#SELF SACRIFICE AND SUFFERING!!!!!!

[bigquestionmark]

i love you jesus-coded characters!!!

[martyreddie]

one thing i absolutely love about eddie is the fact that he is always on the lookout for ways to sacrifice himself for the people he loves. girlfriend pregnant? i'll provide for her by risking my life in the military. twice. without asking first. my traumatised son is scared that my job is too dangerous? i will transfer to another one that makes me deeply miserable. also without asking first. can't seem to fall in love with my new girlfriend even though my kid loves her? guess i'll just stick it out. my parents hate my wife even after her death? i will push down every bit of anger i ever felt at her and defend her like a rabid dog. hell, i will romanticise that relationship so bad that I literally cannot move on from her and am haunted by her ghost in both a metaphorical and literal way for years to come. and when, as the crowning result of all my disregard for my personal well-being and healing, my kid has run to texas, and now he does not seem to want to come home? i will bear every bit of pain and embarrassment his obvious disdain and my parents' flagrant disinterest in letting us heal from this causes me, and if that doesn't work, i will upend my entire life, forsake every bit of progress I have ever made, and come crawling back to the city i grew up in. without asking first, of course.

eddie diaz will see a cross, ask "is anyone going to die on that thing?" and then not wait for an answer

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

I love how Kate and Anthony are the ‘love at first sight’ trope because Anthony has loved Kate, “since the moment they raced each other in that park”, but also ‘enemies to lovers’ because Kate is “the bane of his existence and the object of all his desires” and most importantly the malewife trope because Anthony will “humble himself” before Kate “because he cannot imagine a life without her”

[aventurineswife]

Hello how are you I hope you're taking requests if yes may I ask for blade with a deity reader who can heal his mara but it comes at a price for the reader and it leaves them with side effects and blade doesn't realise till the side effects start showing and it's not enough to kill them but enough to get them weaker

Fleeting Salvation

Summary: Burdened by the torment of mara, Blade reluctantly accepts your healing, which can temporarily soothe his pain. However, the process comes at a steep price, leaving you weaker each time. As Blade begins to notice the toll it’s taking on you, he struggles with the unfamiliar fear of losing someone who willingly sacrifices themselves for his sake.

Tags: Blade x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Touch of Fluff, Immortality and Suffering, Sacrificial, Deity!Reader, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Themes of self-sacrifice, Mentions of pain and suffering (mara-related), Emotional vulnerability, Physical weakness/exhaustion from overusing powers.

A/N: First time writing a Bladie centred fic, i probably got the mara thingy wrong since I'm always confused by it😭😀

Blade leaned against the cold steel wall of the Stellaron Hunters' hideout. The endless pull of mara clawed at his mind, a cacophony of whispers and screams that never ceased. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his broken sword, the jagged edges digging into his palm like a cruel reminder of his shattered existence.

"You're restless again." your voice, soft as starlight, echoed through the dim chamber.

Blade's eyes snapped to you, a figure glowing faintly in the dark. You carried an otherworldly grace, a testament to your divine nature. A healer, Elio had said—a being who could offer him fleeting solace. He had scoffed at the notion when you first arrived, but now he couldn’t deny the faint reprieve you granted him, however temporary.

“I’m always restless.” he replied gruffly, averting his gaze.

You approached, unbothered by his curt tone. Blade was always guarded, his demeanor like an impenetrable fortress, but you had seen glimpses of the pain he carried—a pain so profound it rivaled the stars' lifespans. Kneeling beside him, you placed a hand on his arm.

"Let me help." you offered, your voice steady despite the weight of what you were about to do.

Blade hesitated, his brows furrowing. “You’ve done enough. It’s pointless.”

“It’s not pointless if it brings you peace, even for a moment.” you countered gently.

He didn’t argue further, though his jaw clenched. Blade allowed you to place your hands over his chest, your fingertips glowing faintly as your power flowed into him. A radiant warmth spread through his body, soothing the burning chaos of mara. For the first time in hours, the voices in his head grew quieter, retreating like a tide.

Blade exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing. But as the light dimmed and the healing concluded, you swayed slightly, your breath hitching.

