#1 year maybe 1 year and a half to 2 years

[nocasdatsgay]

A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist. 

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect. 

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms  crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Eris looked at his mate. 

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. ��I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.” 

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said. 

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves. 

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?” 

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.” 

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered. 

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him. 

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.” 

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him. 

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.” 

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging. 

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.” 

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat. 

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked. 

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.” 

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered. 

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?” 

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled. 

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands. 

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start. 

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit. 

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly. 

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?” 

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again. 

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if  they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.” 

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look. 

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?” 

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them. 

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.” 

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down. 

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again. 

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink. 

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep. 

There was a break in the letter and she added. 

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may. 

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved. 

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back. 

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond. 

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’ 

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said. 

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed. 

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window. 

She is awake. a shadow whispered. 

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened. 

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in. 

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were. 

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.” 

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea. 

“Zemër, tell me what happened.” 

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed. 

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.” 

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?” 

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”  

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own. 

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?” 

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly. 

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go. 

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.” 

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.” 

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.” 

She nodded and he winnowed away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before. 

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him. 

“You came back,” Eris whispered. 

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to. 

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.” 

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?” 

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question. 

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it. 

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment. 

“She’s not coming back.” 

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?” 

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice. 

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly. 

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.” 

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit. 

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall. 

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”  

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning. 

You sighed and tried to go to sleep. 

Part 3

[berryicet]

I just had a thought about the hollowheads

So basically. All of them are avians. They aren't created with wings but they grow in later.

The process of them growing in is slow and pretty painful as the skin tears apart to allow the bones and wings to jut out. And it usually takes a few months. They'll sleep and eat a lot during the process. Painkillers would be preferable too

Vic is the first to grow them in.

It starts right after he escapes the deletion. During that time, he's lost and wandering aimless through the outernet. He's forced to forage and try to find shelter, all while he's reeling with pain and exhaustion. Maybe somewhere along the way, he stumbles into a village, and the villagers see him in his sorry state – at that point, the wings are halfway out, and there's dried blood stuck to the feathers since he hasn't had time or energy to clean them – and they take him in, offering food and shelter.

Victim is hesitant and very distrustful, at that point the only interactions he's had were with his creator, who tortured and tried to kill him, and the occasional thug that'd find him wandering in secluded areas. The villagers were kind though, and very insistent on helping him. So he spends the rest of the sprouting period in warm shelter, being cared for.

Once that period is over, he feels indebted for all the kindness, so he offers to help the village in any way he can. Cue, farmer!Vic

The second is Chosen.

Technically, he was meant to sprout his wings sometime during the period he was enslaved, but the antivirus suppressed it. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his back, but he simply attributed it to the fact he wasn't really allowed to properly stretch or anything.

4 years later, AvA 3 happens, Cho and Dark escape, start terrorising the internet, and then find themselves a home in the outernet. And, on one unfortunate day, the 4 years of suppressed sprouting hit him all at once.

The wings don't just grow in – they spring out, Cho doesn't even get a moment to think as he's blinded by the searing pain spreading all across his back. Dark wakes up to him screaming and wailing, and when she goes to check on him, she finds him curled up on the floor, blood everywhere, accompanied by horrible squelching and bone cracking sounds as the wings force themselves out. Dark is mortified for a second, and one thing becomes clear – if she doesn't do something to stop the bleeding, Cho is gonna fucking die of blood loss or something. She hastily tries to help with whatever medkits and bandages they have laying around, but it's quite hard to stop the bleeding when the skin just keeps tearing itself apart more and more. At some point, Dark decides to just start burning the wounds, in hopes that stops the bleeding just a little bit.

The whole day is spent with Dark trying to care for and comfort Cho, while Cho is being hit with 1 and a half months worth of pain all at once. At the end of it all, when the wings are finally fully grown, Cho passes out and essentially goes into hibernation for the next week.

The third is Dark, who, unlike the other two who have feathered wings, has more bat-like ones.

