#Tw mentions of past self sacrifice

[weaverpop]

I would think one possible bad fight would be about MKs sacrifice, and him possibly doing it again.

Mk is reckless with his own life, and he loves friends and family more then he could love himself, it's where his over protectivness stems from. (That and his self sacrificial nature is probably programmed into him by nature, fucking thanks nuwa. The THE ONE mother figure mk has and she had to be the one that fucks up a perfectly good child)

Nezha may be immortal but mk would still actually jump in front of a blade for him without hesitation.

Tw mentions of past and attempted self sacrifice

This works very well, afterall Nezha would do the exact same thing because he shares a similar mentality. You don’t just sacrifice yourself for your family without having some issues.

This would come to a head at a terrible time, mid battle with a demon! Mk and Nezha both struggling early on in their relationship, pre-therapy, wanting to protect the other while also bringing down the big bad. Nezha might take a blow that was meant for Mk, and Mk freaks.

He and Nezha get into it. Nezha isn’t that hurt, mostly bruised, but Mk is absolutely losing his mind over the fact that his beloved just got hurt because of him.

Then you have Nezha who is trying to talk to his bf, but mk won’t listen, and they progressively get louder and louder. Until it reaches a point where Mk and Nezha are screaming at eachother in the middle of the battle field, and the fighting just… stops, because nobody has seen either of them get like this. The demon akwardly apologies to the others and leaves because damn this is awkward.

But the two idiots don’t notice, they just keep up the screaming match. Until Nezha has enough, and tells Mk in no uncertain terms that this shit isn’t going to work. He’s a celestial warrior, he can hold his own, and he doesn’t need to be coddled. Mk tries argues that he just wants to protect Nezha, but Nezha stands firm.

They don’t talk for a month.

Nezha is miserable during that time, and Jing teaches him the wonders of growing your sorrows in (strawberry) ice cream and crying into the pillows.

Mk in the other hand is left to think, and with some encouragement form ye others, decides to seek therapy with Sandy. It’s not easy, and the whole month without Nezha is agonizing, but Mk is determined to improve himself before he asks Nezha out again.

After a month, Nezha’s absence was strong enough to motivate Mk to reach out. Nezha was hesitant, but accepted a simple picnic date “to talk”.

It was by far, the most sweetest thing. Picknic basket full of all of Nezha’s favorites, a pretty strawberry themed blanket, and quiet spot outside the city where no one could see them.

They chatted for a bit, akwardly feeling things out, until Mk comes out and apologizes to Nezha for all the hovering. He akwardly explains that he just didn’t want Nezha to get hurt, and that he never saw the Prince as incompetent. That seeing Nezha hurt, even if a bit, was like lighting a fire. But he also apologies for overstepping boundaries, and acknowledges that he is working on the problem.

Nezha himself apologizes as well, aware that he had similar reactions in the past to Mk taking blows for him. He also apologizes for causing such a big blow out about it in public instead of privately, but Mk insisted it was fine, and that it was the wake up call he needed.

Nezha def cries when Mk asked if he’d still be his precious strawberry, and Mk nearly cried when Nezha agreed.

This isn’t the last time, but it’s def a big step in their relationship.

[enden-k]

𝔸𝕄𝕐𝔾𝔻𝔸𝕃𝔸 ℕ𝔸𝕍𝕀 [1/2]

(trying to update whenever theres smth new)

the story is about vika, a human who is basically not existing to anyone due to his sickness, and saran, a vengeful spirit shackled to the world due to the circumstances of his death, and their deep love for each other. saran devours eyes and other fears so general warning for many eyes/eye contact and upcoming eye horror (everything will be tagged as such and warnings will always be given) vika contemplated suicide and practiced self-harm in the past, tws are always given if its brought up or appears in flashbacks

the navi got too long so its split into two parts! ETC (asks, etc) and AUs are linked in the second half here

MAIN: (top right → bottom left)

1 / 2 /

SIDE: ("bonus", or extras that happen(ed) at different times than main)

• a ghost's touch (tw for vikas suicide ideation) • flashback - office nap [azai] • neither with you nor without you [azai]

ART:

• elite 9 character files • elite 9 fear contracts • saranvika random facts n stuff (vika self-harm mention) • first doodles/sketches • memes • saranvika doodles: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (tw eyes/eye contact) / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 • requests: 1 / 2 / 3 • saran and azai (present) • baby saran and his parents 1 / 2 • elite 9 and their ghosts • kitty saran (not related to main story) 1 / 2

LORE: (explanations abt the story/world etc)

• "fears", amygdala and fear seekers • fear contracts • tiny bit about azai and his feelings for saran • explanation to "a ghost's touch"; vikas suicide ideation (tw), meeting saran, the difference of their contract compared to usual fear contracts, and the exchanges/sacrifices made to control the unseen • some numbers n ages • tiny bit about suyo • fear contracts vs saranvika contract • saran and vikas love and relationship • a little bit more about azai • a little bit more more about azai and his feelings for saran • a little bit about how sarans many-eyes work • some stuff about saran and his tentacles (arms): 1 / 2 • map of the 10 regions + birthplaces/important locations as of now • vikas life expectancy • a little bit more about sarans many-eyes and tattoos: 1 / 2 • a bit about the side effects of fear contract/tool use • another summary/explanation about fears, fear contracts etc

• playlist (always updating) • FANART!!! 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 /

OCTOPLUSHIE ADVENTURES: (it got its own section 🐙)

• the beginning of an unusual rivalry • saran is not prone to jealousy......BUT • saran and taking responsibility • the rival in all its glory (and similarity)

[jessamine-rose]

𓇢𓆸 Withering Purpurbloom ࿐

Read my Yandere! Capitano fics first ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

Aahh hello, Capitano nation……how are all of you?? At first, I had no plans to write an angst fic about his “death” in 5.3, but I kept getting ideas for Damsel! Darling’s reaction </3

With that in mind, I figured I’d write just one story where his death is final. This is only an alternate timeline in the Herbarium series, and I hope you all cry enjoy this tragic ending to CapiDamsel’s dark fairytale .°(ಗдಗ。)°.

Tw:: YANDERE, Stockholm Syndrome, blood, offscreen death, implied self-harm, mention of abuse from darling’s backstory

Note:: Fem reader who is smaller and weaker than Capitano, takes place after 5.3 story

♡ 4.8k words under the cut ♡

On the day of your husband’s death, you were preserving flowers.

Just the common flora that grew around your home. It was a frigid day in Snezhnaya, and your morning stroll had been bountiful. As you pressed each flower between the pages of your notebook, you thought of the Captain miles away in Natlan.

His last letter was written before his battle with the Pyro Archon. The words of his past self had brought tears to your eyes, though you made no mention of that in your response.

How is he? What has happened in the days since he sent his letter? Has he read yours?

You added the last flower and closed your notebook.

All of the flowers were for him, to be enclosed in your next letter—assuming that his mission had to be extended. Your gift would make for a nice reminder of Snezhnaya.

Of you.

The flowers were still fresh on the night of the messenger’s arrival.

✿ ⚘

You don’t believe it.

This must be a joke. Another betrayal, even.

As usual, your guard speaks to him first. But when they come inside, the messenger’s hands are empty of letters and parcels. You are asked to take a seat on the sofa.

The messenger repeats what he told Cyane.

“The Captain has departed from this world.”

No.

You stare at him, eyes wide.

Despite his mask, his sorrow is evident. He doesn’t stop there, rambling about battles and souls and a god who presides over death.

Capitano…someone like him wouldn’t go down without a fight.

There is the sound of glass shattering—are the servants listening in? Cyane stands next to the messenger, a grim expression on their face.

He won’t stop talking.

Why is he saying that your husband sacrificed himself? That death is the end he had been trying to reach all along?

No, no, no. He wouldn’t do such a thing. Not when he has you. Not when he knows that you’re here, waiting for him to come home.

Your vision blurs.

The room closes in on you.

The messenger’s mouth is still moving, but you can no longer tell what he is saying. There is a different noise—your own voice?

But what makes you think you are more important?

“My lady!” Cyane rushes to your side but you slap their hand away.

Dizzily, you stand up. You rush past them, out of the living room, through the front door.

You have to leave.

How long has it been since your husband’s sacrifice?

Which direction is Natlan?

The sky is dark.

There are no flowers in sight.

But there are traces of the messenger’s footprints, leading the way out of the woods.

In your haste, you trip and fall into the snow.

Cold. It’s so cold.

Hands wrap around your upper arms. That is when you panic and struggle in the grasp of your unknown assailant, fear overriding all of your thoughts.

“Don’t touch me!”

“My lady?” It’s one of the Fatuus who guards the estate. Private Herkyna tries to help you up but you flinch nonetheless.

Cyane runs outside. “Unhand her! Lady ______ is not to be—have you forgotten the orders of the late Captain?!”

The late…why are they already calling him that?!

Private Herkyna lets go of you. Now she is bowing and apologizing profusely. You don’t see the messenger anywhere—is he still in your home?

Cyane walks over to you and crouches to your level.

“Lady ______, please.” The pity in their gaze is unbearable. “Come back inside.”

“N-No.” Your voice comes out in strained whispers. “You’re lying. Let me go. Let…”

Cyane holds out their hand but you turn away. The snow is numbingly cold yet you grip it with both hands, if only to ground yourself to something physical.

When you look up, the sky is empty of stars.

“Let me see my husband!”

This can’t be true.

Yes, that’s it. This must be a dream, just another nightmare crafted by your fears and memories. Soon enough, you’ll open your eyes and see the stars in your husband’s gaze. And when that happens, he will comfort you, pull you into the warmth of his embrace, tell you it was all a dream that will never come true.

✿ ⚘

Ideally, you’d be in Natlan by now.

But there is only so much authority you hold as the wife of the First Harbinger, so you are still awaiting approval. From who, you don’t know.

Until then, you refuse to believe in the rumors.

You have to see Capitano with your own eyes. Only then can you believe that he is truly gone.

In the meantime, you are incapable of waiting.

Time passes slowly in the manor. It has always felt too big, too quiet in Capitano’s absence. But back then, you could sustain yourself with the promise of his return.

Come to think of it, did he say anything about coming home?

He always made that promise, before his missions and in his letters, but on the day he left for Natlan…his last words to you were a prayer for your everlasting happiness.

It’s not just that. The servants have gone into mourning. They don’t know how to act around you, with their piteous gazes and fruitless attempts at comfort.

You don’t talk to any of them. You keep to yourself, drowning out their words, drifting from one room to another in a disoriented haze.

A family portrait hangs in the living room, depicting you and Capitano. He’d kept his mask on, of course, to conceal the abyssal rot consuming his body. As for you, your lacy gown made you look like the princesses in your storybooks.

His face is still vivid in your memories, along with his loving expressions. But when you stare at your husband’s painted imitation, all you can see is the black void of his mask.

✿ ⚘

Three days later, Cyane brings you to Capitano’s office.

“Cyane,” you whisper, “why are we here?”

They speak carefully. “When I was selected for this job, the Captain gave me access to special documents. I was told to only open them if we received news of his…absence.”

Absence. That is the word they use around you these days.

Well, they aren’t wrong. From what you heard, your husband is still in Natlan.

Cyane unlocks the door, stepping aside so you can enter.

The office is familiar. In the past, you avoided that room and only went there if Capitano called for you. But later on, you became a frequent visitor of your own volition.

The desk is empty. So is the chair behind it. On the days he worked from home, Capitano would be here, signing documents and speaking to subordinates. Whenever you visited, he’d adjust his sitting position so you could make yourself comfortable on his lap.

Cyane walks over to his desk and takes out a set of keys. They unlock the leftmost drawer.

Inside is a leather folder engraved with Capitano’s insignia and two names—yours and Sergeant C. Naiad. That, too, has to be unlocked.

It is filled with several documents written in familiar handwriting. A few words catch your eye, and that is all it takes for you to step back.

“What…what is this?”

“I opened it as soon as we received the news,” Cyane explains. “The Captain left this behind to ensure your welfare in the event that he died in battle.”

Died. But he technically isn’t…

“Cyane.” Your voice comes out in a deathly whisper. “Did you know?”

Just how long has he been planning this?

They shake their head. “I knew nothing. When the Captain gave me the key to this drawer, he phrased it as a contingency plan, not…an inevitability.”

Cyane explains the documents to you. There is a signed will. A pension that ensures all of your needs will be met for the remainder of your life. And many other considerations.

One document provides options for your living situation. If you want, you can stay in Capitano’s estate; you have sole ownership. Otherwise, you can return to Mondstadt or relocate to another nation entirely. Wherever you go, the Fatui will permit it and your servants will follow you.

It’s funny, really. Had your captor died a few years ago, you would’ve felt relief. Joy. Freedom. But at this moment, your chest feels hollow.

Has Mondstadt changed?

It should be safe, seeing how Capitano brought justice upon your tormentors. Mondstadt Library will still be there, though you doubt that your coworkers missed you. As for the meadow…it was never yours to begin with.

You have nothing to return to, really.

How can you return to your days of barely living? What is waiting for you in the nation you once called home?

The last document is a sealed envelope.

Cyane gives it to you. “I didn’t read this. It’s for your eyes only.”

Wordlessly, you accept it. The envelope is thicker than any of Capitano’s previous letters. Your name is written on the back, the handwriting still familiar.

With that, you leave the office before Cyane can say another word.

You don’t read the letter, however. It is slipped between the pages of your notebook, joining the flowers you’d saved for your husband.

✿ ⚘

The condolences are insufferable.

Thankfully, you don’t receive any visitors or official summons from the Fatui. But sympathy gifts begin to pile up in your estate, all from your husband’s colleagues.

You’ve overheard the servants predicting a funeral in Zapolyarny Palace. It will likely happen, seeing how all of the Harbingers gathered to “mourn” La Signora.

Hopefully, you won’t be invited. From what Capitano told you, the meeting will only be a clash of egos, insincere pleasantries, formal discussions in which your husband’s death will be referred to as a necessary step in the grand scheme of the Tsaritsa.

There are also rumors that there is more to Capitano’s plan than his sacrifice. But you’ve yet to receive any official confirmation.

There is a vase of lilies from a long-forgotten acquaintance. A maid asks if you’d like to preserve it, and your response is a blank stare.

The flowers are left to wilt.

✿ ⚘

Your hobbies are your only distraction.

A week later, you continue your morning strolls. Cyane escorts you as usual, but there are more Fatuus in the distance. They are likely here to stop you from running off to Natlan.

…Snezhnaya feels colder. At this time of the year, most of the flowers have shed their petals and returned to the earth. Those that remain are all picked and passed to Cyane.

You can give them to your husband when the two of you reunite.

To think that the last time you walked around the woods, you were picking flowers without a care in the world. Though your morning strolls are more enjoyable in Capitano’s company.

The rosebush is still there. But its flowers are gone; all that remain are frost-covered thorns.

A year ago, you learned that the rosebush was artificially planted in the estate. It’s just like your husband to perform these quiet gestures for you.

Back then, you were still afraid of him. Nonetheless, he remained patient with you.

Your hand wraps around a barren stem.

The thorns are sharp, just the way you remember them. Capitano always told you to be careful when handling the roses. He’d even offer to pick them and remove the thorns for you.

He was gentle with you, too, the first time you pricked yourself on these flowers.

But it’s different now. These thorns are pricking your palm in different places. There are no white petals to absorb the blood. It is Cyane’s hand that catches your wrist, their urgent tone that breaks the silence. It is a healer, not Capitano, who treats the wounds.

Later, you flip through your notebook. Capitano’s last letter included several Natlanese flowers. Even during his most important mission, he’d taken the time to pick them for you. It was always your favorite gift, not just the flowers but the knowledge that he was constantly thinking of you.