“Are you alright?” Blade’s voice was sharper than usual, his gaze narrowing as he noticed your pale complexion.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing, but you couldn’t let him know. Healing mara was not like mending physical wounds; it demanded more than energy. It tore at your very essence, leaving you weaker each time. You had accepted this cost willingly, knowing that your gift could ease Blade’s torment, but you hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to hide the toll it was taking.

Days passed, and Blade began noticing the changes. You moved slower, your hands trembling slightly when you thought no one was looking. The glow that once surrounded you like a protective aura now flickered weakly, as though a storm had dimmed your light.

“Stop lying to me.” Blade demanded one evening as you stumbled after a session. He caught you before you fell, his grip firm yet uncharacteristically gentle.

“It’s fine...” you murmured, leaning against him as your strength faltered.

“It’s not fine,” he growled, his frustration spilling over. “You’re weakening yourself for me. Why?”

Your eyes met his, soft but unwavering. “Because you deserve to live without pain, even if it’s only for a while. You’ve suffered enough, Blade.”

His hands tightened around your arms, his jaw working as he struggled to find the words. No one had ever willingly borne a burden for his sake. He didn’t understand it—why you would sacrifice yourself, even partially, for someone as broken as him.

“Don’t do this again,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “Whatever price you’re paying, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” you replied, your tone firm despite your exhaustion. “I’m choosing this. For you.”

For the first time in centuries, Blade felt something unfamiliar—a pang of fear. He had spent so long chasing his own destruction, yet now, the thought of losing you unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Blade began watching over you more closely after that. He noticed every tremor in your hands, every falter in your step. He tried to refuse your help, but the mara would always resurface, its relentless pull forcing him to rely on you again and again.

One day, after another grueling healing session, Blade didn’t let you leave. Instead, he sat with you, his expression unreadable as you rested against the wall, drained.

“You’re a fool...” he muttered.

“Probably.” you admitted with a faint smile.

Blade’s eyes softened, the weight of your sacrifices pressing heavily on him. “I don’t want this.”

“You don’t want the pain either,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “Let me carry a little of it, Blade. Just for a while.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence that followed wasn’t his usual cold indifference. It was something else—something fragile, like a thread connecting the two of you in the vast emptiness of the universe.

For the first time in a long while, Blade found himself wanting something more than destruction. He wanted you—and that terrified him more than anything.

[madbard]

Thinking about characters who give more than was asked for, or needed. Thinking about characters who believe they deserve to suffer. Thinking about characters who experience pain as penance, who think their suffering can redeem them. Thinking about characters who give and give until they have nothing left because they know they cannot be redeemed. Thinking about characters who cannot bear the weight of being loved, and must balance that weight against acts of overwhelming ‘goodness.’ Thinking about characters who set themselves on fire in the first days of spring, and think they are doing the world a favor by keeping others warm.

Thinking about self-sacrifice as a form of self-destruction.

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[dephoraowo]

I feel like some people in the fandom need to go read a dictionary because where on earth does the novel even show Wei Wuxian having a hero complex?

The novel literally shows the opposite:

The suction from within Biling Lake was growing progressively more powerful. While Wei Wuxian’s sword excelled in dexterity and agility, a lack of strength just happened to be its weakness, and it was forcefully pulled to lower and lower altitudes until it was close to the surface of the lake.

Wei Wuxian steadied himself while yanking on Su She with both hands, shouting, “Somebody come help! If I can’t get him up, I’m gonna have to let go!”

And this:

“Stand back,” Lan Wangji said. “You are not needed here.”

Wei Wuxian humbly took his advice and backed off. He backed all the way to the entrance and took a peek outside. Wen Ning was in the middle of stoically strangling Song Lan, lifting the man by his neck and slamming him into the wall, creating a giant man-shaped hole in the process. Song Lan, also expressionless, seized Wen Ning’s wrist and flipped him over, crashing him into the ground. Loud, incessant bangs and booms accompanied the battle between the two stone-faced fierce corpses. Neither side could feel pain, nor were they afraid of injuries. Unless they were cut to pieces, they could keep fighting no matter how many limbs they broke.

“There doesn’t seem to be a need for me here either,” Wei Wuxian mumbled to himself.