Nonetheless, the same sprouting period and pains apply, just without the extra steps of having to care for and preen feathers and such. Dark luckily didn't have his wings suppressed, so he had to deal with the whole 1 1/2 months of sprouting. In the first couple of days he was super irritable as he tried to mostly ignore the pains, but once the bumps on his back became more visible, and the shape of the wings became more defined, it became clear what was happening.

There was also something else. A sense of brooding – or perhaps, protectiveness – bubbling inside Cho. He didn't know why he felt that way – just that he needed to care for Dark in this period. Dark was obviously annoyed by the way Cho just kept hovering over her, constantly trying to care for her like she's some sort of baby, but Cho wouldn't falter no matter how much Dark complained.

At the end of the sprouting period, Dark was exhausted and proceeds to just sleep day and night, only periodically waking to eat and drink something. Cho, of course, watched over her, thankful that he no longer sees her face strained and muscles tensed with pain, and able to finally peacefully sleep. But – he also can't help but feel a little jealous at the fact that Dark didn't have to go through the same torment he had to go through on the day of his sprouting. Choosing between 1 1/2 months of spread out moderate pains – to the 1 day of excruciating agony – he'd go for the first option, but...maybe it's because he only felt the latter. Or maybe the 4 years of enslavement have made him numb to long periods of misery.

The last is, of course, Second.

Their sprouting period began right after the Showdown. They actually weren't meant to grow their wings for another few years, but dying and unlocking their powers also meant forcing the wings to grow in prematurely. The first few days of pain and soreness, everyone just assumed it was because of the fight that occurred. But after a week passed, and the pains worsened, it finally led the CG to inspect Second closer and find the bumps growing on their back.

After that, all hell broke loose, as the CG scrambled to force Second in bed, inspecting their wings closely and hovering over them protectively as they all began looking after them. Second insisted they didn't need to do all of this – they can handle themselves – but obviously none of them listened. Alan tried to help as well in any way he could.

Second's sprouting period was shorter – just under a month. Their wings were similar to Dark's, unfeathered and bat-like. Though...they were deformed and curled up, almost like a newly hatched moth that didn't get to unfurl its wings yet.

The wings would take years to unfurl and become functional. Until then, they are dead weight on Second's back.

[peapodbond]

I'm going to hit Tim Minear with a calendar.

Okay, so, first of all. I'm a Teen Wolf fan. I'm used to wonky timelines. (Lydia had two canonical birthdays!) And 9-1-1 did get a little wonky! There are references that contradict each other all time, but since there is no set 'length' of time that each episode covers, maybe they do all work together. Could go either way!

But. For real. Abby? Seriously?

I have indulged in the Abby and Tommy jokes before. It is, objectively, hilarious to imagine.

But the math just is not mathing with what was given as their backstory.

2018: Buck is working at the 118, done his probie spot?? (in 1×2, Buck says he's been on the job for six months), and meets Abby.

2017: Abby and 'Tommy' break up. (as per her voiceovers)

2015-2017: Abby and 'Tommy' were engaged (as per Tommy saying they were engaged for two years)

?? - 2017: Abby and Tommy were dating. I have to assume it was at least six months? So at minimum, they were together for 2.5 years.

Let's recap! Chim came to the 118 in 2005. Hen came to the 118 in 2010 (there is some fun Twilight math involved, ask me about that sometime). Bobby shows up before Buck (in 1×5, Hen says he's been there for a year so it would have been six months before Buck, but Bobby Begins Again gets loosey-goosey with the time and it ~seems~ in that episode as though he went straight from Minnesota to LA after his family died and he got sober the first time, and the title cards in that episode say the fire happened in 2014. I don't really believe that he was at loose ends and drinking for two years. At that point in time he would have decided that the sooner he got back to work the sooner he could save 148 people and see his family again.)

Tommy, Hen, Chim and Sal were all friendly by the time that Bobby showed up. They made bets with each other, hung out after work, and razzed each other about stealing lunch money. This is a friendship that started shortly after Gerrard was removed (also 2010, because Hen was still a probie when the car accident happened) and continued until Sal and Tommy left the 118 in 2017.