Cyane hands you the flowers you’d picked earlier, newly thawed.

Your notebook has run out of blank pages, but you refuse to get a new one. You stack layers of flowers and parchment paper between the final pages, then you slam it shut and press down on the cover. The flowers flatten.

Still, your notebook won’t close fully.

✿ ⚘

These days, you hide in the library.

In the beginning of your captivity, there was a single stack of books in your room. As the months passed, it expanded to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, followed by a personal library. Your husband had always been supportive of your hobby, so long as it wasn’t used “as a means to avoid him.”

The entire library is yours. Every time you receive a new book, you write your name on the front page and place it on a specific shelf. Unlike the books you handled as a librarian, your books are arranged according to your own system of classification.

A week before the messenger’s arrival, a set of books was delivered to the manor. In addition to sequels, there were new titles which you expressed interest in but never mentioned to Capitano. You assumed that it was Cyane who told him.

One of the books was written by a Snezhnayan author, but he’d purchased a translated edition. Thus, you were able to read it on your own; there was no need to wait for Capitano’s return.

The Snezhnayan titles take up their own bookcase. Unlike their newest addition, the books are all printed in their native language. As such, you couldn’t read them without Capitano’s help. By now, your proficiency has improved but you haven’t touched those books ever since he left.

What was the last book he read to you?

It was a love story about a cursed dragon and a captive princess. In the end, the dragon’s curse was lifted with true love’s kiss. And they all lived happily ever after.

But that was an adaptation of a fairytale. The original story ended in tragedy.

✿ ⚘

One night, you dream of your husband.

In your dream, you reunite with him in a meadow of dandelions and Inteyvats.

He wears a pristine uniform with an eight-pointed star over his chest. His mask is off, revealing a face free of scars and abyssal rot.

His cursed appearance had never bothered you, at least after you got used to it.

His eyes are the only part of his body which remain the same. And yet those deep blue stars are gazing at you with indifference. The same emotion that you’d seen, time and time again, in the eyes of your foster family and caretakers from Mondstadt Orphanage.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Is it because he doesn’t recognize you?

Perhaps that is it. After all, just as Capitano’s old body has been preserved, so has yours. Every inch of your skin is covered in old bruises and wounds, along with the pain of each memory.

Your voice is audible, restored to its original state before you began speaking in whispers. When you call out to him, there is no pain in your throat.

But he doesn’t respond. Behind him, you can make sight of a war-torn battlefield.

You run towards him but the meadow stretches, widening the distance to him. Capitano turns around and walks in the direction of the battlefield, leaving crushed flowers in his wake.

Is it because he doesn’t know you? Or has he simply tired of protecting you?

In the end, even this imaginary version of your husband didn’t hesitate to discard you.

✿ ⚘

Your trip to Natlan is finally approved.

A group of Fatuus, including Cyane, make preparations to escort you. An official report confirms that you will be welcomed by the Captain’s remaining soldiers stationed in Natlan.

You don’t pack much. You are only traveling to reunite with your husband, after all.

This is different from the trip you had in mind. Before, you’d envisioned Capitano bringing you to Natlan for a vacation after his victory. He only had good things to say about the nation.

It was a year into your marriage when he told you about his battles in Natlan, his previous life in Khaenri’ah, the souls he’d carried in his heart for the past five hundred years. What he didn’t tell you was the sacrifice required to grant salvation to his fallen comrades.

Sometimes, you forget that he has lived a whole life before you.

It’s nothing to be jealous over, not when the same can be said for you.

But in those moments…it became clear that you were only a short chapter in his life.

You tell the servants to prepare clothes suitable for Natlan’s climate. When you check your luggage, you are pleased to note that they didn’t pack mourning attire.

You still wear your wedding ring, with its little flowers sculpted from gold and jewels.

There was no romantic proposal or wedding. A few days after your abduction, Capitano simply slipped it onto your finger. From then on, he began calling you his wife.

It was a perfect fit. Capitano had his own ring, and you rarely saw him without it.

Similar to him, you wear it around your ring finger. Other times, you hang it from a necklace chain, keeping it close to your heart.

✿ ⚘

In Natlan, you introduce yourself with Capitano’s family name.

Until now, you aren’t used to hearing a surname after your first name.

In Mondstadt, only your first name is registered in official records. When you were part of your foster family, you had no opportunity to use your new name; you only know that “______ Maier” was written in adoption papers long reduced to ashes.

In contrast, your name is registered with Capitano’s family name in Snezhnaya. And when you began accepting his love, you were all too happy to use it in conversations.

It was a significant decision. To him, who had lost his family in the Cataclysm. To you, who never had a family before him.

You also know about Capitano’s true name, though you rarely use it out of respect for his past. But whenever you dared to call him Thrain, his reaction was one of affection.

Now, in Natlan, you hear his true name spoken in reference to a legendary hero. But you don’t ask for those stories, and instead focus on your husband’s soldiers.

They are visibly somber, eroding what is left of your hope. Worse are their thoughts of you.

Prior to their mission, you were mainly known as the mysterious wife of Il Capitano with your frail countenance and melancholy gaze. But now there is a different tone to their whispers.

“The Captain’s widow is here.”

“Was her gaze always this dim?”

“Poor thing…you can tell that something has broken in her.”

Rotchev brings you to a monument honoring those who lost their lives in the war. The Captain’s image is sculpted on it, and it isn’t just his soldiers who visit it. An elderly man named Munay offers to host you in his home, out of gratitude to him.

…The nation seems lovely, and you can see why it never left your husband’s memory. But grief plants persistent seeds of resentment, and you have little reason to enjoy Natlan in solitude.

In the end, you are introduced to Ororon, the Natlanese hero who worked closely with Capitano.

He is awkward around you, if not surprised by the revelation that the Captain was married. He does recall a few instances when he spied on him picking flowers; when he gives the names, you recognize those flowers from his last gift.

He agrees to bring you to him.

✿ ⚘

Here he is.

Your husband sits upon a throne surrounded by dark ice. A stairway leads up to him.

He looks like a character straight from a fairytale. A dignified ruler. A lonely warrior distanced from those he saved. Or perhaps even a sleeping beauty waiting for his beloved to wake him.

Cyane guides Ororon away from the Throne of the Primal Fire, far enough to give you privacy but close enough to come to your aid if anything happens.

With that, you walk up the steps. You don’t stop until you’re right in front of him.

Up close, your husband looks the same. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Capitano?”

Silence. He remains seated.

You reach out to him. “It’s me, ______.”

Cold. His body is so cold.

Still, you don’t let go of his hand. The muscles are relaxed and when you check his palm, you find his wedding ring under his gauntlet. But the warmth of his touch is gone.

You look up. “I’m sorry for making you wait. I tried…I really did try to come here as soon as possible.”

The silence is stifling.

Carefully, you kneel on the space between his legs so you can face him. Up close, you can peer into his mask. But no stars gaze back at you, only darkness.

Why would he do such a thing?

“This…isn’t the end, is it?” You speak louder, as much as your voice permits. “You didn’t get the Gnosis, after all, and the Tsaritsa…there must be another phase to your plan.”

Why did he save you if he knew your story would only end in tragedy?

Your vision blurs.

“Please. Tell me you aren’t gone.”

Blinking back tears, you shake him by his shoulders. But the only sounds you hear are the clink of chains, your unsteady breaths. The cracking of your voice.

Why have you been holding on to false hope?

Desperately, you tilt his head and bring your lips to his.

…They’re just as cold. Unresponsive.

When you pull away, he remains asleep.

“Thrain, wake up!”

What made you think that life would play out like a fairytale?

That is when you give up.

The tears won’t stop.

It’s so hard to breathe.

“Could…Couldn’t you have at least told me?” you shout. Your voice breaks again, coupled with a familiar ache in your throat. “Why…?”

What is left of your future?

How could the gods be so cruel as to deprive you of love time and time again?

For once in your life, couldn’t you be less selfish?

You cover your mouth but incoherent noises continue to spill from your lips. It’s too loud, all distinction lost between your words and your sobs. So noisy.

But Capitano’s response is nonexistent. This body doesn’t hug you; neither does it carry you out of this horrible place. It remains still, cold as a corpse, indifferent to your grief.

You bury your face into his coat and continue crying.

✿ ⚘

At some point, you cry yourself to sleep.

When you wake up, the sky is dark. You’re still clinging to Capitano’s body but a blanket covers you—did Cyane check on you? Nothing else has changed.

By now, you’re exhausted. Your voice has reached its limit, and your tears have dried. Numbly, you change your position so you can sit on your husband’s lap.

For the next few minutes, you just stay there. Taking in the silence, the familiar shape of his body, the ambience of his final resting place.

Here, the sky is foggy. There are no stars in sight.

Finally, you turn around to face him.

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper. Your throat hurts but you force out the words. “Capitano…I’ve missed you. I hope—”

I hope you come back.

But you dare not say it, thinking of your time in Mondstadt Orphanage when such words were a cruel wish. Back then, goodbyes meant that someone was leaving for a happier place. Why would anyone want them to return—discarded, faded, like you?

So you don’t say it. Your husband has suffered enough.

Instead, you take your notebook out of your bag. “Here, this is for you.”

You flip to the final pages. Then you take out all of the flowers you’d preserved from the beginning of his mission—the Natlanese flowers from his gifts, the Snezhnayan flowers picked since the day of his death.

You slip each flower into his coat pocket, close to his heart. When you touch his chest, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Well, there’s no denying that he loved you. Not as much as his comrades, but enough that he made room in his heart for you.

You stand up and fix the creases on his clothes. Another kiss is given but again, no reaction.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” you tell him. A ghost of a smile makes its way to your face. “I still have so many flowers to offer to you, after all.”

With that, you walk down the stairway. Before you head in the direction of the exit, you turn back to look at your husband.

…He looks tranquil. Preserved in death, just like your flowers.

Wherever it is, may his soul rest in peace.

✿ ⚘

Cyane says nothing when you approach them, eyes red and voice hoarse.

Neither does Ororon, though you can tell he is resisting the urge to ask questions. Before you go separate ways, he asks if you are leaving soon.

“...No,” you whisper. With the pain in your throat, you are barely audible. “I’d like to stay longer. I still have so much to tell my husband, after all. Thank you for showing me the way.”

Cyane brings you to the Fatui encampment. The soldiers look even more concerned when they see you, but you walk past them and enter your husband’s tent.

It’s still furnished. When you go through his things, you find your letters, including the last one you sent him. A locked box containing every flower you’d gifted him. Reports written in Cyane’s handwriting. A Withering Purpurbloom that didn’t make it into his letters.

The flower is added to your notebook. You can give it to him when it is fully preserved.

Sighing, you lie down. Now that you’ve seen your husband…what’s left to do?

There is the matter of your future. You don’t want to move out of Snezhnaya; the manor has too many memories you can’t let go of. Maybe you can arrange for regular visits to your husband’s body. You don’t know if it’s grief or hope that makes you unwilling to leave what remains of him.

For now, you might as well honor his wishes and read his last words to you.

You wrap yourself in his blanket; if you close your eyes, you can pretend the warmth is from his embrace. Then you take his letter out of your bag and open the envelope.

…There are so many pages. A past version of your husband awaits you, preserved in paper and ink. And this certainly won’t be the last time you read his message—you’ll read it again and again, as with his other letters, until you can memorize it by heart.

“My beloved flower…”

✿ ⚘

The night before your husband’s departure, you stayed awake to enjoy your remaining time together.

He told you not to force yourself but you were stubborn. This would be his longest mission and for just one night, you wanted to spare him of the voices within his heart.

You helped him pack his bags. Capitano read one last Snezhnayan story to you, then he shared anecdotes from his past. The two of you went outside to view the stars and when you found none, you turned to him and said that his gaze would suffice.

Before dawn broke, the two of you cuddled in bed.

“Will you miss me?” you whispered. This time, you didn’t hold back your yawn—you made Capitano promise to wake you up in a few hours.

By now, that question had become part of your routine. His answer was always the same.

“I will.” He pulled back to look at your face. But his arms were still around you, caging you in his embrace. “From the bottom of my heart.”

There was a soft light in your eyes as you met his gaze, committing his face to memory—his scars, his abyssal rot, his loving expression, those deep blue eyes that held the stars.

Your hand moved lower to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’ll miss you too.”

His kiss was warm. He felt your smile against his lips.

With that, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. There were so many more things you wanted to tell him, but you decided to save it for another day. For your future letters. For your inevitable reunion. For the happy future in your delusions.

As for Capitano, everything had already been said and written.

“May you thrive in the peaceful world I leave behind to you.”

 ♡

Happy Ending coming someday!! ヽ(；▽；)ノ

…And then Capitano got resurrected and they lived happily ever after hahahaha /deranged. 

Just to be clear, Capitano isn’t dead in my I Love You, Darling universe. This fic doubles as an alternate ending AND a prelude to my next fic, which is a canon-divergent happy ending. If Hoyoverse resurrects Capitano later on, assume that this fic + the continuation are both canon to the Herbarium series (*≧∀≦*)

Fufufufu so what did you think of this tragic ending?? *evil laugh* Like I said earlier, I’m not into angst but I had fun writing this fic. I even slipped in a few parallels to Herbarium for eagle-eyed readers. Also, a big thank you to my long-time beta-reader @diodellet <3

Lastly, I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their love for CapiDamsel!! Capitano and Damsel will always occupy a special place in my heart and don’t worry, this isn’t the last you’ll see of them. For now, do share your tears and reactions with me >:’3

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @leftdestiny-posts @harmonysanreads @brynn-lear @naraven @mochinon-yah @pranabefall @euniveve @limeiyuan @stickyspeckledlight @teabutmakeitazure @dawn-sky-collective @poetics-of-fuubutsu

[ficmenrhot]

Finnick’s trauma and comforting him:( /angst/

TW: mentions of forced prostitution and description of some gore and violence, a little bit of self hatred, talking about traumatic events

A/N: to all those survivors and victims of traumatic events, I’m proud of you…and this is a reminder that your loved ones are always willing to listen. Also, this is quite long so buckle up!

————————————

I think it is pretty much common knowledge that Finnick Odair has some deep trauma from his time in the games and past. Although most victors of the Hunger Games suffered the same fate, Finnick was caught in Snow’s grasp too young..too vulnerable. He was forced to participate in the 65th Hunger Games at only 14-to kill others for survival- and when he won, thinking that all the suffering would be over then, he was threatened to become a prostitute at 16, otherwise his loved ones would be slaughtered- in which they did.

Finnick tries so hard to put on a facade in front of the Capitol- when he attends shows and interviews- and he does an amazing job at that. He tries so, so hard to remain strong for you too…to try and convince you that he really is alright by lying that his past no longer haunts him. He wants to assure you that he is stable because he is afraid of becoming a burden to you, afraid to be pushed away or feared by you because of his ‘problems’. The last thing he needs is to have the last person he loves vanish from his life.

However, at times, the stresses and memories just come flooding back to him and he finds himself breaking down.

Sometimes at night, you’ll be awoken by the soft sobs of Finnick crying, and seeing him in that state just absolutely destroys you…as if a thousand knives to your heart.

His back is facing you to avoid having you see his teary face, quietly sniffing into a pillow in his arm. He looks so vulnerable…almost like he’s fourteen all over again, and your heart throbs at the sight of your love- usually so big and strong- breaking down into pieces.

“…F-Finnick, my love?” You whisper ever so softly, sitting up against the headboard as you place a your much smaller hand on his shoulder.

Finnick turns at you, his eyes red and tears welling up at his waterline, long lashes wet and cheeks a little flushed from crying. He blinks, wiping away his tears, voice raspy as he says apologetically,

“Honey….I’m so sorry I woke you up.”

