#sacrifice self ending

[lenorenevermore99]

[One Last Chance]

Max jumps back in time to let Chloe meet her original fate and spare Arcadia Bay from destruction.

But as she stares at that photo, doubts about her choice, about all of her choices, assault her. What if she hadn't stayed hidden that day?

Deciding to challenge fate one last time, she offers up her life to save Chloe and spare the town.

But will trading her life suffice to save both the girl she loves and the town they grew up in?

[rithion]

He who is reborn through pain, again and again // Body euphoria

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu AU where Luo Binghe's the chosen village sacrifice to the evil deity who lives up the mountain.

Normally the village sends maidens, but they've more or less run out of expendable girls of the right age and, ahem, "virtues". So of course Luo Binghe's early life bad luck kicks in. In the wake of his mother's death there's no one to really care about what happens to him, he's fairly pretty, and the village leaders decide that if they dress him up like a girl the teenaged homeless kid should pass well enough. And hey, y'know, he's probably got a hard life ahead for him anyway -- dying in a brothel of some venereal disease or on the streets of exposure or starvation. At least as a sacrifice, everyone else gets to benefit from his loss! And the kid will get added to a shrine and be remembered as a hero! If anything, he should be happy about this!

Binghe is not happy about this.

But he's also a skinny underfed nobody who is easily overpowered, dressed up like a bride, and tied to a post. So. Not much he can do but wait for the evil deity to come and do whatever horrible thing he's gonna do to him.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is pretty sure he's been isekai'd into the over-powered hero of some kind of supernatural adventure story? He's not totally sure because he doesn't recognize the setting, but the signs are there. He's got a shrine-like base of operations (though it seems to have become corrupted/ruined, probably he has to restore it somehow), he has a very resilient and handsome new body with spiritual energy of some kind flowing through him, and a very clearly magical sword. Plus lots of neat starter powers! Though it feels like he has other abilities that have been blocked somehow? Probably he has to level up in order to access them.

When he treks out of his "base" and finds what seems to be a distressed maiden, he takes it for his beginner hero mission. The girl claims that she's been doomed to be sacrificed to an evil god. That sounds a little above Shen Yuan's pay grade for dealing with, so he unties her and decides that they had better just get out of the whole region altogether. He already packed up anything useful from his base, anticipating he might get caught up in an adventure once he left, so they follow the river away from the settlement until they reach another one.

While they travel, Luo Binghe tells Shen Yuan about the cursed deity, Shen Qingqiu, who was cast out of the heavens for slaughtering one of his brethren and has apparently being do-who-knows what to maidens from the local village in exchange for his "protection" ever since. Sounds like a real asshole! And also mid-level boss type bad guy at least. Shen Yuan hopes he doesn't have to fight him, but he probably will.

Thank goodness he found Binghe, though! Clearly the helpful little sister type! He's definitely going to require her assistance if he's going to figure out how to navigate this world and level up his skills enough to take on a god.

[morphym37]

post ring era i almost wanted to give him black hair yknow why :)

ok black/greyish hair ver. under the cut

actually important bc "shadow of morgoth" 🖤

[exutrio]

orym and dorian in c3 x 120: "the red end"

[kawhump]

thinking about a whumpee being made to lead their captors back to their team. whumpee's lying, of course; why the hell would they lead the enemy straight to their friends when they have an opportunity to throw them off the trail?

so they lead the enemy away. arms bound, maybe even on a chain or rope so they can't try to run for it, followed like a bloodhound. every step they take brings the enemy further from their friends, but it also brings them further from their friends. viscerally aware that the chances of rescue go down the further they go, and having no plans for what happens when the enemy catches on. just hoping they can find a moment to escape before then.

[blizardstar]

Me when Ashton Greymoore is denied honorable and meaningful self-sacrifice, and now must face the reality that they MUST keep living after it’s All Over

[tanoraqui]

The Winchesters could not do Dungeon Meshi, but the Toudens could do Supernatural, you feel me?

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

I think people have it in their head that solas in inquisition is his “true self” but like. He’s manipulating the inquisitor the whole time too. That’s not his true self, that’s another mask he’s using as a tool

His plan was to use the orb to tear down the veil after the conclave. He allowed corypheus to find the orb, with the goal of swooping in after the explosion at the conclave to rip open the fade from there. The inquisitor disrupted his plans as much as they disrupted corypheus’ plans, and as much as corypheus disrupted his plans by staying alive. In that moment, both the inquisitor and corypheus are the people who fucked up his plans.