If the fandom is so desperate for a guy with a hero complex, they don't even need to worry. We already do! In fact, mxtx was so generous, she literally gave us two!

Wei Wuxian was observing the terrain as he fled around, setting off flames. Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his arm. He looked down to see he had been shot by an arrow.

As it turned out, the Lan sect disciple whom Lan Wangji had glared at earlier had found a bow and arrow abandoned by the Wens and tried to shoot at the yao beast. Perhaps because of the beast’s fearsome savagery and agility, the boy’s hands were panicked and unsteady, and the shot had flown astray and pierced Wei Wuxian instead.

Wei Wuxian had no time to pull it out. He struck the ground again, calling forth another surge of flames.

“Back off! Don’t make more work for me!”

The sect disciple had wanted to fell the yao beast with a single shot to its vital spot, in hopes of regaining some of the face he’d lost earlier. Who could’ve thought it would turn out like this? His face flushed progressively paler as he fled into the water.

Let's not forget this scene:

Before walking away, Wei Wuxian repeatedly exhorted him to sit still and not to move. At least they weren’t too short of money—he had a habit of hiding small change in various corners of his clothes, which came in handy now. He walked around and bought food and dry rations to prepare for the long journey ahead. It took him less than an incense time to grab everything, after which he immediately returned to the spot where they’d separated.

But Jiang Cheng was gone.

...

Jiang Cheng struck a palm at him. The strike was so weak and feeble that Wei Wuxian did not even sway.

“Hit me all you want. As long as it makes you feel better.”

“Did you feel it?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Wei Wuxian was momentarily taken aback. “What? Feel what?”

“My spiritual power. Did you feel it?” Jiang Cheng pressed him.

“What spiritual power?” Wei Wuxian asked. “You didn’t use spiritual power at all.”

“I did.”

“What exactly… What did you say?”

Jiang Cheng repeated himself word for word. “I said, I used it. I used all my spiritual power and then some for that strike. So I’m asking you—did you feel it?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, falling quiet. After a moment, he said, “Try hitting me again.”

“Forget it,” Jiang Cheng told him. “No matter how many times I hit you, the result will be the same. Wei Wuxian, do you know why Core-Melting Hand is called that?”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank.

“Because his hands can dissolve golden cores and render the victims unable to form new ones,” Jiang Cheng continued. “Their spiritual power will dissipate, reducing them to nothing more than ordinary humans. And an ordinary human in a cultivation clan is good for nothing. They can only live out the rest of their common lives, abandoning all dreams of ever ascending higher.

“Wen Zhuliu dissolved Mom and Father’s golden cores. Once they lost the ability to fight back, he killed them.”

Wei Wuxian’s mind was in turmoil. At a loss as to what to do, he murmured, “…Core-Melting Hand… Core-Melting Hand…”

Jiang Cheng laughed grimly. “Wen Zhuliu, Wen Zhuliu. I want to seek revenge. I have to. But how can I? I don’t even have a golden core anymore, and I’ll never be able to form a new one again. So how am I going to take revenge? Ha ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…”

Wei Wuxian’s legs gave out from under him. He stared at Jiang Cheng, who seemed to have gone insane. Words failed him.

No one knew better than him just how competitive Jiang Cheng was. How much he valued his own cultivation and spiritual power. And with a single strike, Core-Melting Hand had shattered his cultivation, self-esteem, and hope for revenge to smithereens!

Jiang Cheng howled with laughter like a madman. He lay back down on the bed with his arms spread open and abandoned himself to despair. “Wei Wuxian, why did you save me? What’s the point of saving me? To let me live on uselessly while I watch the Wen dogs run rampant?”

...

Though awake, he remained motionless, not even flipping over and asking where they were. He wouldn’t eat or drink. It was as if he was interested only in dying.

“Do you really want to die?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“I can’t get revenge even if I live, so I might as well die. Who knows, maybe I can even turn into a malicious ghost,” Jiang Cheng said.

“You’ve gone through Soul-Tranquilization Rites since you were a kid. Even if you die, you won’t turn into a malicious ghost,” Wei Wuxian commented.

“Since I can’t seek revenge dead or alive, what difference does it make if I live or die?”

After that, Jiang Cheng didn’t speak again.

