blood, grotesque killing, wounds, emotional shock. could be read as romantic or platonic.

a/n: i live for hurt/comfort fics. also, i thrive on feedback, so don't think twice and send me some! constructive criticism is also welcomed!

"Dammit, Dean," you cursed under your breath as you tried calling Dean, only to be sent straight to voicemail once again. To say you were exasperated was an understatement. You couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that was starting to creep up on you. “Where the hell are you, guys?”

As little as a single missed call was enough to seed concern within you. One—they had probably walked into a crowded bar. Two—Dean had most likely found a chick worth flirting with. Nine in the span of two hours? Nine voicemail messages and no sign neither of the brothers were still alive? Now that was downright worrisome.

You slid the combination 11-02-83 into the lock, and it opened immediately with a subdued click. You had been with the Winchesters long enough to have figured out the access code to the weapons compartment. Nonetheless, you were still finding your feet in the supernatural world, not having ever seen any of the creatures you read about.

With one hand, you scrambled to lift the bottom of the trunk, gaining access to the secret compartment John had built in the '67 Impala Dean insisted on nicknaming baby.

If there was anything you had a grasp of, it was lore beyond doubt. Therefore, you sifted meticulously through the vast array of weapons until you finally laid your eyes on the one you had been seeking—a glistening silver knife, ornately engraved. Legend has it both silver bullets and silver-bladed weapons were lethal to shapeshifters, the very creature Sam and Dean were after.

As you became aware of your scarce fighting skills, you hesitated for a moment and second-guessed your brash decision to defy the blunt order to stay in the motel the Winchesters had given you. Instead of backing down and following said instructions, you headed towards the nearest sewer cleanout driven and determined, and trawled the cover aside with great effort.

With the silver knife in hand, you descended into the sewers, climbing down the rank, rusty ladder, diligently making it to the bottom. You jumped off onto the ground, which you found to be swamped with turbid water. Or at least that was what you hoped the muddy puddles soaking your feet up to the socks were.

The air was humid, and the sewer halls were silent except for the rhythmic dripping of leak drops splashing on the concrete. You took a deep, shaky breath, wondering how Sam and Dean managed to remain level-headed during hunts, especially given the unforeseen aftermath.

You were undoubtedly scared—terrified even. You bore in mind all the plausible deadly outcomes facing a creature as powerful as a shapeshifter entailed. Yet, not even that did withhold you from sacrificing your own safety for the sake of the two boys who had become your family over the past year.

You were willing to pay your weight in blood if it was their lives at stake. Without them by your side, life would only be reduced to a meaningless solitary existence. So you might as well devote yourself to wrestling them from the peril you sensed they were in.

You crept through the dark, dank sewers, your grip on the silver knife tightening with each step, refraining it from slipping from your moist trembling hands. You couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was watching you, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce at any moment.

The stench was overwhelming, and you had to cover your nose with your free hand to avoid gagging. But you knew that giving up was not an option. You had come too far to turn back at this point.

You dropped your gaze to the concrete beneath your feet, scrutinizing the ground in search of any signs indicating Sam and Dean’s whereabouts.

One, two, three blood droplets stained the cement and left behind a vague trail. It was a somewhat chilling sight, and your thoughts immediately went to the possibility of the guys being wounded.

Barely a few feet before you laid a mucilaginous shred of skin. Next to it was a clump of dark hair, matted and tangled, still attached to its corresponding patch of torn skin. You shuddered at the realization that those gruesome remnants irrefutably belonged to the shapeshifter.

Faint grunts died out in the distance. It sounded human, and you recognized them as Dean’s. You tensed up, gripping the small bladed weapon steady in your hand.

With an adrenaline rush pumping through your veins, you crept towards the direction of the sound. The grunts grew louder, and you could now hear the pained sounds of Dean's voice as clear as day. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you picked up the pace, sprinting through the dark corridors.

You skidded to a stop as you came upon the scene. Eyes narrowed and brows raised, you did your utmost to wrap your head around the commotion you witnessed before you.

Sam laid sprawled on the floor, his mouth stuffed with a smudge rag. There was sweat and blood coating his face and clothes and his chest inflated and deflated frantically as he struggled against the plastic flange restraining his wrists.

Your attention then turned to Dean, who was pressed against the wall with his body tense with pain and fear. There was another loud thud, the broad creature gripping Dean's jacket collar tossed him onto the ground, the sound echoing throughout the sewer's hallways. Dean gasped in pain, and your heart sank even further at the sight of his helplessness.

“Y/n…get outta...here...” he spoke falteringly in a hushed tone when he registered your presence.

You followed his gaze, and your eyes locked with the shapeshifter's dusky ones. The creature’s features were practically indistinguishable under the dim light seeping through the storm drains, yet the illumination was sufficient for you to discern its current shape.

It was not human, you acknowledged that fact in its entirety. But it sure resembled a person, and not just any person. The shapeshifter, whose eyes were currently fixated on your unnerved shaky figure, had taken on Sam's form with such accuracy it left you utterly bewildered, propelling your mind into an insurmountable surge of confusion.

Its gaze was intense, almost otherworldly, and it seemed to be studying you with a cold detachment that sent shivers down your spine. The shapeshifter seemed to be waiting for your next move, but you froze, clueless as to how to act in the face of his defiant demeanor. And with each passing moment, the pressure mounted, threatening to engulf you in a tidal and paralyzing wave of haze and dread.

You felt compelled to pin your hopes on your self-reliance in order to beat the creature down. After mustering all your courage, you leaped to Dean’s defense. Without hesitation, you charged forward, brandishing the silver knife that you had retrieved from the Impala's weapons compartment.