This man. He’s breaking down and he is so selfless that he apologises to you for experiencing valid emotions?!

“Oh Finnick, why are you apologising? It’s not your fault..you know it never is. Was it the nightmares again?” you ask gently with sympathetic eyes.

You have no idea what Finnick had to go through in the Hunger Games or any idea of what it is like to have your body sold but whatever it feels like, you know it must be terrible…so painful and terrible for somebody as strong as Finnick to be shattered. And you wouldn’t even have to think for a second to do anything at all -to kill or to sacrifice your own safety- just to share half of Finnick’s pain….to lift the weighs off his shoulders.

“My love, would you like me to hold you?” It is the least you can offer.

Finnick sniffs quietly and nod, moving closer to you to lay on your chest. Your fingers delve into his golden curls, playing with his hair as it is one of your favourite ways to calm him down. The two of you find peace in the silence before you ask softly:

“Would you like to share what happened, Finnick? Or we can talk about it when you feel better and just cuddle back to sleep…whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

Finnick is quiet for a few moments before he blinks and rubs at his wet lashes, “..it was…it was another nightmare. I had to kill the last tribute…a young girl from district 11. She was only a few years older than me…forced into the Games too…and I had to k-kill her to win…” His voice cracks as a tear rolls down his cheeks, and you wipe it away with your thumb, nodding as you listen attentively.

“It was terrible…the look on her face when I stabbed her with my trident…I can still remember her shrill screams, the look of betrayal on her face…the way her body thudded to the ground with blood soaking up her wetsuit.” Finnick begins to sob once more.

“Shhh..shhh” you coo, stroking Finnick’s cheeks as you attempt to comfort him.

Finnick shakes his head, breath hitched and uneven as he sobs in your hands, and the heartache of seeing him like this nearly eats you alive.

“I…I’m disgusting…I feel impure….and with what Snow did to me…”

“…the things he made me do…I feel disgusting....”

Prostitution is something you know of Finnick’s past, but it is a topic he has never really opened up on until this moment. You never forced him or questioned him about it because you know it is an event of great trauma to him.

You can only stroke Finnick’s hair to sooth him and hold him tightly in support as he continues, feeling both sympathy and proudness that he is able to open up about this topic.

“No matter how much I try to wash myself, to scrub my skin and submerge myself in soap, I can still smell the sickening scent of Capitol perfumes. Sometimes…I feel sorry that I can’t be a better partner for you sweetheart……and I’m so afraid that you’ll leave me or regret me or feel shameful of me.”

You cup Finnick’s face for him to look at you and there are a thousand emotions visible in your eyes as you speak.

“Are you kidding, Finnick? Look me in the eye when I tell you that I will never regret loving you or feel ashamed of you. I’m so proud to have you as my partner, as my lover, so proud of how strong you are…how strong you remain after the terrible things you had to go through.”

“In fact, my love, I look up to you. You’re my role model Finnick, and if I were in your shoes, I would not be able to handle things half as well as you do. You are kind, amazing, beautiful and definitely not disgusting. Trust me when I say that that is the last thing you’ll ever be. Besides, it wasn’t your choice to kill that tribute, anyone would’ve done the same.”

And with that, his sea green eyes softens, and that smile you’re familiar with finally appears on his face. Dimples when he smiles. You press a soft kiss on his forehead and stroke his hair as the two of you hold each other sleepily, slowly dozing off to a deep slumber. The last words you mutter being:

“I love you, my love.”

“I love you more, honey. And thank you….really.”

——————————————————————

A/N: AHHHH! tell me why I almost cried writing this?! This is my first angst and I think the lost piece I’ve written by far (on this new account). Please like or reblog if you enjoyed this, and follows are most definitely appreciated ;)

[besideprimroseshade]

ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 3

"I want you, I want you, it's like my IQ's going down"

TW: decapitation mention, religious themes?? sorta??

    Current Alias

    Hanakoto Y/N

Finishing the now cold remains of your mashed potatoes and steak you get up.  Bumping into a student walking behind you, they offer their apologies first, a low voice that you'd expect from an grown adult not a teen.  "My apologies child" was all he said as he walked away.  Staring as he walked away you couldn't help but feel a twinge of familiarity radiating from him.

    You’re unsure why you returned to school, back in your mortal days it was pure hell for you.  It wasn’t difficult by any means, but certain subjects had a way of making you feel so hopelessly stupid that you considered just giving up on everything together.  Gradually, nothing seemed interesting anymore, slipping into eternal sleep seemed so inviting.  Much more so than the hours of work that you hated yourself for not being able to finish.  You hated yourself for not being able to finish a simple worksheet, it should’ve been easy, you started it but now you’d have to finish it.  But it wasn’t easy, it was a struggle to even look at the paper, your own disappointed voice in your head chastising you relentlessly.       Gradually, everything got to be too much.  And honestly, you stopped giving a fuck the day you challenged that god.  Praying to an all-knowing being that you weren’t even sure really existed anymore.  Your family was particularly religious, putting their faith in a god that you too believed wholeheartedly in your youth.  You knew that you shouldn’t pray for yourself, yet you still did.       Your faith was shaken roughly after a dear friend of yours was struck with a sickness.  You prayed day and night, begging your family’s almighty god for some sort of relief for them.  Anything to ease their pain, anything to ensure their survival.  Your poor friend who’s only sin was being too kind to stray animals.  You offered up your sweets as a penance to perhaps appeal to this god’s mercy.  One day, they actually appeared back at school, no longer bound to their wheelchair.  It was a miracle, perhaps all your prayers and sacrifices worked, perhaps the god was moved by the prayers of their devoted follower.     They were buried just a week later. 

That was the beginning of this god’s fall from grace in your mind.  Your teenage years were full of suppressed rage, each time you tried to express your feelings your parents shut you down and handed you tools to work in the fields. That did help, but you ended up ruining the fields in your anger, and your parents decided it best for them to have you take walks instead.  Walks were nice, they offered some sort of solace for your bottled emotions.  Occasionally, along the shores, you’d find some merperson that had swam too far from their home.  Sometimes they’d tempt you down to the watery depths with their songs, and other times they were simply curious about humans.  Both were better than being home, in your mind.      The diaries that belonged to you as a child were thrown out, further cementing your disbelief in this god that you had so fondly worshipped.  You hated each page, you hated your younger self for being so fucking naive, you hated that god.  You found a particularly bright colored diary that reappeared in your shelves.  It was your favorite, a special book handed down from your mother, it bore a smooth dull red cover, still had some of her notes written down in her neat handwriting.  You almost laughed at yourself when you read it again, swearing was so forbidden in your household, however did little you write ‘shut up’ without a care in the world.       Into the trash it went, for a second time, it was probably possessed or something.  There went another piece of your past that you so fervently hated.  The horrible grammar, the shitty drawings, that ‘unshakable’ belief, you didn’t realize it was possible to hate something so much.  You bought more journals as the centuries passed, and decided to not throw out anymore, lest that force that brought your red one back from the trash struck again.      Then the worst drought in a centuries time struck your village with a vengeance.  Usually, you’d read in history books that you stole from your brother, that your village would sacrifice a young maiden or child.  To appease the gods and beg them for rain.  The willing sacrifice would be led to a quiet place in the cliffs, then they would pray that their life would help pave the way for the new lives that the rain would nourish.  Then came the gruesome part, they were usually drugged, their head chopped off and placed on a stone for the gods.  The body was buried on the mountain, and then they would pray again.       You do wonder why after your challenge your village was hit with rain enough to replenish the river that had long run dry.  Perhaps the gods looked with favor upon your foolish endeavor.  Perhaps they decided to further prove your demise.    You were currently preoccupied with completing the work of a student whom you shared classes with that didn’t seem particularly interested in completing today’s classwork.  You sent them a short summary of how you completed the work and they paid you decently.  You felt like those tutors that you’d see in the windows of the rich families of your town.  Helping the kids learn their school and life skills.  All things their parents were too busy to teach them.       You recognized the student in front of you, that deep-voiced boy from lunch.  Purposely bumping into him you drop one of your books, “Oh no my books!” You mutter and bend down to pick it up, noticing that he does the same.  You meet his eyes, round and scarlet.  They seemed so familiar… Wait… That fae… What the hell was he doing here?

    “Have we met before?  Once upon a dream perhaps?” He breaks the silence with a cheerful grin.  Glaring into his eyes, you attempt to fish out any information about him.  "Who the hell are you?" you stare incredulously.  He senses your suspicion "Ah, I haven't introduced myself havent I?  I'm Lilia Vanrouge, Vice Housewarden of Diasomnia.  Pleasure to meet you!" he extends his gloved hand out.  And you take it cautiously, shaking it slowly.  Then you pull your hand away.

    "You" the word slips from your lips before you register it.

    "Ah, so we have met before" he mutters softly, taking note of your glare.

    You stand up slowly "Lilia..." you say it as you rise, something about his name strikes a familiar chord in your memory.  "your name doesn't seem familiar but you do" you add cautiously.  What if he takes you for some rando stalker or something of the sort? he pauses and continues "You seem familiar to me as well..." he takes a long silent pause "Ell... is that you?".  You throw a hand over his mouth "It's not Ell anymore, it's Hanakoto, don't forget that... and wait, how do you know my name?" you hiss.  "Ah, Hanakoto, do you mind if we continue this er… reunion back at Diasomnia?  Classes should be starting again soon, and I’d hate for you to be tardy cause of little ‘ol me”.  Lilia gives you one last smile before vanishing into thin air, your schoolbook in hand.     Damn him, wait, why would he need your schoolbook?  Oh, for a bribe, so that you couldn’t refuse his offer… He was more conniving than you gave him credit for… damn bastard.       You finished your school day without much fanfare, as usual.  You stood in the Mirror Room, approaching the mirror with the emblem of Diasomnia above it.  Lilia, such a floral name for hardened warrior.  Well, at least you knew it now.  That explained his past distaste for the lilies that you occasionally grew to sell.        Diasomnia was the equivalent of a gothic castle if you’ve ever seen one.  If you were a weaker soul perhaps, maybe the very sight if it would have you shaking in fear.  Though you thought it to be too much.  In any case, this was your destination.  You walked the long and rather thin path that led to the dorm's great black doors.  Pushing them open with a heave you were greeted by the sight of an annoying freshman who you recognized from the Orientation, Sebek Zigvolt if you recalled correctly.  A loud boy, with a lean build, bright green gelled back hair and golden eyes with slit pupils.  He was missing the common features of a Zigvolt though, where were his scales?  He must be a half blood then, you decided silently as he greeted you with a shout.  You were expecting him to spout off something about humans in disdain. But surprisingly he welcomed you, "Welcome to Diasomnia!" you muster a reply "Hello, Zigvolt...".   

    You follow him into the dorm's lounge, "I do not know what Master Lilia sees in a human like you.  But if he specifically invites you to Diasomnia, I will do my best to treat you like a guest!".  He shouts, much to your dismay.  Sure, go ahead and announce me being here to everyone you sigh inwardly.  Taking a seat on the plush black couches of the dorm's lounge, you two wait for Lilia to make his appearance.  Now that you thought about it, it had been a while since you had last seen a member of the Zigvolt clan, last member you had seen was Baur.  He was a soldier under Lilia back then or something, you never really cared to learn about him.  This boy wasn't a full fae, so perhaps he was a grandson or great-grandson, the hatred the fae held towards the humans made the thought seem impossible in your mind.  Perhaps it had been healed by centuries after?  In any case you were here to see Lilia, not ponder about the racial tensions between humans and fae. 

    Lilia himself decides to appear right next to you, making his presence known with a bright 'Well hello there!'.  Sebek stiffens at the sight of his Vice Housewarden.  "Master Lilia!  Thank you for gracing us with your presence!" you give him a small hesitant wave and place your hands onto your lap.  "Whats with the sullen face??  Don't you miss me El-er Hanakoto?" he corrects himself mid-sentence after remembering the underclassman's presence.  "Eh, not really" you admit honestly, "How dare you be so curt when Master Lilia is speaking to you human!" Sebek cried.  "He's your master not mine" you lean back against the couch, "Tis quite alright Sebek, Hanakoto and I are acquainted" Lilia smiles.  He processes this new information and mutters an apology.  The elder fae waves a hand in a shooing motion, "No need to apologize, I'm sure that Hanakoto has taken no offense" you nod in agreement, "I really don't give a fuck". 

   “Well, now that you’re here, why don’t we discuss some things in private?  I’ve been meaning to talk to you” Lilia smiles.  You throw him an incredulous stare, “You are aware how that sounds right?” He returns with an innocent look “Nope!” and grabs your hand, teleporting the two of you to his room.

    You followed Lilia into his room, "What the fuck??" you mutter as your eyes trail around, observing clothes and objects that were hurriedly shoved into drawer shelves.  "Ah, well, I didn't have much time to clean up" he chuckles "Silly me".  Lilia's room is a random ass assortment of items you presumed he collected from after you met.  A guitar on the bed, a spare jacket and shirt tossed over the wardrobe's open door.  "How did you go from only owning the clothes on your back to some grandpa with a hoarding issue?" you groan in disbelief.  "That, Hanakoto, is a story for another day".  "How has time been treating you?" he sighs with an air that you can't decide if it's playfulness or genuine curiosity.  "Same as always" you admit.  Lilia snaps his fingers and summons a rather elegant teapot and two teacups. 

    You hesitantly take the cup of tea that was oh so generously offered to you.  The distinct aroma of oranges and cardamom filled your senses as you brought the cup to your lips.  "Have you a family yet?" he asks the question carefully to which you shake your head, "Nah, the only family I had are dead and gone".  Your eyes look up from the cup, "You?" he sighs wistfully, "I do, I have a son...".  He says the word 'son' with such love you were almost jealous of this random child.  "Gods, I feel ancient" you tease.  "You're much older than me after all" he grins, before his lips fall into a frown "I missed you, Ell, I thought that you left me...".  Lilia's words run a knife through you, your grip falters and bit of steaming tea falls on you, Fuck you whisper, fuck fuck fuck fuck... you had forgotten that you were forced to leave your home by the forest, lest you be killed by those Silver Owls or the fae.  You never told Lilia, just packed up and left in a hurry, taking your house with you. 

    'I missed you Ell' the words stung with a force you weren't expecting.  Truth be told, you wanted him to forget about you, everyone forgot about you in the end so what was another person to add to that list?

   But no, Lilia had aged almost 400 years and still remembered you.    He had a family.  He looked older, he was no longer the petty creature with an attitude.  He was a father, a father beloved for his wisdom.  Yet he still remembered you.     You were exactly the same, physically and mentally.  You would never change.  You would outlive him, outlive his family, outlive his grandchildren and great grandchildren.  There was something that you felt, a feeling that choked you, a feeling that you'd heard of people experiencing when their loved ones passed.  But, your so called 'loved ones' had passed oh so many years ago, yet that feeling never came to you.  It was only now, that you met with Lilia again, that you understood the feeling.  That haunting feeling of grief and loss.  That horrible feelings that was like a hand closing on your throat.  Choking the life out of you.  You felt unworthy of being remembered by him, why did he remember you out of all people?  When he could've easily forgotten about you like so many others had.  Why you?

    At least I completed something that my brother said I couldn't, he said that I would die unremarkable and forgotten.  You're wrong for once fuckface. 

   You forced yourself out of your thoughts and choked out a little, "I missed you too" before finishing your now lukewarm tea.  You shook those despairing feelings away as someone knocked softly on the door. 

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Author's Thoughts

Lilia Vanrouge - 'He actually remembered me...'

Sebek Zigvolt - 'Loud and annoying, but whatever.'