...

Jiang Cheng’s mind and face were both racked with confusion. “Then why was I able to pull it out?”

“Because the sword recognizes you as Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning answered.

Lan Wangji stood up, lifting an unconscious Wei Wuxian on his back.

“What do you mean, it recognizes me as Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng snapped. “How?! Why me?!”

“Because the golden core presently channeling spiritual power in your body is his!” Wen Ning snapped back, even harsher.

...

“Your golden core was never restored,” Wen Ning said. “It was completely dissolved by Wen Zhuliu! The reason you thought it was restored was because my jiejie, Wen Qing—the best doctor of the Wen Clan of Qishan—cut Wei-gongzi’s golden core from his body and used it to replace yours!”

Jiang Cheng’s face went blank for a second. “Replaced mine with his?”

“That’s right!” Wen Ning said. “Why do you think he never used Suibian again, and never carried his sword with him when he went out? Was it really because of some youthful indiscretion? Did he really enjoy it when others spoke ill of him behind his back or to his face, saying he was rude and had a poor upbringing? It was because bringing it along would be pointless! You see…if he brought his sword along when he was invited to those banquets and Night Hunts, there would inevitably be someone wanting to duel or spar with him for whatever reason. Without his golden core, he had no spiritual power. If he drew his sword, he wouldn’t last long at all…”

Jiang Cheng stood dumbly rooted to the spot. He looked queasy, and his lips quivered. He even forgot to use Zidian as he suddenly dropped Suibian to the ground and struck Wen Ning on the chest with his hand.

“You’re lying!” he bellowed.Wen Ning was forced a couple steps back from the blow. He picked up Suibian from the ground, sheathed it, and pushed it against Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Take it!”

Jiang Cheng unconsciously took the sword. He didn’t move but looked at a loss as his gaze turned toward Wei Wuxian. He would have been fine if he hadn’t looked. But when he did, Wei Wuxian’s despondent expression and ghastly pale face—with blood still gathered at the corners of his mouth—was like a hammer smashing his heart. Moreover, Lan Wangji’s gaze chilled him so keenly he felt like he had plunged into a frozen cavern.

“Take that sword and go to the banquet hall, the drilling grounds, anywhere,” Wen Ning said. “Order everyone you come across to pull it from its sheath and see if anyone can! Then you’ll see if I’m lying! Sect Leader Jiang, you…you are such a competitive person. All your life, you have been competing with and comparing yourself to others. But know this—you could never have compared to him!”

...

Out of the blue, Lan Wangji asked, “Is it painful?”

“What?” Wen Ning said.

“Extracting one’s core. Is it painful?”

“Lan-gongzi. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you no, would you?”

“I assumed Wen Qing would have found a way.”

“Before going up the mountain, my jiejie prepared many anesthetics in hopes of alleviating the pain of extracting his core. But later, she realized such medication would be completely useless. If the subject is in a numbed state when the golden core is extracted from the body, it affects the core’s stability. It becomes harder to prevent it from dissipating.”

“…Therefore?” Lan Wangji probed.

Wen Ning pausing in his rowing. “Therefore, the subject of the golden core extraction procedure has to be completely conscious for its full duration.”

He had to be conscious as he watched his golden core be cut from his meridians and extracted from his body. He had to feel his surging spiritual energy gradually subsiding, calming, turning ordinary—until it became a pool of stagnant water that could no longer make waves.

It was a long time before Lan Wangji found his voice again. It was a little raspy, and the words he spoke seemed to tremble. “Its full duration?”

“For one day and two nights,” Wen Ning said. “He remained conscious throughout.”

“At the time, how confident were you of success?”

“About fifty percent.”

“Fifty percent.” Lan Wangji soundlessly drew a deep breath and shook his head. He repeated, “…Fifty percent.”

His hand tightened its hold on Wei Wuxian’s waist, gripping so hard his knuckles turned white.

“After all, no one had ever conducted any sort of core-swapping procedure before,” Wen Ning said. “My jiejie had written essays on the subject, but they were only theoretical. No one would ever let her experiment on them, so the theories remained untested. The sect’s seniors said she was indulging in flights of fancy, that the idea was completely impractical. They knew no one would ever be willing to extract their golden core and give it to someone else—because if they did, they would be fundamentally crippled. They would never reach the pinnacle of their ability but would remain mediocre the rest of their life.