He doesn’t join the inquisition out of some altruistic desire to save the world from corypheus. He joins the inquisition because he wants the orb so he can tear down the veil. Which means stopping corypheus and retrieving it from him AND either retrieving the mark from the inquisitor or finding a way to use it through the inquisitor to his purpose.

He doesn’t stay with the inquisitor following the conclave explosion to save their life. He’s there to study the mark and figure out how to remove it. He can’t, so keeping you alive to preserve it is the next best thing.

When he talks to you about stuff like blood magic, or debates on the personhood of spirits, he is not speaking as a humble elven apostate trying to convince you of his point of view, he’s gauging your reaction to things to learn about you and how to manipulate you. In one of these conversations he even brings up a hypothetical world without the veil, because he’s trying to gauge the inquisitors reaction tho that possibility (which is very much not hypothetical to him)

At the end of the game it has become obvious he’s not getting the mark from the inquisitor anytime soon, he’s not going to be able to manipulate the inquisitor to join his cause, and the orb is broken. He has no use for the inquisitor or the inquisition, so he leaves. It’s all a pretence, and it’s one he abandoned in an instant.

This image he presents of a humble elven apostate with generally good intentions who journeys in the fade and has knowledge that has given him unconventional views he wishes to debate on is not who he truly is, it’s a mask he’s put on to get to a position where he can try to manipulate things

[gossippool]

logan would die for his lovers and wade would die with his. thank you for coming

[holyraconteur]

Okay, but here's a dark au where Spider drags Quaritch from the water and promptly kills him, and now no one knows what to do with this human child soaked in the blood of his own father. Blood is thicker than water, right? Why would a son kill his own father? Pandora's greatest enemy is dead. The scourge of the Na'vi is gone.

So, what is this feeling of discontent?

-) The moment Spider pulled Quaritch from the water, he made a choice.

-) The once-mighty colonel was barely clinging to life, his body battered, his strength drained. Weak. Helpless. A man who had terrorized Pandora, who had burned forests and spilled the blood of Eywa's children, now lay before him, gasping, vulnerable.

-) The knife in Spider’s hand felt light. The motion effortless.

-) One swift drag across the throat was all it took. Just like Neytiri would have done to him. 'Do you see me now?' Spider thinks. 'See me. See me. SEE! LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE MADE OF ME!'

-) Quaritch barely made a sound, just a wet, choked gasp as his lifeblood spilled into the water, dark ribbons mixing with the lapping waves. His body seized, his fingers twitching—but Spider only crouched there, watching, waiting. He waited for the flood of emotion. For the relief. The triumph. The guilt. But there was nothing. Just… numbness.

-) The monster was dead. The one responsible for so much suffering, for so much destruction, for everything—gone. And yet, Spider felt nothing. His father’s glassy eyes stared up at him, lifeless. Eywa’s grace had abandoned him long ago. And with any luck, Quaritch’s soul would never find peace. Never find acceptance. Spider exhaled slowly, running his tongue over dry lips, blinking at the bloodied body at his feet. His hands weren’t even shaking.

-) It was done. His brother avenged. The souls of Neytiri's family are avenged. His debt to the Sullys was paid in full. Everything is calm.

-) A soft rustling pulled his gaze upward. His father's Banshee crouched a few feet away, its golden eyes locked onto Spider with an eerie intensity. Spider tensed, half-expecting it to lunge, to attack, to avenge its fallen rider. But it didn’t. It simply watched. And then, without a sound, it lowered its head. Acceptance. Recognition.

-) As if possessed by something beyond himself, Spider stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His fingertips brushed against the creature’s snout, and for the first time that horrible day, he allowed himself a small, hollow smile. Perhaps it was a good thing that Quaritch never truly bonded to this one.

-) The rest of the Na'vi find him hours later, and Tonowari approaches first, his large shadow stretching over the scene, but he hesitates. The Metkayina chief has seen many battles, many bodies. And yet, this is different. This is a child, soaked in the blood of his own father. Why would a son do this? Spider meets his gaze, his expression empty. He waits for judgment. Condemnation. Something.

-) But when Tonowari speaks, it is not with anger. "The demon is dead." A statement. A fact. The warriors behind him exchange uneasy glances, but none argue. Some murmur in agreement; others simply watch. None move to comfort the boy who did the deed. Perhaps they do not know how.

-) The Sully are more horrified than relieved. Even Neytiri, who should feel the greatest relief of all, does not celebrate. Her bow hand clenches, fingers twitching as though her body is caught between two instincts. To praise him… or to fear him. She does not understand. She had thought she knew hatred. She had felt it burn through her when she held the blade to Spider’s throat on the Sea Dragon, her grief drowning out reason.