Silver - 'One lucky kid.'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

An: thank u all my lovely readers for still sticking around <333 and to all the new ones that have joined this hell lmaooo. plz forgive any errors <333

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 7 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 7.

Being in Purgatory via dreams while your face-thief yapped about how pertinent it was to save your soulmate was not fun. Watching other Universes crumble when you were just trying to get a few hours of sleep in was not fun. Losing all your family and friends because you were a monster was not fun. Hunting monsters as a job, which didn't pay, was not fun.

But this?

Dying to arrive at Purgatory?

Let's just say you've had better fucking hangovers.

'I'm never drinking again,' you'd growled under your breath as soon as you'd woken up and realised what had happened.

This was worse than everything bad in your life. Purgatory made it look like your life had always been filled with sunshine and rainbows.

You had but a faint recollection of how you got here. But surely, "I wish I had never pissed off a Winchester" made it up the ranks in your bucket list faster than the blink of an eye.

Oh, did you mention that you had been attacked the moment you had opened your eyes after dying back on Earth?

Once the initial shock had subsided, your hunter reflexes had been back in action.

Some hunter I am, you cursed yourself. Killed by a freaking human. Didn't even have the time to defend myself . . .

You wanted badly to blame it on how drunk you were - you didn't think your ego could take it otherwise - you still believed a tiniest part of you didn't fight on purpose.

You had a growing suspicion that the only fight you put up was to get a reaction out of that guy. Your drunk self had succeeded because if your face-thief from your dreams was correct, then the only way you were making it out was through the human portal, through the only human in this hellhole who could actually cross the said fucking portal. And it was that one human you hadn't wanted to save in the first place.

Okay, maybe there was no saving your ego - it was bruised; beaten black and blue. Wrecked, really.

Trotting through the woodland carefully, you had an ear out to listen for odd noises, which you had quickly realised that that could be anything in here. You were so tensed with the idea that any second now, anything could attack and devour you; it was puzzling to imagine how any human could survive this long - let alone two!

You had to admit, you weren't much better than humans, you barely had any power when it came to fighting off monsters because your only power was dreaming, and it wasn't exactly like you could just take a break and take a nap right now. Plus, let's face it, even with your dreams you didn't stand much chance against the monster folk in here. So, you were as good as a human, too.

Yay, fun times.

And to add shame to you're already limping dignity, you had to now go seek help from the namesake who you had been denying help for weeks now . . . Dammit! Could I be more pathetic?

You twirled almost mindlessly the golden dagger in your hand. It had been lying around on the floor and formed to be a good distraction from the continuous flow of war talk. Most of it was in the foreign language that you had only recently started comprehending.

This is so boring, Dean had whined in your ear.

Sh! It's important.

I'm dying here.

You'd shot him a bitch-face. You're a baby.

Oh, now I'm a baby? You called me old yesterday. Make up your damn mind.

I know what you're doing. It's not working.

What am I doing?

Riling me up.

Well, you do push me around so good when I rile you up, his sultry voice had whispered in your ear.

That had been a satisfying night.

You were indulging your happy memories until a few officials flooded into the room with urgent frowns.

'Human!' the one in the front exclaimed.

Your groan was involuntary. 'What'd he do now?'

The official gave you a distasteful look - and you honestly understood - Dwarves are territorial, it isn't fun to have a human on your premises, in the dead-centre of a war plan that's supposed to wipe your arch-nemesis' species' existence.

But he schooled his look, 'No him. Her. You. Y/N here.'

'No. Y/N here,' another little guy who had already been in the room said, pointing at you.

'No, no, no this Y/N. Y/N! She here!'

Hope bloomed in your chest and you couldn't believe that your look-alike actually died . . . She came to save Dean.

'Y/N, this only!' the person said, getting impatient. 'Dumb!' he then pointed at the official who had brought the news of the American.

'I think,' you interrupted before it could escalate. 'He meant my doppelganger is here.'

Nan-nan, the one who called Sav-ty dumb, looked at you like you were an alien.

'Dop—whaaaa?'

You had to repress a smile. Most of them were still learning English.

'—pelganger,' you completed, 'My look-alike.' You switched attention to the one who did understand your language. 'Kan-fir, it's her. She's here to save Dean.'

He nodded thoughtfully. 'Well. Bring in.'

An obedient nod later, Sav-ty gestured to the Dwarves behind him. In came a small group of marchers carrying Y/N, bound and gagged.

Her body wiggled and squirmed, trying to get away from the fingers of the small creatures that likely felt like insects crawling on the skin (personal experience). They dumped her on the ground with no gentleness, and you kinda got the feeling that she may have deserved it - if your past encounters with her were anything to go by.

They ripped off her gag, and the curses that poured out of her made you want to go back to Earth, go to a store, and buy a label on which you could write "Rated R, not recommended for children and dwarves. Interact with at your own risk."

'You!' she snarled with venom, her eyes falling on the one person her size - literally - given that she looked exactly like you, down to the last hair, and even the pitch of her voice. 'When I get out of these, you're gonna be the first fucking person I'm gonna find! I'm gonna gouge your pretty eyes out and shove them so far up your perky ass that your gonna feel how fucking slimy it is in your goddamn perfect mouth!'

You almost laughed at the self-appreciation she seemed to intersperse in with her threats. That's a new personality you were witnessing.

'Charming. Also self-involved,' you sighed. 'I think Dean can make you a better person.' You know your Dean had done it for you.

'My God! You're still on that!?' she let loose a manic laugh. 'Jesus. Talk about not being able to move on.'

You deflated as something dawned on you: 'I assume you died per an accident.'

'Obviously. Did you think I'd come to get your lover's whore ass?' she bared her teeth, an action bordering on animalistic.

'I mean, he did get around. He wasn't paid for it, but they should pay him,' you mused - quickly realising how off-topic you were. 'However, he's extremely loyal when he's with someone - that, I know.'

'I. Don't. Care!'

'Y/N,' Kan-fir called, 'Do kill we her?'

'"Do we kill her?",' you corrected. 'And no. Could you give us some privacy?'

'Sure?' he asked in doubt.

'Yes,' you flashed him a smile. 'And, untie her, too. She's not dangerous.'

'You're not dangerous!' she snarled.

But it was hard to be scared of a woman who wore the face of a person you've underestimated your whole life. Also, she was hilariously entitled. You realised that being as lonely and as isolated as she had made herself, it might have been bound to happen . . . Weren't you somewhat like that once?

You took her by the wrists, twisted her arms behind her back, and pushed her out of the cabin, walking on the thick gnarly bark of the elongated branch.

The American version of you wiggled, her feet tremoring, trees an uncharted territory. You'd been there.

You halted when she very nearly tipped over; your fingers flexed on her joint hands and her flannel collar. 'One thing: you need to stop squirming.'

'You're squirming!' she shot back.

'Two things,' you corrected yourself. 'You need to stop squirming, and you need better come-backs.'

'Your face needs a better comeback! Bitch!'

'I'm dealing with a twelve-year-old.' You interrupted before she could speak again, 'If you say, "your face is a twelve-year-old", I will slap you like I'm Connary.'

That seemed to pause her. 'How do you even know who that is?' she said instead. 'I didn't think he was in your world. Heck, I didn't think you knew what a T.V. was!'

'We had T.V.,' you told her. 'We also had Universe Travellers who could bring content from other Universes for the said T.V.' You paused, 'Even I've travelled, specifically through Y/Ns who share my scars - emotional and physical.'

She was exasperated: 'If you can fucking travel, why did you approach me? You could have just jumped into our world and all would have been  sweet and dandy!'

You gauged her thoughtfully - did she not know about your visit?

'Excuse me?'

'You said you travelled through Y/N's - Hello!? I'm Y/N, travel through me like I'm your gate to my world, then leave me the frack alone.'

'You are a dreamwalker, correct?'

'No, that'd be your face!'

Considered, but you resisted slapping.

Your eyes fell to her rolled up sleeves. An expanse of smooth, creamy skin. No scar.

Shock rippled through your chest while your face remained an unchanged poker. You were sure you had hitched a hike in this Universe's Y/N. She had a scar, and that's what triggered your return to your own Universe.

My face-thief . . . I've been expecting you.

It took you under a minute to figure out what had transpired: you had jumped the body of a future version of this dreamwalker. No wonder the American Dean from that time was looking at you weirdly - like he knew you, and he'd lost you . . .

Suddenly, everything fell into place. You knew exactly what to do now. You could see the end.

'Let's go,' you said, a smile twitching on your lips. It was a smile of insanity, acceptance and peace. 'Let's go meet Dean.'

She smirked down at him in soft love. Her fingers went to brush his blood-soaked hair away from his eyes.Dean sighed, fluttering his world-weary eyes open, smiling a half-smile, his head in line with her ripped open stomach - one that she had just extracted the knife out of.Her legs were crossed under herself, letting Dean rest his head in her lap in the handful of breaths those two had left.

Your eyes sorrowed, you knew this couple - you had dreamt of them earlier. Just another world, another Universe for you - but for them, this was their life. And it was ending.

You hated it. You hated the goodbyes.

At least, this inevitable doom of theirs didn't seem to be deterring them from joking.

'Told you today was no good for an outing, Dean-o.'

'Yeah, well,' a cough, then some more, 'We had some fun killing monsters.'

A raised brow, 'Oh, sure, sure. Being stabbed and watching the love of my life being ripped apart slowly was the highlight of my day.'

'Finally, you've learnt to be an optimist.'

Both chuckled. Then hacked a few coughs. Y/N's hand came away bloody, a tear tracked down her cheek. Another sniffle, 'Do you . . . Do you think . . . Maybe in some another Universe—?'

'Definitely,' he cut her off, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. 'We have to be happy somewhere.'

She sighed, 'I wish we had a happy life here.'

'We did for a while.'

'You know what I mean.'

He locked eyes with her, understanding plaguing both of their features as fear chipped away at their last moments of solace they brought each other.

'It's been an honor loving you, Almost-Mrs. Y/N Winchester,' he winked.

And it never failed to clench your heart - the always almost. Everyone was always a couple, but never married - never really together. No kids, no real life - just a love that died.

'Likewise, Mr. Dean Winchester,' she chuckled airily as if her voice couldn't really decide whether she wanted to cry or laugh.

Another reason not to save your soulmate. Another proof that you wouldn't survive with him. Another sob story, another heartthrob - another way your relationship with him failed.

'Wake up!' a yell rung through her dream. It disoriented you - the voice - it was yours, just in a different accent. Blinks didn't get you anywhere for a few long seconds, until you focused on the wood beneath your palms.

Treehouse.

Purgatory. Death. English Y/N.

Your soulmate.

Right.

'We need to move,' she told you, without waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

She was already packing her things, speaking quickly and short. 'Werewolves scented me.' It was then that you noticed the huge gash along her side. 'They'll be here anytime now.'

'You're bleeding.'

'What an accurate observation,' she scoffed, shooting you an angry glance. 'Now, if you don't want to meet the same fate, I suggest you move your ungrateful arse!'

You obeyed. Handing her the requirements, and helping her stuff them in an already bulging bag. You grasped the bottle of the miraculous medicine, putting the bottleneck to her lips, 'Drink.'

Surprise flickered in her expression, doing as told.

'Since when do you care for me?'

You realised how out of character that had been for you. But cut yourself some slack - you'd just seen one of your other face-thieves die in arms of, and alongside, your supposed lover's lookalike.

You sheathed your vulnerability into a bitch-face: 'I don't. You're my ticket out of here.'

She nodded thoughtfully, like she was trying to look for some humanity under my brashness. You hoped she wouldn't see beyond your adversely insolent attitude. She should believe you didn't care.

'What's the plan?' you asked when you two left the house and started walking east.

'Don't die,' she snarked. 'And do what I say.'

You were nearing your one-week-death-aniversary and she had been giving you the same effing answer for a week. 

'You're so hell bent on saving him; yet you haven't introduced us,' you said.

Your first attack yielded no response.

'You didn't tell me why you didn't just use me to get out like a portal into our world. Wouldn't have had the rest of the drama to deal with then, you know?'

Zilch reaction.

'What about those scars?'

You spied a twitch of an eye. Maybe it was your desperate imagination.

'You're hiding something,' you accused. 'I'm going to find out, you know?'

A sigh.

You called that progress.

Then again, you'd already covered all the areas you just mentioned - this was very little progress that you made every day. How do you press her buttons further?

You chewed on your bottom lip. With your patience running out and her endless capacity for silent treatment, you might have to resort to some dirty tactics.

'I don't know why you think I'll fall for him - I won't.'

She finally glanced your way, 'You talk big game, but I think you act this way on purpose - so that he doesn't love you, and you don't have to even bother pushing him away.'

Impressive.

'What do you know - I have a free therapist.'

'Lucky you.'

You breathed long through your nose. Do not kill the person who's gonna save your life - do not kill her.

'You think you're doing us a favor, aren't you? Say, we did fall in love - then what? It'll end. Like it always does. Either me, or him, or both-ah'-us - we end up heartbroken.'

'Or you don't. You know one out of a hundred cases - semantics.'

'You're delusional if you think there's even a one percent survival rate of this relationship. I don't know with what right you people call yourselves soulmates - you just end up destroying each other!'

'At least you won't be a loveless zombie then,' she replied, nonplussed.

It frustrated you how consistent she was in defending the one person who ruined her the most. You didn't get how loving and letting him go could possibly be better than never having loved him at all.

At least your heart was still beating merrily, but the reason for her heartbeats was gone.

'You mean, I won't be like you,' you retorted. 'A loveless zombie.'

She cut you a dark look. You got cocky with that reaction.

'Oh, wait! You do love a person,' you said. 'Here, in Purgatory. And you're gonna lose him all over again!'

You were pushed up against a tree so fast that the impact was almost non-existent, your focus immediately drawn to her furious e/c orbs, her height on par with yours.

She posed an intimidating picture. You kept your mouth shut because you knew she could take you down. You'd been in her mind, and it was pretty obvious she was resourceful. A cold tingle down your spine didn't fail to remind you that you may not be her only plan - just the best and the easiest.

'There's a line,' she warned. 'Don't cross it.'

You clenched your jaw in defiance. 'I was just trying to break the ice.'

'You don't want to do it, you're on wafer-thin ice,' her elbow dug into your neck which she was using to keep you pinned in a chokehold. 'You break it, and you won't need Dean to destroy you.'

Ego reared its ugly head. 'You need me.'

She released you. 'You know why I can't use you like a portal?' She pulled an arrow, noticing the protest on your face, which she replied with a punch, harshly grasping your face and aligning the pointy edge with your neck.

'You aren't meant to be a portal,' she deadpanned. 'None of us are. We can be replaced though, by the people you've met, or share the same backgrounds as we do. For example, I once took over the body of a Princess who had to hide her relationship with Prince Dean because of the other Royals, and she shared the scar that I have. You know when I could take over?'

You hardened your glare.

'When she died,' she enunciated.

Fear lanced your very being.

'And you . . . I've travelled in you before. Albeit, I was the problem of the future you who donned the scar. So, when I say I travel, I mean I hitch a ride. And if my vessel dies, I replace them, if only for a few hours.'

A dark smirk charmed her face, 'Unless you're already dead, then I can truly take your place. No one knows you exist, no one loves you. At least, Dean loves me back. So, if I were to kill you now, and wipe your existence from this planet completely - no one would know. And I'd be you. Do you really want that?'

Silence ensued.

Perhaps the adrenaline took over; you struck your leg in a brilliant swipe that took her off balance. You launched with the weight of your body into a sprint.

You didn't know who you were kidding. You were no match for her speed even if you had a good head start.