“So when Wei-gongzi returned to seek us out, my jiejie was reluctant to even attempt the procedure, at first. She warned him that writing an essay was one thing, but actually doing it was quite another. She wasn’t even confident she’d have a fifty percent chance of success.

“But Wei-gongzi kept pestering her. He said fifty percent was fine; the chances of success and failure were equal. Even if it didn’t work out and his core was wasted, he wasn’t worried about his future—but that wasn’t the case for Sect Leader Jiang. He was too competitive, too focused on what he stood to gain and lose in this aspect, since cultivation was his life. And if Sect Leader Jiang could only ever be an ordinary, mediocre person, his life would be over.”

Definition of hero complex:

A hero complex, also known as a saviour complex or hero syndrome, is a psychological phenomenon where a person seeks recognition for being a hero. Hero complexes can be detrimental to the lives of others and put innocent people at risk.

A person with a hero complex may:

- Create situations where they can be the hero and resolve them

- Take responsibility for problems that aren't theirs to solve

- Offer unsolicited advice

- Overstep boundaries

- Strive to be the ones to save the day, no matter the odds or situation

In the examples above, we can clearly see that Wei Wuxian knows his own limits. If there is something he can do to help, he will help. HOWEVER! He will not help if he knows that it isn't within his own capabilities because there's a chance that, if he fails, he might ruin the situation further and make things worse than it is! And I know people will be using this as a refute, so I will also say it here. Wei Wuxian will not make risky decisions UNLESS THERE IS NO OTHER CHOICE! None of the novel's textual evidence mentions any kind of instances in which he acts "recklessly" with his own life in a situation where any other action other than risking his life would have achieved the same or better results. If there are safer options, he will not make such decisions.

This is the direct opposite of Su She and Jiang Cheng. Su She was clearly trying to save face by killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter, "playing the hero," but he failed, either due to lack of skill or just not in the right headspace, and made things worse.

In Jiang Cheng’s case, I honestly don't know why he distracted the guards. Did he do it out of love, or was he just trying to "play the hero?" I say this because the novel didn't even say that the guards spotted Wei Wuxian. It just says they were patrolling around the area. If he did it out of care for Wei Wuxian, why didn't he take responsibility? If he really did try to save Wei Wuxian from the guards, why was Jiang Cheng not willing to live with the consequences? Did he not expect to be captured by them? He overestimated himself if that's the case. And he made things worse for Wei Wuxian because after that stunt of his, he just wanted to die. Not only that, he literally made his own sacrifice into Wei Wuxian's problem. And how could Wei Wuxian, who had just promised Jiang Cheng's parents to take care of him, let him die like this? So Wei Wuxian was forced to give up his core to give Jiang Cheng a reason to live. (Honestly, Jiang Cheng could still live as a normal person. He could still lead the clan as a normal person since a clan follows bloodline. Doesn't matter if he is competent or not, core or no. We literally have Jin Guangshan leading the Jins for goodness sake, does that man even know how to fight? Jiang Cheng just can't stand being an average dude, which is so ironic because in Wei Wuxian's second life, he literally became an average dude, even with a core. Man couldn't even defeat Jin Guangyao.)

[deathsvvitch]

Sophia Agnesi, Novana Primo. Known as the "Morning Sky."

it took a WHILE to finally come up with a design for her but MAN im glad to have it done;;;;

[hanzajesthanza]

honestly as much as i dislike triss for her treachery i mostly dislike her because she becomes sympathetic. if i had to choose between fighting in a war or being able to stare at philippa eilhart’s boobs all day i know what i would pick

[all-pacas]

thinking suddenly of how chase was forced to be a caregiver and parent and take care of his mother and sister and resented them for it, hated them for it, how 20 years later he clearly is not over it at all, how he tries to deal with his problems alone, shutting people out (cursed. the mistake. the tyrant. chase.) because he doesn't believe people will want to help him, or at least that care and love are finite resources, that he will run out and be left alone.