The smug laugh of the shapeshifter only fueled your determination to protect the brothers at any cost. You saw red. With a swift motion, you plunged the blade into the shapeshifter's chest, slicing and carving it wide open out of fury, and it let out a bloodcurdling screech as it fell to the ground, lifeless.

What seemed blatant moments ago became now an incertitude, as you saw what appeared to be Sam's inanimate body on the concrete. Even if the real Sam drew breath a stone's throw away from you, growing ever more relieved as Dean aided in freeing him from the restraints, the thought of having killed the younger Winchester brother eclipsed your brain.

“I’d never peg you as the stabbing type,” joked Dean trying to alleviate the tension in the atmosphere as he helped Sam to get up, earning a sheepish 'thank you' from the younger brother. He then turned his attention to you. “Jeez, y/n, white paint has more color than your face.”

You took a step backward staring down to your hands, absolutely unable to hear what Dean was saying, let alone fathom it out. Blood was all you saw, blood drenching your hands from the very fingertips all the way up to your elbow.

When your only response to his jokes was silence, Dean began to realize that something was off. In a desperate attempt to get you to snap out of your distressed paralysis, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you slightly.

You looked at him, trying to discern his worried features through your foggy vision. You felt trapped inside your own mind, unable to break free from the suffocating weight of your thoughts.

"Everything's spinning, De," you muttered as you managed to loosen the knot that had formed in your throat. "Please, make it stop.”

"I promise you—your head is the only thing spinning right now," he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "You did good, y/n/n. You saved my ass back there."

Your usually regular and calmed breathing pattern developed into a shallow, rapid one. You could feel your heart hammering at great speed in your chest, which caused the veins in your neck to throb and made you feel rather light-headed.

"Hey, hey, hey. I've got you. I've got you," Dean whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace not willing to let you fall when he saw you swaying, and losing balance. "Just listen to my heartbeat, okay?"

You hummed in response, utterly unable to voice your distress. You could hear and feel the wallop of his heart, forcefully rapid yet steady and calming, along with the resounding sounds of his voice inside his chest. You clung to him for dear life, feeling his strong arms around you as you kept a white-knuckled grip on his plain flannel.

"That's it. Just focus on that," he reassured you, rubbing his hand up and down your back, your breathing gradually returning to its even pattern. "You're safe now. It's over."

As soon as you were out of the sewer, Dean ushered you to the Impala opening the door for you to enter the back passenger seat. As much as he loved baby, getting her bloodstained was not a problem as long as he got you safe and comfy.

The ride lasted hardly ten minutes, although to your clouded senses it felt everlasting. You made a futile attempt to divert your attention from the dry blood coating your hands to the sparse traffic outside, before your mind was dragged into the abysmal hole of anguish that the earlier incident had dug into your psyche one more time.

Throughout the ride, Sam kept asking if you were okay every now and then, displaying a genuine concern for your well-being. He knew how traumatic the experience must have been for you and wanted to make sure you were coping. His kind words and comforting presence helped soothe your frazzled nerves, even if only slightly.

Truth was you were far from okay. You were grappling with a multitude of emotions that were threatening to consume you, and the weight of your thoughts felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Dean would occasionally shoot glances your way through the rear-view mirror, silently checking on you to make sure you were holding up. Despite his tough exterior and being kind of rough around the edges, he was quick to show his caring and nurturing side when it came to you.

The car rolled down the highway, the engine humming softly as Dean expertly downshifted gears, slowly bringing the vehicle to a smooth stop in the motel's parking lot.

You stumbled out of the car, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Dean rushed to your side, supporting you with a hand on your back.

"Easy there, champ," he said, concern lacing his voice. "Let's get you cleaned up and patched up, yeah?"

You nodded weakly, grateful for his support. It was then that you noticed the large gash on your forearm, which must have been incurred during the prior wrestling. How could you have missed it before?

The keys clattered as Sam unlocked the door to your assigned room, pushing it open gently. The three of you entered the motel's bedroom, steps heavy as your energy was depleted.

While Sam tended to his own injuries, Dean took you to the bathroom, where he turned on the tap and began to gently wash away the blood that coated your hands and arms. The touch of his fingers was soothing, and you closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as the water washed away the evidence of the shapeshifter's blood.

In spite of his sarcastic jokes, you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dean was mad. And he had every right to be.

You looked up at him, feeling guilty for disobeying orders and putting yourself in danger. The instructions were clear—stay safe and focus on research. They had let you take charge of the investigation duty reluctantly, let alone get fully involved in the hunting business. But you found it impossible to resist the urge, you couldn’t stay in the motel doing nothing knowing they could be in trouble.

Notwithstanding the potential fallout, Dean didn't scold you. Instead, he patiently led you to the toilet, he retrieved the newly restocked first aid kit and gently placed it on the countertop.

“I'm sorry,” you said in a whisper. "You weren't answering my calls. I got worried sick. I'm sorry."

Dean leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"No need to be, sweetheart," he said softly, tossing his resentment for your disobedient behaviour to the back of his mind. "As much as I hate to admit this, you did what had to be done. You saved us back there."

He proceeded to tend to your wound, his touch light and careful as he cleaned and bandaged the gash on your forearm. You couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence, for his unwavering support and understanding.

As he finished up, he looked up at you with a small empathetic smile.

"You wanna crash in my room tonight?" he asked. "I promise to keep the nightmares away."

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

The knowledge that he was there with you, ready to support you through thick and thin, was a comforting thought. With Dean by your side, you knew you could get through anything.