She tackled you to the ground within seconds, rolling the two of you on the grass, fallen leaves and crunchy branches under your body. Her far more agile instincts landed several blows to your face before you could understand what was happening. Black dots invaded your vision and fear choked you, your heart strained under overexertion.

What you did next was entirely instinctual.

You channelled the supernatural within you, letting your magic emanate from your finger pads which you pressed to her forehead, diminishing her barriers between her dreams and her wakefulness. Her nightmares became her reality. Her eyes rolled back into her head as yours started bleeding; she fell atop you like lead weight.

You whimpered in relief, thrusting her body away as you scrambled back, then you wiped your blood from your face. Your body sagged with exhaustion.

You'd done it, you'd defeated her . . .

But nothing made any sense.

She'd had so many chances to kill you - so many times in the last week when you were sleeping under her protection when she could have wiped you off the face of the Earth, but she didn't.

Was there more to the story than she was letting on?

Either way, you thought.

You stood, dusted yourself off. Hesitated.

You were a hunter for God's sakes, you couldn't leave someone to die . . . Could you?

She just tried to kill you!

. . . Maybe . . .

Or maybe you assumed that she did.

It bothered you a great deal.

You didn't know why it troubled you to leave her for the dead - the wolves would catch up and finish her off for you.

Then, an image of Dean flashed in your mind, and her words - Dean did love her. Not you, her.

Would he be heartbroken if she was gone?

So many heartbreaks plagued you . . . but they didn't have to plague him.

Cussing yourself out, you did the one thing that you could for her: you prayed to Cas.

'Castiel, angel of the Lord, blah, blah, blah, Y/N 2.0 speaking. Y/N 1.0 told me you were around, she's stuck her in darkest nightmare, you can rouse her with your angel-hoo. Raise her from the perdition or whatever else that helps your self-esteem. 2.0 out,' You saluted to an empty audience.

Good enough, you praised yourself.

You drew the line on waiting for Cas. You did your part - you tried to save her life like a good samaritan; you tried, and that was more than you expected from yourself.

Your Mommy would be proud. Moving on.

Now you just had to figure out how to not unalive.

You had a new begrudging appreciation for your English counter-part when you had failed to go a day without evading capture. This was the second time during your existence in Purgatory when you'd been captivated by a group of monsters. At least the first time you were relatively safe.

Now that you had managed to sabotage even that contact, you were bound and gagged inside a tree trunk of all places, under a strict gaze of the rotating schedule of fairy guards. There weren't many left, apparently. If you'd heard correctly from their heated discussions on whether to keep you alive or not, your face-thief was to thank for that development in their population.

You wondered if they'd been on the Earth long enough to heed to a classic quote: Enemy of my enemy is my friend. You hoped they'd listen to you pitch that angle before they decided you weren't worth their time.

Your eyes noted as another shift of fairies came to take place of the previous batch. You sighed through your nose again, straining your rope bindings again. It was useless. The first few hours you had twisted your hands till your skin shredded into raw wounds. Now, it was itching endlessly.

And that wasn't even what hurt the most on your body. You were on your knees currently and the pebbles dug into your caps. The wet gag was so tight around your face and hair, that it pained your jaw - to the point that when you went to close your mouth to stop the drool, you flinched.

Next were your thighs; all the muscles in your legs screamed to be sitting in the same position for so long. Begging for release - but the trunk they had stuffed you in was too small in width for you to even wiggle properly.

Then, it was your arms; your hands and upper body muscles throbbed from being pointed backwards.

All you wanted to do was stand up and stretch, and probably kick a few miniature asses with your big hunting boots.

You did none of that.

Your body grew weaker and weaker, grew more numb. Soon, your fatigued body fell back against the bark and you were called into the deep recesses of your mind. Alas, the numbness didn't extend to your dreams and emotions as you were popped into another nightmarish love tragedy.

You had several reasons to curse your fate when you woke up. For one, you woke up in a hammock hundreds of feet in the air, with no soft landings.

So, once the nightmare had decided to free you from its clutches and you woke up with incidence, you were already turning in your makeshift bed, ready to fall right into Death's arms.

But that wasn't the worst part.

It was the person who caught you.

Lo and behold, Dean Winchester became your savior.

You had yelped, but then your right wrist had slapped against his right palm. He risked his own safety to hold onto you. He hung from another hammock that seemed to have been stationed one foot adjacent to yours onto the friendly neighborhood branch.

Your body wiggled in the air, mostly in fear, and whimpers started escaping you whenever you looked down, his palm growing sweatier the more he held on.

'You need to stop wiggling,' he grinded out, looking down at you; and your eyes locked for the first time with your "soulmate".

He was as gorgeous as ever, you had to admit. He had forest fire eyes; treacherous golden amongst the loyal green. He could cut angles with that jaw, and a light stubble that aided his wild look. He was wearing a worn-out leather jacket, layers of flannel underneath, and a pair of washed-out jeans, but in your eyes, you only saw a Greek God.

Gods scared you.

'You need to climb up,' his voice was strained, and then you realized you had gone limp in his grip.

You reverted back to your senses with full panic. 'I-I don't know how to climb! Or get down!'

'Yeah, right!' he scoffed. 'This is no time to joke, Y/N!'

'I'm serious!'

His brows furrowed. 'What the fuck happened to your—?'

You yelled again as his grip on you faltered for the minutest of seconds and you almost slipped from his hold. His muscles flexed as he corrected it.

'You see that ledge,' he nodded near your feet and you just about pulled him down with you trying to look at where his gaze had landed. 'Foothold.'

'You're kidding me!'

'We don't have all day here!'

Your fingers were already slipping, your palms had grown sweaty and you didn't want to find out the limitations of your face-thief's special Purgatory healing concoction right now.

'Don't let me fall,' you whispered, letting your vulnerability slide into your gaze when you locked your irises with his.

His eyes smothered all your doubts: 'Never.'

You raised your palm to his jacket-clad forearm and leaned your bodyweight into it as much as you could, while strengthening your core to bend your body sideways until your feet reached the bark of the tree.

Nausea climbed up your throat when your eyes noticed the ground; hundreds of feet between you and your demise. You exhaled sharply, and used Dean's hand to push yourself backward till your back was pressed against the bark.

'Okay, what now?' you wondered in a rather high-pitched voice.

'You see that part of wood jutting out?' he nodded with his chin above your head. You noticed that it was at least one and a half meters away - just out of your reach.

'You're gonna hold that, flip one-eighty after letting me go and then—'

'Dude. Not everyone is a born giant!'

'Dammit, Y/N! I'm holding on by a thread here - literally!'

'Fine, fine! If I die, it's your fault!'

'Just do it, goddammit!'

Steeling yourself, you stretched all your muscles and tendons till you felt like you were being pulled on a Procrustean bed. You failed more than once, but Dean didn't complain anymore as he waited patiently for you to approach safety.

Seventeenth time was the charm.

You grunted, and whimpered as you felt the burn in your body at being stretched in such a weird position.

'Okay, good. Don't leave that at any cost. You need to whirl one-eighty now . . . you can do this, sweetheart.'

'Don't call me that!' you snapped. squeezing his free hand that was still in your empty one.

He scoffed, though you wondered if you were imagining the hurt.

'Look, just - when you turn, I need you to push off the foothold with as much force as you can. A'ight? You will need a little altitude to reach the hammock strings!'

'Okay. Jump. One-eighty. Hammock. Okay!' you swallowed. Trepidation infiltrated your body, and a lance of adrenaline went through you.

In a leap of un-faith, you let your foot slip and body twirl mid-air. You yelped for the jarring sensation, but you pulled with all your might to give you an upward momentum.

You missed the ropes by an inch.

As a scream escaped your lips, Dean acted fast, lending a placating hand on the small of your back that roughly pushed you towards the tree bark, and you scampered to scrape your feet against the woody surface till you had managed another boost, and you grasped the ropes!

'I reached! I reached!'

'Do you want a trophy?! Climb up!'

You huffed, and moved out of his reach into the warm and cocooning embrace of the hammock. Dean parroted your action into the opposite hammock, and sighed loudly.

The skin on his left hand looked raw and scraped with rope burns, almost to the point of blistering. You felt guilt trickle into your heart.

The gratefulness flooded.

'Thanks,' you breathed out.

You wondered about his intentions of saving you and how much the English woman had told him.

Did he know that your face-thief can replace you, but he saved you anyway? You would ask, but if he didn't know, you weren't gonna be the one to break that news to him like an axe to your foot.

All this speculating, and you didn't even know if he knew that you were his real soulmate.

'Sure,' he muttered, breathing deeply as if to calm himself.

'What happened to the fairies? Where are we?'

He frowned deeply, glancing about. 'I don't know.'

Your eyes bulged, 'What do you mean you don't know?'

There was a thread of irritation in his expression. 'I don't even know who you are.'

You scoffed, 'Then why did you save me!?'

'I wasn't thinking! One sec, I was thrown into a fucking tree, and the next I know you're falling off the damn hammock, like some cheap American knockoff of the woman I—' he cut himself off abruptly, averting his gaze losing a furious battle against the fifty shades of red.

I'm so stupid!

'Of course!' you breathed out. 'This is a dream!'

He assessed you inquisitively. 'Excuse me?'

'I just assumed that after those three Hellsites,' you referred to the three different Universes you'd just paid visits to, 'I thought I was waking up!'

'What are you talking about?'

'Well, I just didn't expect to be part of a scene!' you gestured between the two of you. 'I'm not usually with a Dean in my dreams - there's always a face-thief.'

He blinked at you.

You held up an index finger, and concentrated with your eyes closed. You tugged the strings of your imagination and merged it with your dream reality until the air around you was shifting, and Dean gasped.

When you could see again, you two were in a quaint cabin, far away from the unreliable hammocks. You shuddered once more when you remembered the height, and decided to address the confused man in the room.

'How'd you do that?' an edge of distrust spilled into the flow of his grittily smooth voice; like crunchy peanut-butter.

You knew you couldn't tell him the truth - he'd kill you. It was his dream after all.

Even as a dreamwalker, you'd never murdered anyone in your sleep - which was a possibility, you just never saw why you'd need to exercise it - especially when most of your dreams weren't really dreams but mere reflections of other worlds. No one could see you in other Universes.

In your Universe, all bets were off though. This is uncharted territory . . .

'I'm . . .' you desperately looked for a good introduction, but the whole of the English language seemed to have wiped from your brain. 'Oh, fuck,' you sighed. Before you could even begin to piece together an explanation, a knock sounded on the door, much to your shock.

'Who's that?' Dean sharpened his tone, looking at you with accusing suspicion.

'Dude, I know you worship this face, but news flash - no Y/N's got all the answers for you.'

The door was pushed in before either of you could acknowledge whoever had blissfully interrupted your awkward conversation.

You bit your lip when the replica of your face popped in.

Your face-thief grinned good-naturedly. 'Ah, figured you might be here,' she said with all the glory to her accent.

Dean's jaw dropped a bit, looking as shocked as a Winchester could possibly be with all they'd seen in their bizarro lifestyle.

'You're alive,' you leveled a dry look on her.

'So are you,' she countered with the same unimpressed gaze.

'How're you here?'

'Oh, darlin', this ain't my first rodeo. They taught us to use African Dream Roots when we were barely out of elementary school. After I woke up from the magically-induced sleep, I thought, what better way to find you than this?' Before you could strap on your sassy mouth, she turned her eyes to her lover, 'For the record, this was not how I was planning to tell you that your soulmate is here to rescue you.'

'Yes,' you sarcastically added. 'Moi, a tall glass of Americano, handmade for you.'

'She's a bit self-obsessed. Nothing you can't work on.'

'What the fuck is going on?!' Dean roared.

You shrunk a little, your copycat was unfazed. She gripped your wrist - you hadn't realised she had gotten so close to you - and pulled you towards the door.

'Sorry, darlin',' she jerked you into the outside world. 'Gotta borrow her for now. Will explain everything later.' The door shut in Dean's face.

White light color-penciled your visions. You groaned when you could see again.

'What's with you two and hammocks!'

Your companion sniggered. 'Chill. I figured you'd have a penchant for falling off of them so I brought us into a treehouse - even though we technically cannot die since this is a dream.'

'Hey!' you raised a finger. 'Have some respect for the dreams, dude. It comes from the darkest parts of ourselves - what you don't know can kill you!'

She chuckled again, 'Like the dream spell you put me under?'

You crossed your arms. 'I thought you were going to kill me.'

She mock-gasped. 'You don't trust me?'

'Oh, trust is oozing out of my pores - sweating it like bullets; why haven't you killed me?' you deadpanned.

'You saved my life by calling Cas. I can spare yours. Even-Steven,' she answered good-naturedly.

'I put you in danger!'

She hummed. 'Yeah, that was unpleasant. But I forgive you. Plus, we girls ought to stick together for Dean's sake, right?'

'You're a nut case! You just blew our cover by telling him that there's two of us! It won't take long for him to know that only one of us is going back.'

'Yeah, that was the ideal plan,' she sighed. 'But I have a back-up. So, don't you worry.'

You looked at your self-proclaimed saviour incredulously.

'You don't want to be saved, do you?'

The truth was just out of your reach - you could see it prowling in her identical e/c orbs behind a thin veil of smugness that only comes from being a messiah. When you looked closer, you could also read the darkness around the edges. A darkness that burned her up from the inside out; one that swallows a person whole; one that you were too familiar with. The worst kind of darkness to be seen in humans. The one that came when you hate yourself.

Perhaps, the only difference between you two was that hers was beyond repair and she hid it behind self-sabotage, while you hid behind arrogance and hollow self-entitlement.

'I want to be,' she amended softly. 'But no one here can save me.'

Your chest spasmed with pain.

She shot your fallen face a wan smile. 'I'm sorry for making you believe that I was going to kill you.'

'No, you're not!'

'No, I'm not,' she muttered in gleeful satisfaction. 'But I know what the pain of losing a soulmate is, I would never bestow such a fate upon Dean.'

'He doesn't know me. He doesn't care!'

Why were you doing this again? She was giving you a freaking hall pass! Your ticket out of here. Why the heck were you questioning that?

'That's where you're wrong,' she nodded. 'Y/N, you've seen death and destruction in our lives, but did you not see that there was nothing to destroy before.'

You squinted at her, 'Come again in English?'

She chuckled a bit. 'Let it be, you won't understand.'

'Humour me,' you were somewhat desperate to understand just why someone would ruin their lives for this!

Love was overrated . . . wasn't it?

She struggled to string a good enough sentence until you saw the bulb go off in her head. You disliked the grin that grew on her face, and even more the tears that began to shine in her orbs.

'It's simple: My Dean Winchester is my soulmate because he was somehow the beginning and the end of me.' You smiled: 'And only he can save me.'

You knew she meant it, she believed it, she lived by it.

You couldn't help yourself when you blurted, 'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'

'Told you: you wouldn't understand. Not until it happens to you, darling.'

You were about to offer an abhorrent platitude, with a side of denial and irritation when the treehouse shook around you.

'What's happening?' she leapt out of her hammock, prepared for a fight.

Your brows furrowed. 'I'm waking up. When you took me, you pulled me out of Dean's head who'd been sleeping or had been knocked unconscious. You pulled me back into my own head. Although you are only a temporary dream-traveller because of the Roots you took, you cannot be the host for my dreams.'

She frowned. 'Look, I wanted to talk to you because this may be the last time, and I want you to know that no matter what happened, and no matter what happens - I'm coming for you, Y/N.'

The world faded into nothing.

Pissed didn't even begin to cover the areas of your mind the rage had reached. You were planning and plotting fantastical murders. You were cursing and harking on anyone courageous enough to remain in your vicinity.