-) Jake had told her stories—of how humans could be cruel to their own offspring, how some children were beaten, abandoned, even killed by those who were meant to love them. How those same children woke up one day and decided to kill their parents. She had never believed it. Not until now. She watched Spider wipe the blood from his blade with mechanical precision, his movements too calm, too practiced. There is no triumph in his face, no relief, no sorrow.

Just a hollow emptiness.

-) Something dark and quiet has settled in the boy’s chest, a coldness that should not exist in one so young. The boy named Spider died on the Sea Dragon. Drowned beneath the weight of Neytiri’s hate, choked on the understanding that he would never belong. And what remains in his place is something else. Something Tonowari's people and the Sullys do not understand. Something they accept but fear all the same.

-) Jake takes a step forward, but Spider lifts a bloodied hand, stopping him before he can speak. "Don’t." His voice is hoarse, flat. "Your son has been avenged. The debt is paid. I am done. We are done." Jake stares, tears in his eyes, something unspoken hanging between them. "Kid, I never wanted this--" Spider turns his back, mounting the ikran with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. And then he was gone. The wind howled as the graceful creature lifted itself into the sky, carrying Spider higher, farther, into the unknown. Jake’s voice rose behind him, calling his name. Kiri's voice is the loudest, crying and screaming for him, but he hardens his heart. They call his name. Spider does not return. Spider does not look back.

[nellasbookplanet]

While I think the execution could at times have been better I really enjoyed the imodna arc which, to me, was both verbalized and problematized with the 'maybe it’s our destiny to harness it'/'maybe it’s our destiny to fight it'/'together either way' exchange back during their first kiss. No moment better crystallized their likenesses, but also their differences. They were both lonely figures tempted by dark powers who found a kindred soul in the other but, crucially, their responses were polar opposites. Laudna, with her lack of self-worth and seeing herself as a dead end, was seeking comfort that Imogen wouldn’t judge or hate her when she inevitably gave in. Imogen, meanwhile, was seeking comfort that Laudna understood the temptation and likewise wouldn’t judge, but ultimately had no plans to give in to predathos. She saw the temptation for the self destruction that it was, and as she came to love Laudna she wanted to live. Laudna saw her own survival and happiness as an impossibility, and her love for Imogen became an excuse to embrace self destruction in the name of self sacrifice, not understanding that this harmed not only her but Imogen as well.

This dichotomy became more pronounced throughout, and was in the end something they had to face and grow out of. When it became clear Laudna was barely fighting back against Delilah anymore, endangering both herself and the party, Imogen all but broke up with her. She could not make Laudna see sense, but she could stop enabling her. She could show that, were Laudna to continue in this direction, Imogen would no longer follow. Still love, and never hate or judge, but not follow. Through this, Laudna was forced to see Imogen didn't want her self-sacrifice, but rather for her to allow herself to be a burden, to accept help to deal with Delilah. In the end, she chose not to die for Imogen, but to live for her, allowing herself the vulnerability of seeking happiness and self worth.

Later, Imogen asked if Laudna would be prepared to fight her if she was corrupted, showing she wouldn’t want Laudna to follow her if she ultimately gave in to temptation either. And Laudna does help fight her in the predathos fight, just like Imogen helped fight when Laudna was overtaken by Delilah in Aeor. But that fighting was also what helped them pull the other back out. If they had simply accepted that their loved one gave in to evil temptation for power, they truly would have lost each other. Only by challenging and demanding growth (admittedly mostly from Imogen towards Laudna) could they actually hold true to their promise to be together either way.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile

[aventurineswife]

👀 Sunday with Kiana-like!Reader, tackling the roots of various problems instead of building of walls and cages and sweet dreams coughslikeSundaycoughs and doing everything they can to help and protect people from memetic monsters and other otherworldly threats while also running themselves so far into the ground they occasionally get sick or injured or both.

Think of the angst potential.

Between Waking and Dreaming

Summary: As the Charmony Festival unfolds, Sunday confronts you after yet another exhausting battle against otherworldly threats. Despite your relentless drive to help and protect others, often at the cost of your own health, Sunday encourages you to prioritize your well-being. Through his support and understanding, the two of you begin to bridge the gap between his vision of a painless dream and your determination to tackle problems head-on.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Kiana Kaslana based Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Opposites Attract, Self-Sacrifice, Angst with a Happy Ending, Tender Moments, Mutual Growth, Slow-Burn Potential.

Warnings: Mentions of self-sacrificial behavior and overexertion, Mild descriptions of physical and emotional exhaustion.