You are telling me that Tommy managed to have a two and a half (minimum!) YEAR relationship, and that neither Chim nor Hen (nor Bobby!) met her, heard her name, and connected the dots when she started showing up with Buck?

Tommy, who was closeted and didn't feel safe coming out. Didn't mention his girlfriend slash fiancée so that people would stop asking about his relationship?

Not to mention that in Bobby Begins Again when they're all at the bar, Tommy mentions that being single is easier. So he's single! Which means that even with Abby waiting a year to hook up with the himbo the math doesn't math properly either.

And in Lou's interview with Decider he said that it was only decided recently that Abby and Tommy were going to be a thing.

Tim had seven years worth of timeline knowledge to figure that out. It feels like the length of the relationship was decided on so that Josh could give that (actually awesome) speech at dispatch.

(Also after hearing that 8×5 was written to be so good so that everyone would be even more upset in 8×6, it feels like it was just written to make it hurt even worse.)

So, it could have absolutely been written that they both dated Abby, but to be honest? It's more compelling if it had been earlier. When Chim is hired at the 118 Gerrard is asking Tommy when his girlfriend is coming to cook dinner - in 2005, fresh out of the army and DADT and faced with a boss that is homophobic, of course Tommy, at 21, would date a woman and go so far as to get engaged. And he and Chim, who were barely friends at that point, would not have been talking about their personal lives then. Of course, that would retcon the fact that 'Tommy ' and Abby had only broken up the year before the show started, but it would actually still work for the Patricia reference - Buck would have been much closer to Tommy's age when they would have dated, and Alzheimer's means that twenty years and twenty minutes can feel like the same amount of time away from you.

There. I made it make sense! And I didn't even have a team of writers and producers to guide me along the way.

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 6 | 'We just need a lead.'

masterlist ✨

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

HA! it's been two and a half years. On we move. I've done this trek. It's a killer. oh! also! someone sent me an ask about what Scott looks like in my head but i accidentally deleted it!! I kind of see... Adam Martin from Yellowjackets, but with sliiiightly lighter hair. Hehe. Enjoy xox

CW: none - just bad language and poor writing skill as per x

Word count: 4.2k

Sam is no stranger to a sleepless night. His mind is far too practised at dredging up the past when he least wants it.

It usually takes hours of distraction - thumbing through a dog-eared old book, nursing a bottle, researching an obscure lead - just to dull the edges enough to finally let his guard down.

Tonight, though, none of that seems to be working. It’s a frustrating complication that he’s not prepared to deal with.

He paces by the window a few times, peeling back the blinds now and then to stare out at the quiet pool where they'd been just an hour before.

At one point, he lingers longer.

His eyes travel up a few floors to a balcony above, where he spots a figure. A man, alone, perched on a cheap plastic chair and staring down at his phone screen, his face faintly illuminated by its bluish glare. There’s something familiar in the man’s posture - the way he slouches over his screen, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s waiting for something, tapping his thumb impatiently against it.

Sam feels an odd flicker of relief. He’s not the only one unable to sleep tonight, pacing through quiet unrest. The man raises his head, and Sam watches him scan the pool, his expression unreadable, though his gaze seems to linger on the spot where they'd been sat earlier. Sam watches, noticing the man’s hand twitch as he slips his phone into his pocket and rises, crossing to the open door with measured steps.

But then the man’s stare shifts down, as if sensing he’s being watched, and for the briefest moment, Sam is certain he catches his eye. The guy stiffens, his expression hardening, and then he quickly turns away, vanishing back into the shadowed interior of his room.

The movement draws Sam’s curiosity - maybe even suspicion. He frowns. He’s just a man, standing on a balcony in the middle of the night. And Sam's exhausted. It's probably just a case of sleepless paranoia, he tells himself.

Still, the nagging feeling remains, scratching at the edges of Sam’s awareness as he draws the blinds and steps back from the window.

The air in his room feels stifling, despite the low hum of the aircon coming from above him.

His eyes drift to his open cigarette packet lying nearby, though he doesn’t reach for it. Sam’s jaw clenches.