First of all, there was the constant headache. The pounding, hammers and nails against your skull; a side-effect of recovering from your personal Hell, if you will. You honestly don't remember much after you woke up. Nothing from your past that you didn't want to remember came to you. All you knew was that the American had put you to sleep, and Castiel had roused you.

You had decided to reach out to your doppelganger, the only way you knew that wouldn't freak her out. A place where she'd be comfortable enough for a chat with you, without feeling like she was under any threat. You vaguely remembered that part: only that somehow there was Dean, and something had gone seriously wrong during the endtail of your talk with the other Y/N.

Kan-fir (Cas had flown you off to the Dwarves' lair) had been happy to enlighten you that while you'd been a sleeping beauty, your look-alike had been kidnapped by the fairies, Dean had tried to save her thinking it was you, and failed, and now the American had been shipped off to Leviathans. You hadn't known any of that while you were sleeping.

You couldn't believe that she slipped from your fingers. You blamed yourself for her capture. You hadn't meant to scare her, but you did. She deserved to feel your wrath, if only for a second, you won't deny that - she really hurt you but you wouldn't kill her!

Whatever you said was true, yet, it wasn't enough to work. Even if you did replace her after killing her, which would honestly be too easy - and too good to be true - you couldn't truly replace her.

She'd always be the American Dean's true soulmate. Just like your Dean would be yours and only yours, and you would be his. You couldn't deny that even when you had American Dean with you, it had felt like a betrayal to your Dean. You were never complete with this one, never a whole like you had been with your Dean.

You guessed that just his presence in your life again was enough sustenance to ignore the ever-present void. If you could fool your heart and soul for even a second in the twenty-four hours that you had to survive - then even that was enough. Just that second of distraction had been allowing you to breathe before you were drowning again.

But how many days were you willing to waste for a meagre serving of those seconds?

It wasn't fair to Dean. Stringing him along like that when you couldn't give him your heart.

This Dean was a close second, but he was still a second to you. And he deserved everything best. He deserved a girl, a soulmate, and their undivided love. Their unbroken heart. Their untarnished memories. He should have someone who'd fight for him till the last breath. He deserved someone who'd love him for him, not because he was a good substitute.

And the thing was that no matter how much the monster Y/N resisted, no matter how much she evaded falling in love with him, no matter if she didn't care for him - you knew she'd do it all one day.

If there was a betting pool, you were going to put all your money on her.

Soulmates is no joke.

And it doesn't really matter if it ends good or bad - no one knows what's going to happen to that relationship. Nevertheless, it's going to start. It's going to commence, and it's going to flourish at one point. Then, the endings will differ.

Although you did hope that this one relationship was happier than the thousand other ones the American had seen fail. Probably you hoped that because you had met them both in person. More than once: now, and that one time when the past-you had met the future-them.

'We're here,' Castiel's grave tone calmed your turbulent thoughts till you were as calm as a hunter ready to jump their monster.

A path through the woods, scattered ashes, trail of blood, faint conversation. It was a site of a recent monster slaughtering - and the blood indicated a human. The only human in the Purgatory other than you was Dean.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Castiel wasn't so sure himself.

'Do I have a choice?'

'He's going to be mad.'

'Any tips on how to handle him mad? I'm told you're pretty experienced.'

He side-eyed you, his resentment towards your uncalled for jab visible. 'Try to not make him angrier.'

You scoffed. 'Yeah. That's gonna happen.'

'Try.'

You walked ahead instead of responding.

Soon, they came in your sights. Bickering like an old married couple. Dean just had that Alpha, protector of the family vibe that automatically made him the impatient, arrogant, reserved but a caring husband of any duo he chose to be a part of. Everyone else in his presence automatically became that sassy wife who was done with his shit - it was rare to see the roles reversed.

Benny tensed as you assumed Castiel came on his radar.

You knew that he could sense humans too. But you were technically a defect piece. Not really a human of this world that gave you a weird stench which even actually faded into the surround smells of Purgatory. While Dean was still fresh meat, and originally from the planet of this respective Purgatory. His smell was too overpowering not to guise yours. A tidbit you'd earned as a courtesy of the Dwarves.

Benny turned, taking Dean's gaze with the twist of his body. The latter's mouth dropped, and his green eyes glimmered with a new surge of hope and excitement. His wound forgotten, he sprang to his feet, almost butting Benny who had been hovering over the older Winchester, and he rushed at you.

Before long, you were sealed into his warm and much welcomed embrace. His face nuzzled your hair affectionately before it took residence in the crook of your neck; his hot breath fanning your neck as he pulled you in tighter.

'You're okay,' he whispered to you, pressing a small kiss to the joining point of your neck and shoulders, 'you're okay, sweetheart.'

No, I'm not.

You patted his back, somewhat awkwardly, because you didn't feel as excited as he seemed to be.

'We thought the fairies whisked you away for good,' Benny commented.

Dean pulled away, blissfully unaware of your conflict. His grin wavered for a second, 'You scared me, sweetheart.'

Silence stunted your verbal facilities.

'Dean,' Castiel's low baritone saved you.

The blond-haired man noticed, for the first time, his best friend's presence, with an exclamation of the blue-eyed man's name, he was rushing to treat your partner-in-crime the same as you - with a relieved hug and nothing but a childlike exuberance.

Your e/c orbs fell to the last man standing, and they narrowed. Mutual distrust was communicated both ways in that one look. You knew what your problem with him was - he was an accomplice to the death of the love of your life.

What was his problem?

'Where have you two been?' Dean's question beat yours.

Castiel exchanged a fleeting look with you.

Dean missed it, 'We've been looking all over for you two! Then, a ghoul told me you'd been captured - and . . . I had a weird dream.' His lip wobbled, 'I thought . . . when I woke up, I thought the fairies must have taken you to the Leviathans because of their ties . . . .'

'We know,' you shrugged.

Anger danced across his features as his exhilaration quickly evaporated. 'Why did you leave in the first place, Y/N?' his brows furrowed.

'I need your help.'

Surprise flashed, then hurt creeped in. 'Is that why you're here? You needed my help?'

Castiel shot you a look: You've hurt him!

You rolled your eyes at him: Didn't make him angrier, did I?

Castiel seemed done with you.

You addressed Dean. 'I don't need it. But manpower would be appreciated.'

'Oh, yeah?' Dean spat out. 'Then, why didn't you go to your precious Dwarves?'

'They refused to help me.' Technically, they refused to help the dreamwalker - "potato", "po-tah-to", you figured.

'So, let me get this straight,' he stepped towards you, 'you run out on me when I need you,' another step, 'avoid me for months,' closer with each accusation, 'refuse to give me an explanation when I'm warding off all the monsters,' three feet, 'when all I want is to get us to safety,' two feet, 'and you show up like all that didn't mean anything to you,' he stopped in front of you, 'asking for my help?'

You maintained the eye contact, 'You could've just left.'

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' venom dribbled, 'I don't leave the people I care about behind.'

You grimaced.

Your Dean's dead body and the battleground flashed into your mind's eye . . .

Go, darling.

I'm not leaving you, you'd cried.

Lara needs you, he'd said. Go save the world . . .

You did leave him behind.

You knew this Dean didn't mean your ex-fiancé when he said what he did; he meant himself. But you weren't leaving this Dean behind - you were saving him.

'Exactly,' you played into him. 'You'd want to help.'

Curiosity ruffled the forest of his eyes.

Interruption, 'We're not taking another detour.'

It was Benjamin this time. Your nerves were already grated because of him. You may have forgiven Castiel to some extent, but this Benny was still a sore spot. Truthfully, you were surprised that you hadn't jumped him and turned him to ash by now; probably the influence of your frenemy Castiel.

'I don't remember asking you,' you gritted without so much as turning your head at him.

'You can't be serious!' the Cajun groused. 'Chief, tell me you're not thinking about this. It's taken us months to reach here - find just the two of them. Do you really want to spend God knows how long trying to save God knows who while the Leviathans are God knows where.'

You circled on your heels, calculating his profile. 'It's a good thing then I have the address of the person and a plan, right?' You weren't really asking.

'Who is it?' Dean finally bit.

Do you give him a heads-up and let him be accustomed to the fact that his bratty soulmate had begrudgingly and forcibly come to save his life? Or do you let him try to guess and have a few moments more with him where he isn't looking at you weirdly?

No, you can't let yourself indulge in his warmth.

You replied with your resolution. 'The girl of your dreams.'

Dean scowled deeper. 'That really happened? She's real? She's really here to save me?'

'What am I missing?'

Castiel was the one who replied this time. 'The fairies really did take away someone . . . it just wasn't this Y/N.'

'There's more than one?' Benny inquired.

'She's Dean true soulmate. And she's here to save him,' you stated, squaring your shoulders.

'Fat lotta saving that Y/N's doing,' Benny huffed.

'How'd she even get here?'

'She died,' Castiel simply told before you could make something up.

'She's a monster?'

You winced, bit your lip as you bulldozed a glare good enough to kill at Cas, your frayed nerves bustling with electric anger. Castiel just opened and closed his mouth, an apology stitched into his deep blues.

'Isn't there a theory that two doppelgangers cannot live on the same planet?' Benny mused out loud.

Oh, fuck!

Dean's eyes snapped to yours in shock. 'Did you know about that?'

'Um,' you stepped back, laughing a little nervously, raising your hands in defence. 'You know what? This was a mistake—'

'You've been planning all along to not come, haven't you?' he accused. 'That's why you left!'

You looked away, jaw clenched.

'How could you do this to me?'

'Dean—'

Castiel was rudely cut off when a huge projectile crashed into him and he tumbled into the dry leaves with a boom.

The projectile grew in shape, opening its wide maw.

You realised your folly. You were standing too close to the recent battle-site.

'Leviathans,' you whispered.

A/N: Complicated, huh? I remember when I first wrote this chapter, lol . . . took me months to make it as less confusing as possible while keeping all the details in 😂🫠🙃.

Anyway, I'd like to apologize for delaying this by a day. I was sick, and in no condition to edit, heh.

I'm also very excited to bring you the next and last chapter of Purgatory coming week, hehe. Stay tuned and stay safe!

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[jjmorelikeotp]

Iii have had a thought and I need to share it...l just saw a video of an artist reading a comment that said "Oh your music...idk...it doesn't seem to be tiktok-worthy" or smth like that. Literally. Like the comment was literally about the song and how it wouldn't work on tiktok.

And the artist - right fully so - angrily explained that ARTISTS DO NOT CREATE OR WRITE SONGS FOR TIKTOK. It's a form of self expression and a way to connect to someone else and give value to your own experiences. (Preach her words she was so well spoken)

And it made me think. Because first of all - Tiktok is such a WEIRD FUCKING PLACE. I like watching edits and creating videos but there are so many weird fucking people on there, I do not mean this in a degrading way but I also don't mean it in a complimenting way (I love losers, I am a loser myself, and weird people are my kind of people.) The lack of being able to not only critically think but actually think at allllll terriffies me if I'm honest because it shapes the way people percieve reality. I can see it happen. The audience gets younger and younger.

It shapes their brains.

And the second thing is : more and more artists, especially in kpop but also in different niches (is that the right word?? English is not my first language) only produce songs for tiktok.

Not in the way "this is to be used on tiktok only" like a song is used for a film, but to get a viral hit and have their bridge or chorus being used for challenges specifically.

Even the tiny details of songs are created for either a song quote or to grab attention in a really specific way, not the kind that makes the song good but the way it grabs the attention and holds the attention span by changing one sound into another and so on.

I have been listening to kpop for ten years or even more, and I never really grabbed what was making it feel so much weirder the past few years. I LOVE noise music. I LOVED nct when they debuted and years after. Same with ateez.

This is not about a specific group btw. However I will be using some specific examples :D

But these days, i feel like most of the songs don't have character anymore. I'm not saying they are not good or anything! I like their music, still.

But just look at their recent tour:

They changed the setlist and threw Turbulence off for Work and Ice on my teeth.

We did not get Answer, or Hala Hala, or Halazia.

And I GET IT - the songs are more popular snd are more recent - it makes sense to promote them. But just compare them.

Hala hala was ahead of its time in so many ways and a huge magnet for fans because of how different the entire concept was. It is an artistic representation of the artist's skill of performance and all of their individual selves, introducing alter egos and everything.

Same with answer, more in an elegant way. Answer is a hymn in my opinion.

Work & ice on my teeth are fun, and the performances are professional af, no question, but they are also more "charts" worthy, or, in modern times like this, "tiktok challenge worthy".

And this makes me so sad because the same thing - IN MY OPINION - happened to bts. Their discography is so wide, but at some point their work priority shifted into expanding the radius if you know what i mean. It gets mainstream-ized.

Bighit, the tiny company it used to be, and their small team had a different vibe than HYBE does now.

And I'm kindaaa scared that this will happen to kq as ateez grows bigger.

They are still incredible artists but it feels like the artistic expression is slowly fading. The marketing sure as hell does. It's more and more about consumption.

This might also be connected to overworking and producing content and music way too fast, way too often. They are still incredible artists and their performance was amazing, I went to their concerts multiple times through the years.

The show itself is amazing. All of the artists in kpop sacrifice a lot and I respect their work.

Tw from here: mentions of eds and mental health stuff in the industry

I just feel like something is slowly fading, and it's because as kpop becomes more and more and more global, the market expands and the focus on monetarization and perfectionism is maximized. The outcome? More and more people in this industry become sick, develope eds, get plastic surgery, train til they faint, have mental health issues, commit suicide.

And the fans consume even more. More content, more album versions, more fancalls, more interactions, more merch that costs half a fortune but is limited to create more pressure to buy it, more more more.

All of these little tiny puzzle pieces are creating a domino effect and we need to stay aware and concious about those issues because it is getting worse.

Parasocial relationships get pushed by the entertainment industry, more fans getting crazy and camping outside of venues. Stalking. Personal infos leaked. Rumors. Scandals that arent scandals.

They mass produce idols to mold them into puppets and in the meanwhile more and more abuse scandals come to light.

It's all more about grabbing attention and a quick dopamine-and-then-money release.

They count on the emotional dependency they create. It's not just "trashy chart music" anymore (NOTHING wrong with that) it's "this can go viral on tiktok" instead of giving the artists a change to express themselves individually and it puts even more pressure on these idols to do better and better everytime.

There are tons of good bsides of all these artists and the discography is quite colorful, but this is about what they choose to PUSH.

Kpop groups used to be more separated from each other, have their own signature thing, but now that there are so many and they move so fast with every trend, it mixes up into a huge pot. Even shinee who used to be trend setters got basically the same style in their latest album as nct ot a lot of groups in general - cool kpop version of pop song with hiphop elements.

Not a bad thing, but following the status quo.

Yes, individuals have always had it harder. I KNOW.

But while everyone is trying to stand out i feel like they are all just waiting for the next big trend wave to follow, only topping someone elsd by going more extreme.

Let me know your thoughts! And be nice to each other and me, thanks 🫶

[valley0fstorms]

Misery Loves Company

A little thing I wrote in 2022 about Faust, published here on ao3. I still like it so I hope you enjoy it! TW: Mentions of Self Harm and Suicide

A man sat alone in his room, his body scared. The ones from battle he had known well, and the ones that were self inflicted he knew even better. It had been centuries since the revolution in the Central Country. Centuries had passed since he had let so many people down and led them to their deaths.

He had contemplated suicide before, he craved an end befit of a murderer, but he never went through with it. Dying was a coward's way out. Living was a much more painful punishment. When the world deemed him fit to die, he would.

He hated the thought of it. The thought of him living on when so many of the young wizards under him had been slain weighed on him. He had once believed it to have been for a noble cause, that their sacrifices would mean something, but when he was raised onto that pyre, he realized he had been wrong. He realized that the humans his comrades had fought and died for thought nothing more of them than as weapons. 