A/N: I like your thinking, anon🫣👀 (this may be ooc since idk much about HI3)

The sky was darkening as the city of Oak's heart, bustling with the Charmony Festival's lively spirit, began to quiet. The sounds of laughter and music still filled the air, but something in the breeze felt different, a hint of tension lingering between the edges of the revelry.

Sunday stood in the grand hall of the Oak Family estate, surveying the aftermath of a particularly taxing day. The festival was only a glimpse of what he strived for—the Sweetdream Paradise—a realm where everyone could escape pain, a dream of peace that seemed so far from reach.

But then there was you.

You, a beacon of light amid all the shadows.

You were his opposite in so many ways. While Sunday envisioned a painless world, an eternal dream that might shield people from their suffering, you rejected that ideal. You weren’t about building walls, much less cages, around people’s hearts. Instead, you believed in confronting problems, tackling the very roots of what ailed the world, no matter how impossible it seemed. You fought the memetic monsters and the otherworldly threats head-on, with all your heart and spirit.

And, much to Sunday’s dismay, you pushed yourself to the brink every single time. You didn’t stop, didn’t take a break, and refused to let anyone shoulder the burden of protecting the world alone, even if it meant running yourself into the ground.

But Sunday saw the toll it took. He always did. The days when your energy was completely drained, when your eyes were clouded by exhaustion or worse, illness. The way you fought through your own pain, convinced that you could bear it all if it meant no one else had to.

“[Name],” Sunday said, voice gentle but firm as he stepped closer to where you were sitting, wiping away the sweat from your brow. Your hand was still clutching your side, your breath shallow from the battle you’d just fought.

“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this.” His eyes softened as he crouched beside you, his angelic halo shimmering above his head. The wings at his ears glinted in the dim light, but they seemed almost dull compared to the brightness of his concern for you.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. Your head rested against the wall, a deep, lingering weariness overtaking you. “We still have to take care of the memetic distortion. I’m... I'm okay.”

Sunday’s fingers brushed your hair back, a quiet act of tenderness. He knew you were anything but okay. The way you’d been pushing yourself had drained you, and it was starting to show in every sharp breath you took, in the way your body trembled slightly. The only thing that seemed to give you comfort was the thought of protecting others, yet you were blind to how much you were hurting yourself in the process.

“You’re not okay, [Name],” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, something that betrayed the stern leader he often portrayed. His eyes flickered with a hint of frustration, but it was frustration aimed not at you, but at the world that had shaped you into someone who believed sacrificing your well-being was the only way to protect those around you. “Why can’t you just rest? You’re no good to anyone like this.”

You tried to smile, but it was a weak thing, slipping away just as quickly as it had come. “Because if I don’t, who will protect them?”

Sunday sighed, kneeling down until his face was level with yours. His wavy(?) hair framed his face, the piercing angel wings catching the light. His gaze softened, but there was something in it—something resolute, yet filled with concern. “You’re so much like me. Always thinking of others before yourself. But you’re wrong. You’re burning yourself out, and you won’t be able to protect anyone if you’re broken.”

“You don’t understand,” you muttered, shaking your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down. “This world isn’t a sweet dream. There’s so much pain. If I don’t keep fighting, I don’t know what will happen. I can’t let people suffer.”

Sunday looked at you for a long moment, studying your expression as you battled your inner turmoil. There was something in his eyes—a reflection of his own personal struggle. The very thing that haunted him: the idea that people couldn’t escape their suffering, not by his design, not by anyone’s.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice lower, softer than you’d heard it before. “This world isn’t a sweet dream. It’s a waking nightmare for many. And maybe it always will be.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the rare admission. Sunday, the stoic leader, the one who wished for an escape from all the pain, was agreeing with you?

“But,” he continued, “I’m starting to realize something. I’ve spent so much time building a paradise for people to escape pain. But you—you don’t run away from it. You face it head-on. You try to help, even when it feels impossible. And that… that is what makes you stronger.”

You blinked, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. For all the times Sunday had pushed his ideals on you, for all the times he’d insisted on the Sweetdream Paradise, here he was, acknowledging your own way of doing things. He was seeing you—not as someone who needed to fit into his dream, but as someone with a purpose of their own.

“I can’t fix the world alone,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with resolve. “I just… I can’t let people suffer. Not while I’m here. Not while there’s something I can do about it.”

Sunday reached out, his gloved hand gently cupping your cheek. His eyes held a quiet intensity, but now there was something softer—something that had always been there beneath the surface. “I understand. But you have to learn to take care of yourself too. You can’t save everyone if you’re the one who’s broken.”