The laptop on the dressing table glows back to life as he resumes his half-hearted research, skimming through what he can find on Karam Sadir and the Petra excavation records. The icy screen hurts his eyes. 

He squints with a tut.

It’s already at its lowest brightness setting. Nathan told him how to put some weird orangey filter over it once that made his eyes sting less but he can’t remember how to do it.

With a resigned huff, he slumps back in his chair, eyes tracing the waves of moonlight stretching across the ceiling.

It's a big place, and they're yet to find a starting point. This is the sort of work he’d normally sink his teeth right into, let it pull him away from whatever anxieties were clawing at him - but right now, it’s all blurred words and faded images. A distraction, just enough to keep his mind occupied, but annoyingly not enough to pull him away from the nagging ache that's been festering in his gut for the past sixty minutes or so.

He glances down at the last line he highlighted on the Sadir’s contributions to Petra and any sites surrounding, but the words bleed together, slipping through his tired brain. Not that they matter much, anyway - he’s hardly taking any of it in.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters to no one but himself.

The heel of his hand rubs up and down his bare chest, before his fingers dig into his shoulder. He instinctively glances down, wincing at the tightness of his muscles.

He finds himself drifting again as he massages out a knot, thoughts pulled back to that playful glint she always seems to have when she’s testing his patience. It hasn’t taken her long to develop a knack for it. It’s all just fun and games, surely. Her shit-eating grin as she poked his star tattoo - she’d dug her nail in - for a second, it hurt. The slight pause after he’d joked about ‘getting with each other’. The way her weight felt in his arms, just in those fleeting seconds, warm and soft and... The knot pops and he rubs his temples, frustrated at his own wandering mind, forcing himself back to the screen.

He’s been down this road before, the signs all too familiar. It starts innocently enough, with a look or a laugh, but then it starts to unravel and tug at something more… convoluted. And he’d thought he’d kept it buried this time, told himself he was too old for this. That he wasn’t about to go entertaining thoughts he’s got no business having. Idiot.

With a muttered curse, Sam slams the laptop shut.

She’s young, lively, with a way of seeing the world that he’s not sure he ever had despite it being his everything . And it’s precisely that, he tells himself, that has him so twisted up. He admires her optimism. That’s it.

He pushes his way into the bathroom and flips on the faucet, splashing water onto his face. The cold shock helps. Not.

He stares at himself in the mirror, and runs a hand over his stubbled jaw, flexing it as if it might somehow make him look a decade younger.

Sam’s hardly insecure by nature, but the way Scott had shown up, caught her eye, confident and unruffled, pressed on him, subtly but surely. Add in the difference in age, and suddenly it feels like he’s staring straight at every wasted year that’s passed since his twenties, when he could count on his face and body without thinking twice. For the first time in... well, ever... he feels a small, nibbling urge to check, as if hoping he’d find some sign of that guy looking back at him.

He scoffs, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before grabbing his toothbrush.

What the hell does it matter anyway? He knows who he is, what he’s been through, and has always been good at not letting those old doubts about himself creep in. So what’s changed?

He squeezes a splodge of toothpaste onto the dampened bristles and brushes, the motions automatic, almost meditative, as if a rinse and scrub will clear out the doubt creeping up from whatever strange feelings he’s caught himself having. He spits, rinses, then finally flips off the light.

Flopping onto the mattress, Sam knows full-well he won’t sleep much, though lying in the dark feels a little more forgiving.

By the time his alarm chimes, he’s showered and dressed, already stubbing out a cigarette on the patio, glancing back to the balcony he saw the man on last night. He swishes his mouth out again, tossing his things together and glancing out the window, trying to shake off the strange mix of anticipation and unease lodged in his chest.

Pushing the feeling down as deep as possible, he shoulders his small backpack, resolving to keep things... professional. Whatever had lingered from last night was just that - last night . He had work to do, and so did she, and Sam’s nothing if not a pro at compartmentalising.

The sound of her door opening beside his quickly followed by soft humming of what he thinks is ' What's Up ' by 4 Non Blondes is his cue.

He stands, cracking his neck as he tries to shake off the drowsy weight clinging to him. 

God, he's tired.