He was over 400 years old now; the Central Kingdom had thrived after the revolution under the Granvelle rule. After being saved by his friend and former servant, he ran. He didn't want to have to see or be near the humans. He didn't want to be anywhere near the country he had helped to build. 

He ran east, deep into the wild where no human would want to go. A place perfect for him. He built a new life deep within it. A house by a river deep within a cursed valley. The only disturbances he had were those of nature, but he didn't mind. 

He had planted seeds in the area around his new home. Plants bloomed, drawing creatures near. The birds would nest in the trees nearby, the fish of the river would splash and swim, and the creatures would run and play outside. The sights made him happy. It numbed the scars that weighed on him, even if only for a moment. Even if he believed he didn't deserve solace, the land around him gave it. 

He had made a new life for himself. He made sure that no one, unless desperate, would even want to disturb his peace. He painted his image as a curseworker so that humans wouldn't disturb his quiet life of regret and atonement, else he risk doing more damage to himself. 

It's been a few decades since he became a Sage's Wizard, a task he found bothersome. Before now, he simply needed to wait on the cursed day to arrive. After the last confrontation, however, his normal life changed. His comrades had died once more. The entirety of the Southern Wizards, half of the Western Wizards, half of the Central Wizards, and half of his own Eastern Wizards. The only one who survived under him had been the heir of Blanchett.

He, too, had almost died. He'd almost been turned to stone and his miserable, regret-filled life would have ended… but the other surviving Wizards managed to summon a new sage. 

He was saved by a human from another world.

Since then, he had begrudgingly agreed to stay at the Sage's manor. It felt like more trouble than it was worth, however, as the sage had to summon more wizards to replace their fallen comrades. Among those ten summoned wizards, there were three he wished to avoid. 

A teacher, a friend, and a traitor.

The teacher had taught him magic. There was a time when he looked up to him, but the teacher had turned tail. The friend had protected him throughout the revolution. They worked well together, and his devotion was unwavering, but he did not want the friend to die as the rest of his comrades did. The traitor was not a traitor, he was the descendant of one. The descendant was the spitting image of a Granvelle, of the one who put him upon the pyre.

He had never expected to see them. He didn’t want to see them. They were all fragments of his past who came back to haunt him. There was another among them, as well. A boy from the Central Kingdom who reminded him of his foolish past self. A boy dedicated to his faith and his role to help humans. The man felt a sense of pity for him, but minded his business. If the boy wished to go down his current path, he could.

He was aware of his standing in the Central Kingdom. He was aware of his status as a savior and saint. He hated it. He hated how the traitor allowed for his actions against him to be dismissed and instead worshiped him as a hero. He was never a hero. If he was anything, he was a murderer. 

In a way, his solitude was a constant punishment and reminder of his failure to act. He preferred it this way. The change in pace brought about by the new sage, however, gave him a chance to connect to others in ways he hadn’t since the revolution. He had his doubts, but he went along to see where it got him, and so far, it seemed to be going well.

A knock came from the door, the familiar voice of a human coming from the other side.

“Faust! Nero finished breakfast, come down when you’re ready!”

Faust smiled at the voice. 

The first human he had trusted since Alec. 

[lottiepumpkinofficial]

day 19

chap’s 4,5,6

hello hello i’m tired today, before you read i wanna quickly warn that i’ll be mentioning diet culture and fatphobia in this post, you’re welcome to skip this post or scroll past that bit (second comment) if you don’t want to read that - the green text is the end of that bit

“her crescent moon tiara reflecting rainbow light across her face.” we’ve established that lottie is the sun and ellie is the moon, im gonna let you all make of that what you will

“her belly and face had got rounder, her hair longer and fluffier.” okay, i don’t think ive ever said this before, but this little sentence means so much to me. tw- diet culture, fatphobia. so if you haven’t figured out yet, i really relate to lottie, and as a person in a bigger body it made me cry reading this for the first time. often all protagonists are assumed to be thin, especially if they’re meant to be beautiful, and any reference to gaining weight is a bad thing- but for lottie it does not make her even slightly less beautiful or kind or brave or unstoppable. in fact it signifies her literal character growth (thanks jamie im always gonna think about you while mentioning it) and how she’s had a fun summer (despite everything) and that she’s beginning to feel happiness again. anyway that’s my little speech over

“glowing green eyes” hint

the self sacrifice jamie is forced into and forced himself into kills me. don’t go there, don’t ever give up your life for someone else

home. what an interesting concept

i remember reading pip for the first time, learning small tidbits about lottie’s family and trying to piece it together. lottie was too. this poor girl has been through so much

henry pitkin 🩷🩷

painting foreshadowing

“her two royal friends” oh connie, you really hid it right under our noses

ollie trying to get jamie to laugh and failing probably makes him so uncomfortable, he’s already literally said humour is his coping mechanism so imagine your best friend comes to see you for the first time in a year after basically ignoring you so you try to crack a joke so the scary serious guy she’s with lightens up, and he just looks at you. tell me you wouldn’t immediately feel like sinking into the ground

ooh big news ooh big hints oooh shits getting really real

okay i’m clearly feeling sentimental today

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

If it’s not too much to ask, may I humbly request time travel prompts with mentor whumpee and just team whump in general?

tw: mentions of murder, betrayal, childhood trauma, abuse & self-sacrifice.

each of the prompts is not necessarily connected.

*the last one is my personal favorite ;)

whumpee and the team have to travel back to the past to try to prevent their fate.

oh no! whumpee, who traveled back in time to the past for a mission, comes back as an infant version of themself! literally.

an evil witch gives whumpee a chance to stay in the past for eternity with the love of their life who has passed away. however, if whumpee chooses to stay, all of their teammates will die (and the witch will get all of their souls). is the life of whumpee’s dead significant other worth the lives of their friends?

whumpee travels back in time to the past for a mission that is not related to their childhood trauma, the trauma that no one else in the team knows about, only for said trauma to be triggered by something (or someone) in their past.

whumpee is visited by their future self and is warned by their future self that their own teammates will betray them. according to the future self, the only way whumpee can survive the betrayal is for whumpee to kill them first. the thing is that whumpee is sometimes a liar. sometimes. not always… so can whumpee trust their own future self?

during the time traveling, something goes wrong which causes some (or all of the team) to get trapped in some other dimension / other timeline / the future or the past, etc. their entire existence could be in jeopardy if they couldn’t find a way back home / to the present / to their timeline in time.

something goes wrong during the time-travel mission, which causes one of the teammates to lose all of their memories. mentor whumpee and the rest of the team have no idea how to give their friend their memories back, but they’ll never abandon them.

mentor whumpee leads their team to the future for a mission, their teammates realize that the future is better and suddenly no longer want to go back to the past (their home). whumpee has to do whatever it takes to bring their own wayward teammates home, otherwise the reality will be broken and they all will be dead.

whumpee travels to the future and meets their future self, the problem is that their future self turns out to be a murderer who kills all of whumpee’s teammates, their current friends.

whumpee is forced to kill their future or past self in order to prevent an event, a tragedy, from happening, even if that means they’ll die, too.

after a time-travel mission, whumpee comes back to the present / back to their team “wrong” — no one knows what happened to them during the mission, since whumpee says, “nothing happened, the plan went well,” which is true; the mission was a success, but whumpee is not the same since they returned home.

whumpee “changes” something when they time travel, they don’t think much about it… until they return home to the present and realize what a grave mistake they’ve made, for that one tiny change they’ve made affects everything.

whumpee saves a child when they travel back in time to the past and brings said child to the present with them, they have no idea that the child they rescue is literally themself when they were a kid. this is because whumpee is so abused and traumatized to the point their brain blocks out all the memories of their own childhood trauma.

whumpee and all of their friends live in different timelines, different eras. all of them have trauma and are abused / traumatized. somehow they all time travel (some back in time, some to the future) to be together — outside of time — in order to form a team of Found Family Consists of Tortured Souls whose mission is to rescue as many abused people/animals as they can.

[weaverpop]

lil heads up i have some agnst to offer

so we know Mk is gonna be struggling with his decision at the pillar in S5, the idea that he might of made the wrong choice after all. its def gonna be a dark thought in his mind. also still struggling with his monkie form as at this point it's still associated with the whole "harbinger of chaos" thing and thus is seen as a bad thing currently in his eyes. not to mention a blow to his self identity. the therapy helps but he's still struggling with those thoughts,and his monkey body, still not really touching on them. and then the nightmares start. he dreams of what might of happened had he not been able to get the stones to work, he dreams of what bad things might happen in the future now that the mortal realm has been altered. what it was the nine-headed demon was trying to warn him about, and the chaos. sometimes even he dreams about how everyone might of had better lives in the new cycle. how Nezha and his family couldn't have been happier from the start. some are so bad they even cause panic attacks on occasion

this leads to one night when Nezha's spending the night and is woken up to the sound of glass breaking, and MK isn't in bed with him. he finds him huddled in a tight ball, hyperventilating on the bathroom floor body flashing between human and monkey, one had cut up to hell from punching the mirror which is completely smashed. seeing nezha he just starts rambling off apologies, for fucking up the world, for dooming them, for stealing a chance for a happier timeline. he's convinced himself he's being punished and the dreams are visions because of how detailed and vivid they are. which honestly I wouldn't put it past that, we don't know what happened to Nuwa and many ppl think she'd try to convince or force MK back to the pillar somehow. but it's just as if not more likely MK's long term built-up trauma, feelings of guilt, and paranoia, projecting themselves as really lucid nightmares.

Tw for heavy angst and senstitove topics!

Oof, why you gotta do my heart like that anon?!

You’ve basically got mk down pat! Poor boy been through so much 😭it’s already canon he has nightmares, so it would make sense that they would escalate after the whole self sacrifice thing.

I also love the visual of Nezha finding mk in that state, switching beteeen forms. I feel like after s5 mk would be spending more time in monkey form and less time in human. To the point where ‘human’ becomes more of a glamor. So for Nezha to see him flickering like that is a huge statement to MK’s mental state! He’s struggling and struggling HARD. The others don’t really understand because they’ve never been in that situation where it was either them personally, or the WORLD. But you know who has?

Nezha.

Nezha has done that before in a similar copasity. He’s had to sacrifice himself to save the ones he loves. To know what it’s like to be destined for tragedy. But he came out the other end.

It’s Nezha, the formerly proclaimed demon child, bringer of terrible luck, lotus prince, who is able to see mk for what he needs. The others love Mk, they tell him so, but they don’t understand the way Nezha does.

Nezha helps to comfort mk. He doesn’t tell mk it was wrong. He doesn’t tell him it’s ok. Nezha simply tells him that he’s there for Mk. He tells Mk that everyone is alive, that he made the right choice in the end, and that he couldn’t be happier with the outcome.

It’s not easy. It’s not a one and done deal. But it starts the healing process.

This is one of the main reasons I ship lotusnoodle. Because the parallels are amazing, and I could absolutely see Nezha doing this even platonically. So yea.

Also jail for anon for making me feel things!

[yourlocalspiderwoman]

The Monster Within

Miguel O’hara x gender neutral reader

Angst

Tw: mentioning of drugs

Not my first fanfic being about this magnificent human being🙏also let me know if y’all want a part two or sum🤼

He began to neglect his personal life, and his health began to suffer. He would work for days straight,barely sleeping or eating anything. Despite these signs, Miguel continued down his self-destructive path. He was convinced that only he could save the multiverse, and he was willing to pay any price to archive that.

As y/n entered the lab, they noticed Miguel sitting in the corner, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His skin was so pale and fragile that it looked like it was made of porcelain,so much so that at the slightest touch,it seemed like he would crumble into pieces like a broken vase. His whole appearance was almost frightening, causing y/ns breath to catch in their throat. But despite his fragile appearance, y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight of him, as if he was a force of nature that couldn't be helped but feel drawn to, like a magnet to metal, or the pull of the moon on the ocean tides.

“Miguel I think we seriously need to have a conversation” y/n said carefully as they slowly approached him.”You only hang around your lab and you barely ate anything in the past weeks!We - I…am worried about you Miguel,you can’t keep being this neglectful over your health and just assume none of us would say something about it.”

Miguel finally looked up from his work, his eyes dark and intense,just as his voice. "I understand that you're worried, y/n,but I don't have a choice right now. I have to focus on my work, and right now, that means having priorities and making sacrifices.”

“So what?You’re just gonna keep doing this and ignore how everyone else is worried sick about you?I can’t believe you’re this ignorant.”

Miguels face frowned at y/n's harsh words, and his voice became even lower. "I'm not being ignorant, y/n," he glared. "I know everyone is worried about me, but I can't let that hold me back.This work is too important, too necessary.

Of course none of you would understand that now, would you.”

Y/n shook their head, voice rising as they argued back. "That's not what I meant, Miguel," they said, keeping their voice sharp. "I just meant that you can't keep pushing yourself like this.You're eventually going to collapse, or break down, or worse. And then what? Who's gonna do all of this work then?”.

Miguel and y/n were both standing now, their voices rising as they continued to argue back and forth. The tension in the room was rising and it was clear that neither of them was going to back down.

Miguel spoke first, his voice almost a shout. "You know what, y/n?If you’d give me some space,who knows what I could have accomplished by now!”he shouted, almost yelling. "I can't work with you breathing down my neck all the time. I need to focus on this, and I can't do that if you're constantly interrupting me!"

Y/n looked at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief, their voice almost even louder now. "What am I supposed to do, Miguel?" they shouted back. "Just sit back and watch you destroy yourself, work yourself to death without taking a break?You know I just care about you and-“

“Finally!the genius got it.God how did you even manage to end up as Spider-man.Now if you’d excuse me I need to finish this, preferably without your nagging.”.

Y/n was taken back by Miguel's comment, they had never seen him like this before.

Tired of Miguel's constant belittling, they snapped back at him."And how did you become Spider-man?" y/n asked,their voice almost a shout now. "At least I got bitten by the goddamn spider,not got hooked up on some shitty drug.”

Miguel's expression changed to one of almost shock, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What did you just say to me?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

Y/n quickly realised what they just said, regret immediately displaying on their face."No,look Miguel I’m sorry I genuinely didn’t mean to say that, you know it.Let’s just take a break and talk this through calmly.”they said, trying to deescalate the situation.

But only then they noticed something about him just seemed so…off.Miguel was almost panting like an animal by now,eyes a deep shade of red and his heart racing like he was on the brink of panic.

It’s only when y/n noticed the signs.All the empty vials stacking up on his desk,his odd behaviour…

He’s on rapture again.

“Look,I said I’m sorry alright?Lets just all think this through once more-“Y/n said,slight panic rising in their voice.They can’t help but slowly retreat, aiming towards the door but the more steps they took back,the more he advanced forward.

“Look just stay put here alright? I can go and get someone—“

But before they were able to react, he already slammed the door tight.Trapping the both of them.

His movements were almost sluggish by now.It was clear that the drug was taking a toll on his body and mind,yet he calmly replied “Don’t. I know I was a bit too harsh on you dear, and I think it’s just fair for me to properly apologise." He paused for a moment, as though considering his next words.

“What…are you talking about.”they said,a slight blush creeping up upon hearing that nickname.”

After a long pause of him contemplating and panting heavily he continued-“Just…god,You just make me feel these intense emotions, it’s just something about you.Something about you that makes me behave like a fucking dog” he released a dark chuckle and for the first time y/n saw his long pointy fangs,grinning back at them.Y/n took a final step back but now found themselves completely backed into a corner.He looked like a monster, a feral creature ready to attack.But yet, there was something else.Something y/n couldn’t quite interpret.