You hesitated, then nodded, finally allowing yourself to lean into his touch, the exhaustion and pain too much to hold back any longer. “I’ll try,” you whispered, though doubt lingered in your voice.

Sunday smiled, the soft, warm smile that you hadn’t seen much of lately. The one that said, “I’m here with you.”

“I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to breathe. The weight of the world hadn’t lifted, but Sunday’s presence beside you, his quiet promise to help carry the burden, made it feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a different way.

And in that moment, you felt a spark of hope—a hope that, even in a world full of pain, you didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

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

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

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

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

Furina is tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Furina has always been good at lying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Furina will make sure they do.

[thevalleyisjolly]

I think part of the reason why Ten and Donna's relationship is so compelling to me is that they share the same main character flaw. In RTD's memoir, he described how he created each of the main companions with a central character flaw. Rose was selfish, Martha was selfless to the point of self-denial, and Donna was self-absorbed. And while all of those flaws were mirrored in Ten in different ways, I think Ten's central flaw was, like Donna, being incredibly self-absorbed.

While I don't dispute that Ten could be arrogant and vain, I think the degree to which he was those things sometimes get exaggerated. Every Doctor has had instances where they behaved arrogantly, as if they were the ultimate authority in the room and were owed everyone's attention and even unquestioned obedience. Many Doctors have preened over their looks or boasted about their intelligence and their achievements, whether as a strategic move or (more often) just because they felt like reminding everyone they were the smartest person around. Arrogance and vanity are recurring character traits across many of the Doctor's regenerations, and while Ten has displayed them more loudly and infamously than other Doctors, I think the unique flaw that better defines this regeneration's character was his propensity for getting completely caught up in himself.

Consistently throughout this regeneration, he ignored or just failed to recognize other people's needs because he was so preoccupied with his own issues. Infamously with Martha, but also with most of his companions past and present at some point (Sarah Jane, Mickey, Jack, Donna) and certainly with countless ordinary people that got caught up in the danger around him. The thing that makes this self-absorption rather than callousness or deliberate cruelty is that it wasn't because he considered them unimportant. Ten frequently affirmed how important every life was and how valuable the most ordinary life was, and he really believed it. But as much as he believed it, he constantly struggled with the practice, with prioritizing ordinary people when he himself was embroiled in turmoil (whether active danger or his own personal issues). He believed fundamentally that each life had value and importance; he just saw whatever he was going through or doing at the moment as having even more value and more importance.

Ten didn't lack compassion for others. Indeed, he felt very strongly for people who were in distress and regularly put himself at risk to try and help them. But he often struggled to look beyond himself - his own concerns and demons and ego and fears. If someone's needs or feelings align with his own or seem to be relevant to the issue at hand? Good! He'll try to help if he can. But if someone's needs clash with his own, or their opinions challenge his own view, or their feelings push uncomfortably against his own emotional state? All of a sudden, he's very busy, he becomes rude and dismissive, he clams down, he acts ignorant, and if all else fails, he runs away.

The Chamelon arch storyline in "Human Nature"/"Family of Blood" is incredibly fascinating because John Smith embodied the Doctor's self-absorption on a much more recognizable, human scale. He was happy to be benevolent and kind when people acted within the sphere of what he knew. As a teacher, he recognized when a brilliant student was downplaying his intelligence to avoid attention from school bullies, and he tried to encourage Timothy within the bounds of what a teacher could do. But when people started disrupting his own little world of happiness -particularly Martha or his students interrupting romantic moments with Joan- then he became curt and dismissive and even more obstinate about his preferred way of things. All things that the Doctor also does, but which we notice less because he's usually the perspective we're rooting for to solve everything and save the day so is it really a big deal if he's rude towards another character? And then there's the original act of self-interest that Joan calls the Doctor out on at the end - he brought death and destruction to this village that he chose on a whim, without thinking of anyone else, all because he personally didn't want to confront the Family even though he was capable of stopping them.

All this to say that this flaw is part of what makes his relationship with Donna so compelling to watch. You have these two fundamentally self-absorbed characters on a journey together and they inspire each other to start doing better than they were before. They're growing together in the same direction with each other and because of each other. Donna, seeing the whole wide universe with all the good and the bad of it, realizing not only how small her worldview has been until now but then reaching out to make connections with people she wouldn't have given the time of day to before. The Doctor, absorbed with all his own burdens and traumas and memories and promises, being furiously and desperately shouted at by his best friend to do something. Save someone. It doesn't matter how small the act or how insignificant they are in the greater scheme of things. Never mind the greater scheme. Never mind us, never mind you. Just look at the person suffering in front of you now and help them.