(thinking also about how cameron views care as something of a necessary burden, how her husband's death made her miserable, how the death of her patient in one day one room left her miserable, how her lung cancer patient in acceptance left her miserable. how she frames it as important, necessary, that people should not die forgotten or alone, but she never takes any pride or joy in this: for all that she might be glad her husband didn't die alone, the grief warped and affected her for years; she never walks away unaffected or proud of her work but miserable, burnt out, terrified. how the only real difference between chase's burnout and cameron's is that she keeps choosing it, as some kind of penance or atonement or something: cameron is a martyr but never a happy one, and yet she, i think, wouldn't understand chase's misery over the same thing. it was always her choice. it was always important.)

and thinking also of thirteen and chase talking in s6. about how when thirteen's mother was dying, her father had an affair. chase commiserates: how heartless of him. thirteen counters: she's glad he wasn't alone. she knows she is dying, too. she knows someone will someday be helping her at that moment, how she hopes whoever is burdened with her care isn't alone. has someone else. isn't in a position like chase had to be. how she doesn't romanticize it, but how when it was her brother, she was alone, she tried to deal with it alone, how it almost broke her and then… she told chase. how it wasn't just about i did a murder, me too, but about that burden. that pain. how even if it was out of love, even if it was something she decided (like cameron decided), it tore thirteen apart. no one should be alone for that, she tells chase, and then a year later is alone for that.

i don't have any real conclusions here but - something about how much chase and thirteen's friendship means to me, i guess. how their lives are on such parallel tracks, how they do things and hate themselves for it and take on familial trauma and hate themselves for it and how they mask with drinking and partying and casual sex (and hate themselves for it). no one should deal with that alone, she says, and eventually they aren't, because they can offer it to one another.

[sheridan-le-fanu]

Ex-Catholics like Hunter x Hunter (1999) and ex-Evangelicals like Trigun (1998) and I won’t elaborate.

[charismabee]

I love the New and Unending Dawn ending so so much. I love my little guys (the voices) and I want them to be happy and free to learn to be safe. I love thinking about them exploring their world, one free of pain and death, learning things. Perhaps even splitting off into their own gods, connected and 'us' but having discovered themselves. Able to develop past their lables like the contrarian did and learning how they interconnect and make a whole, never alone but still themselves. Just let them hang out and discover the beauty in the world together okay I'm cryign.

[beck-nightengale]

Catharsis (Spoilers)

And it is only these moments in which we can make a decision - the decision to either act, or to let the moment pass, until the veil seals itself again and we once more are the slaves of our habits.

What we were granted, was a moment of lucidity.

And it gives me hope that the woman I loved has not died in vain...

...and that we continue walking.

[agapestricken]

a canon divergent and reworked version of MERRYMAKER, or ANASTASIY LAZAREV, from DC comics'.

written by autumn! mature themes such as terminal illness, body horror, suicide, and self-harm do apply to this account — so please keep that in mind before reaching out to interact.

[t-u-i-t-c]

Chapter 38: Hyuuga's Determination

[boydyke]

realizing the amount of schizophrenics that get kicked out of homes and realizing how oftentimes it really isn't like. understood by the homeowner why the guest is acting so bizarre, offputting, odd, and distant. but undeniably schizophrenia causes these things in very direct ways. and if you are prodromal, where its beginning and suddenly you are off in ways that were not expected but you are not wholly psychotic but rather disorganized and paranoid, it probably won't even click to them that you are "insane." just wrong. uncomfortable. a bad guest. being told I "make everyone in the room uncomfortable" with no further explanation or elaboration and being left with this information entirely blind and unknowing. the disconnect from reality both within the disorganization and the intense dissociation needed to survive such a thing. and the maladaptive coping mechanisms that are not socially acceptable or healthy but are nonetheless performed when you are drowning with nothing to cling to. and I think I'm realizing that a past trauma can be recontextualized through this, the fact that I was experiencing prodromal schizophrenia, entered acute psychosis after my "eviction"... I have never considered this experience in line with a stereotypical schizophrenic experience because I never connected the kicking out to my schizophrenia despite it playing a significant role in my behavior. even if it's unknown it was still a result, in part, due to my schizophrenia as well as every other mental condition and neurodivergence I had.