It was getting to the point where Miguel was about to lose himself to the drug completely. He had to stop, he had to do something before it was too late.

But did he want to?

Didn’t he already lose enough? Maybe he just wanted to give in, to let the drug take over,to become completely wild and feral.He lost so much already but at the same time he’s doing everything for…them.

But before he could think about it any further he found himself lunging at them, his claws extended and ready to attack.

[butwhatifidothis]

You know, as shallow and cheesy as Awakening's writing can get at times, the way it handles Mustafa vs 3H's handling of Edelgard are kind of interesting when compared.

Mustafa is someome that we as players know for exactly one, singular chapter. He is a commander of a troops of soldiers, and he dies the same map he is introduced in. And yet, he has become one of Awakening's most beloved NPC's - if nothing else, he is certainly rarely hated outright. And that is because in his one, singular chapter, he manages to showcase to the player how much of a genuinely good person he is; he is helpless to outright defy his orders, but inspired by Emmeryn's sacrifice he nonetheless tries to plea for Chrom to surrender and avoid bloodshed. He takes their outrage not with anger, or defensiveness, but understanding and sympathy - he knows he is in no place to ask them to surrender, but he does so for the slightest chance of avoiding a fight ultimately he had no power to stop. And after the battle begins and his men start becoming despondent, he loudly tells them that should they want to flee the battle he will take any blame off of their shoulders for doing so. But his men stand by him regardless because they don't want to abandon him, and when Mustafa is killed his dying words are to please spare his men.

In just one chapter, Awakening managed to pull at the players' hearts by going out of its way to show us the kind heart of Mustafa, before forcing our hand in killing him, all while one of the most melancholic tracks of the game plays in the background, further cementing how tragic the situation at hand is for all involved. Most players recall it as one of the most impactful and emotional moments of the entire game.

In contrast to that - and let's assume that we're talking about strictly SS - you have half of the entire route's length having Edelgard by your side directly. As Byleth, you the player can directly speak to and support with her, and you see her perspective on the events of the story. And throughout this time, Edelgard shows herself again and again to be someone of poor character; she admits to being willing to sacrifice her men right after Lonato, Byleth eventually finds out that she helped kidnap Flayn, and that she was somehow complicit with Remire, she graverobbed a holy site and tried to kill Byleth and her "friends" with an army and Demonic Beasts.

And this only includes stuff that Byleth, as a character, finds out throughout the story. They don't know that Edelgard only let them talk with her (aka the player only gains her supports) once they gain the Sword of the Creator, for the explicit reason that she wanted to use them. They don't know that Edelgard didn't just waltz in after Remire randomly, but that she knew it was going to happen and did nothing to stop it. And this only includes stuff in pre-timeskip; they don't see her continue to use Demonic Beasts, or hide behind her citizens, or keep Rhea as a hostage so that she can keep using TWS's help.

And I look at these two characters and am kinda lowkey astonished at how different their writing is. When Mustafa's men grow angry at the soldiers who are shaking in their resolve to fight for Mustafa, I'm on the verge of tears because I know that Mustafa does not deserve death. When Seteth talks about how Edelgard can't be that bad of a ruler because her men follow her, I can't help but roll my eyes. When Henry mentions Mustafa off-handedly in a support chain, I get so sad because the only way to speak about Mustafa at that point is in the past tense. When I talk to characters in the explore sections and I hear them talk about feeling bad about Edelgard dying, I just mash through their babbling.

Because I am given ample reason to understand why characters would like, respect, and mourn for Mustafa. He is kind-hearted, self-sacrificial should it possibly save the lives of others, and does everything he can to make the lives of those around him better. In the collective fuckin' 10 minutes of screentime he has, he shows a quality of character that does nothing but suggest that he was a damn fine person thrown into an impossibly unfortunate circumstance.

But with Edelgard, everything I see of her only tells me that she is selfish, self-centered, and uncaring for the lives around her should they inconvenience her. Why would any character like, respect, or mourn for her, after seeing everything she's done? Even going under the assumption that the players gets all of her supports to the max as they are available in pre-timeskip; nothing, in any support chain, could ever dream of usurping her actions towards everyone. In both a "all of her friends" sense, and especially in a "all of Fodlan" sense. So when I see characters go out of their way to make sure the player knows how swell Edelgard is, I am simply unable to believe that anyone would ever genuinely believe that about her. Not when themselves, their loved ones, and their homelands (for Kingdom/Alliance students) are all being endangered by Edelgard's active, willful actions that she chose to make.

Which itself is another huge thing that makes it so hard to believe anyone in-game would believe in her outside of contrived writing. She's not someone forced to do what she does against all of her wishes, like Mustafa; she is the one with all of the power of 1/3 of Fodlan's political landscape and half of its territorial one. She is the one to spearhead and instigate the war - that is one of explicit conquest anyway, not for any altruistic purpose. Why would anyone cry and snivel and piss themselves over the fact that the person who had the power to make them suffer and did make them suffer lost? Why are they pretending that she's just some poor damsel whose path was so lonely, and not the conquering Emperor that she is and admits to being?

Soooo... yeah lmao. I just found that pretty interesting

[serickswrites]

Whump One Shots

Here are all my one shots (can become series by request!) organized by theme (this is the first of many)

Whump

That Didn't Work Out as I Intended--TW: implied/referenced kidnapping; hurt/recovery; trauma response: flight and freeze

Definitely Not--TW: kidnapping, torture, future torture, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Just Watch--TW: kidnapping, confinement, creepy/intimate whumper

Let's Kiss--TW: noncon; assault, future assault, kidnapping, self-sacrifice, creepy/intimate whumper

You Can't Quit On Me Now--TW: kidnapping; blood; hospital; wounds; mild description of gore; major character injury; recovery and aftermath

Idiots--TW: referenced kidnapping; implied torture; helplessness

If I Have to Tell You Again--TW: kidnapping; creepy/intimate whumper, implied torture, noncon, defiant whumpee, conditioning

Horribly Wrong--TW: kidnapping; future/implied/referenced torture; beatings; restraint; forced to watch

A Mask--TW: kidnapping; blood; death; character death (temporary)

Impossible--TW: referenced torture; hurt/comfort; hurt/aftermath; recover/aftermath; reluctant whumpee; hospital

Kind of Fun--TW: suffocation; blood; creepy (not intimate) whumper; defiant whumpee

Moon--TW: blood, major character injury, restraints, captivity, stabbing, rescue, caretaker and whumpee

Stars--TW: mentions of torture (electrocution, beating, whipping, waterboarding), attempted drowning, bound, forced to watch 

Rain--TW: past abuse/torture, recovery/aftermath, conditioning, burns, break with reality

Wake Up--TW: torture, burns, kidnapping, creepy whumper, blood, future torture implied

Lost--TW: restraints, rescue

Flirt--TW: wounds, injury

Movie--comfort, vaguely referenced whump

DND--TW: kidnapping; torture; blood

Late--TW: restraints, torture, defiant whumpee

Sleep--TW: torture, creepy/intimate whumper, water torture

Braids--TW: kidnapping, restraint, gags, torture, creepy/intimate whumper

Call Me, Maybe?--TW: kidnap, rescue, injury, referenced torture, restraint, gags, seizures

Smile--TW: kidnapping, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon, future assault, past assault (assumption)

Earth--TW: kidnapping; burial; buried alive; rescue attempt

Gone--TW: recovery/aftermath, discussion of suicide (very very passive ideation), implied torture

Five Minutes--TW: kidnapping, torture, blood, creepy/intimate whumper

Flowers--just comfort, vague implication of past whump

Tree--TW: restraint; kidnapping; defiant whumpee

Hush--TW: ball gag, gagging, noncon, implied kidnapping, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee

Ghost--TW: character death, death of a loved one

Snow--TW: kidnapping, escape attempt

Reunion--TW: past mention of trauma/abuse; dissociation; comfort; hospital; mention of blood

Taste--poisoning

Five--TW: kidnapping; torture; blood; stabbing; creepy/intimate whumper; conditioning

Beloved--TW: past abuse/trauma; aftermath/recovery

Sizzle--TW: restraints; mild depiction of gore; branding

Countdown--TW: kidnapping; torture; referenced murder

Here?--TW: kidnapping; beating (aftermath); hallucinations; referenced character death (major)

Sleep--TW: sleep deprivation; kidnapping; torture; restraint; defiant whumpee

Song--TW: hospital; coma? (honestly idk what medically is wrong with whumpee....); aftermath and recovery; implied torture; implied kidnapping

Shoulder--TW: gun; blood; gunshot; wound; mild depiction of gore

Snap--TW: escape attempt; broken bones; torture (mild); kidnapping (implied)

Crackle--TW: sickfic (maybe, idk what caused Whumpee’s pneumonia--which is what this is y’all if you didn’t know lol)

Pop--TW: restraint; kidnapping; dislocation

Cook--TW: kidnapping

Shirt--hurt/comfort

Roses--TW: non-con drug use, creepy/intimate whumper

Unsure--TW: aftermath; trauma aftermath; hurt/comfort; hurt/recovery

Better--TW: captivity; kidnapping; implied torture; referenced botched rescue attempt

This--TW: self sacrifice elements

Lies--TW: torture, blood, knives

Anniversary--TW: captivity, non-con, drugging, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Touch--TW: referenced captivity, hurt/aftermath, referenced blood, implied kidnapping, implied torture

Wake Up--TW: implied kidnapping; mcd; noncon drug use; poison

Sea Sick--TW: cruel whumper, seasickness

Dropping the Eaves--TW: captivity; physical assault; implied torture

On My Way--TW: no express whump warnings, but pain is coming

Sick--TW: creepy/intimate whumper

Tired--TW: blood, unconsciousness, hurt/aftermath

Sense--TW: implied kidnapping/captivity

Worse--TW: injury, blood

Writing--TW: hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, implied torture, implied kidnapping

Missed--TW: implied torture, implied future violence, rescue

This is a nightmare--TW: referenced kidnapping, referenced torture

Wrong--TW: captivity, restraint, torture

Wonderful--TW: kidnapping, torture, restraints, non-con, sexual assault, blood

Hug--TW: hurt/aftermath, referenced kidnapping

Stubborn--TW: captivity, torture

Try--TW: abduction, implied future torture

G'Morning--TW: implied noncon, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper

Interesting--TW: choking, implied noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Last Chance--TW: kidnapping, restraints

So Many--TW: restraints, implied torture, stress position, noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Goodbye--TW: self-sacrifice

Happen--TW: hurt/aftermath, blood, unconsciousness

Plan--TW: hurt/aftermath, hospital, broken bones, head injury

Unexpected--TW: bindings, gags, restraints, implied noncon, creepy/intimate whumper

Stay Down--TW: head injury, blood, physical violence, gun

Struggle--TW: kidnapping, sensory deprivation

Blood--TW: blood, blood loss, knives, stabbing, gore, caretaker and whumpee

Bad Dream--TW: kidnapping, torture, restraint, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, hurt/aftermath

To Annoy--TW: stress position, whipping, blood, violence

Let Me See--TW: blood, wounds, gunshot, sprains, self-sacrifice

Cold--TW: hypothermia, hospitals, rescue

Dreaming--TW: mcd, referenced death

Bolt--TW: arrow wound, wound, blood, losing consciousness

Worse Ways--TW: threats of death, electrocution, defiant whumpee

Spiked--TW: drugging, referenced kidnapping, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort

Why Care--TW: hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

My Heart Belongs to You--TW: medical whump, blood, gore, blood loss

Yandere Whumper Request--TW: yandere whumper, captivity, non-con, restraints, gags

Self-Inflicted--TW: captivity, blood, knives, self-harm, escape attempt

Shrapnel--TW: explosion, blood, wounds, unconsciousness, self sacrifice

Alright For Now--TW: Hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, tbh this is just fluff

Don't Leave--TW: hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, implied sensory deprivation?

Like That--TW: torture, knife, blood,, defiant whumpee

Safety--TW: torture, captivity, restraints, electrocution

Clown--TW: captivity, torture, wounds, whipping, restraints, defiant whumpee

Promise--TW: implied torture, kidnapping/captivity, mcd (maybe? you pick your ending folks: does team arrive in time to save whumpee? or do they just find caretaker? the world may never know)

[melonminnie]

hellooo

can i pls request an oscar from baby tyrant x fem reader where reader is kinda of mabel past life friend.

like mabel had a close older friend that she was so close with and was like her older sister but sadly she died shortly before mabel's death but when mabel reincarnated she found another version of her friend or her reincarnated self that doesn't remember her but still clings to her just like her new 'family' [unlike them she understand her even thought she's a baby because her face expressions are obvious..].

but wow , her new 'brother' seem to have a puppy crush on her older sister figure and this puppy crush doesn't seem to go away even as years pass but it seems to grow into something she would even call love.

bonus point if reader's family are criminals that attacked mabel's county using reader as a bait or sacrifice but they got put in jail and the emperor decided to keep her in the castle until her wounds heal and the noble family that decided to adopt her come to take her and that how she met mabel and oscar <3

hopefully everything made sense ! , feel free to ignore this if you don't want to or don't feel comfortable to write it

thank you<3

'star anon

We both like Apple cider ! ( Oscar x fem! Reader)

-I was really happy when I got this request tysm for requesting!! I wasn’t able to keep the full request but I tried I’m sorry </3

TW: mentions of child neglect

“Yes, it’s her!” Mabel confirmed as she stared into the older girl's eyes.

In her past life as yoon gyeoul she had a friend whom she considered her older sister, yes shed been selfish in not telling any of her friends about her crisis with her father, and her lack of money.

Yet she considered y/n a reliable person so she would confide to her about her problems, her father, and about money.

Yes, maybe that's why she felt a connection to the girl in front of her, coincidentally the y/n in her world as the princess of hermano reminded her a lot of the y/n in her past life as yoon gyeoul.

Mabel's eyes bored into yours with slight curiosity, Oscar stood idly beside the girl and for the first time didn’t speak a word to Mabel. His entire attention was on y/n as he boasted to her about how Mabel had called him older brother a few days prior.

Y/ns eyes shifted from Mabel’s to Oscar’s. As the two now ignoring the new born infront of them.

Mabel was getting upset, not because her brother was ignoring her, but because his friend was. Not wanting to be left alone. A loud cry erupted from her catching attention of everyone in the mood.

“!!”

“Oh my!,” the head maid quickly got up from her chair as she held the crying baby in her arms. “What’s wrong your highness” She queered as if the two month old could understand her (she can but they don’t).

As the maid tried to consult the crying child by cradling her and feeding her milk, Oscar quickly ran up next to the maid and tried looking at his sister.

y/n slightly surprised by the sudden outburst of Mabel, followed Oscar, Mabel opened her watery eyes and starred directly into y/ns her crying calming down, Mables tiny hands outstretched themselves reaching to the girl.

The maid quickly took notice of Mabel’s liking to y/n, See the entirety of the imperial empire pitied you.

growing up with a family of criminals often being left alone in unlivable conditions and situations, The two parents quickly used their child as an excuse to try and assassinate the crown prince.

Using you to get closer to him and then they’d strike, Luckily they were caught, Esteban considered killing you for a second, but realized you were just there as an item for your parents.

Quickly the emperor grew a liking to you, of course he couldn’t adopt you, so one of the nobles adopted you after you were healed of course.

And even though Oscar was told to not get close to you, he couldn’t help it he grew a liking to you over time, doing everything you’d wanted him to do without a complaint.

Mabel has the mindset of a 19 year old so she quickly was able to notice how much he adored you!.

She declared it as love!, and Mabel wanted to play Cupid now.

Oscar lives in my head rent free (real)