He’ll grab a coffee on their walk down to the site - it's strong here - maybe he'll squeeze in another smoke before they arrive. At least a few hours in the ancient city might give him some clarity, the search giving his mind something concrete to focus on.

He gives himself a final shake, swallowing down the emotions rattling in his chest, and steps out into the hallway.

//

The dust, the heat, the people - it all feels like a heady swirl as you make your way through Petra’s narrow gorges and carefully excavated ruins. You’re somewhere between awe and disbelief, taking photos of every angle, every shadowed crevice and sunlit crack in the rocks and ruins. It feels like the focal point of a pilgrimage, history seeping into your every pore, and you’re so immersed in it all that you’ve been unable to stop yourself from grinning all morning.

You glance back at Sam, who walks with his usual sturdy, slightly impatient stride, his gaze occasionally shifting to the flood of tourists around you. Scott’s beside him, a good-natured, half-smirk on his face as he points out details along the route.

You can’t deny Scott’s enthusiasm - it’s infectious, and he’s been a more-than-capable guide. Occasionally, you notice him stopping to examine a detail, his fingers brushing over the carvings with practised ease, as though he’s been here a dozen times.

You catch sight of Sam a few paces back, his expression shaded by his sunglasses and a slight frown as he stops to read an information plaque. It’s not that he’s being rude exactly - he’s just, well… he’s quieter than usual today. And you can’t quite tell if it’s the heat, the crowds, or something else. His eye line flickers between you and Scott, his mouth pressing into a thin line before he looks away.

“He’s not much of a tourist spot guy, is he?” you murmur to Scott as the three of you veer closer to the start of the steep, winding staircase to the second Treasury.

Scott chuckles. "Eh, I suppose it’s not for everyone,” he says diplomatically. “Probably thinks he’s already seen it all.”

You hum in acknowledgement, and Scott gives you a sympathetic look, before heading a few steps ahead to read another plaque, leaving you and Sam to walk in silence. His stride is relaxed, unhurried, almost apathetic. You want to talk to him, find a way to draw him out of whatever mood he’s in, but every attempt to catch his eye seems to come up short.

A touch of irritation prickles at the back of your mind. Maybe you’ve been a little too enthusiastic, but so what? You give Sam a brief wave as he pulls away from another frame of text with a slight pout, hoping to draw him in, but he only nods, keeping his pace slow and steady.

Fuck it. God loves a trier.

“So,” You say, keeping your voice as light, but not sickeningly upbeat as you make it impossible for him to ignore you. “I take it you didn’t sleep much, either in the end?”

It’s silent for a few seconds before he speaks - he bristles slightly, like you’ve - rightfully - called him out for being weird. 

“Could ya tell?” he says, a touch gruffly, but there’s a hint of something softer in his tone. You shrug, tucking your phone into the pocket of your shorts. “Just… one of those nights, y’know? Too much running through my head.”

It’s hardly a revelation, but there’s an openness to it that he usually keeps under tighter wraps. You nod, shooting him a look of understanding. “Yuck. Those are the worst. All the thinking that gets you nowhere.”

His mouth quirks slightly, almost a smile, but it’s tinged with something closer to defeat. “Right. Problem is, you’d think after all these years, I’d have some sort of trick to shut it all off.”

You let that hang for a moment, the two of you sidestepping a cluster of tourists crowded around a camel sitting, unbothered on the sand. It’s surprisingly… nice, to be let into his world, even if only a crack. He’s always felt so solid, so sure, but there’s something about seeing him unsettled that makes him feel oddly more human. The faint vulnerability catches you off guard, but hell, you'd be lying if you didn't appreciate it. Want it, even.

“Maybe you need more than a trick,” you offer gently, risking a small smile. “Like a change of scenery, or… I dunno, a bit of fresh motivation?”

He glances at you, expression unreadable behind the sunglasses, but there’s a tilt of his head as if he’s sizing you up. “That right?”

“Yeah,” you say, undeterred. “Might be why you’re here. This whole Sadir thing - maybe it’s not just a job. Maybe it’s something more. We just need a lead.” You shrug, trying not to seem too invested, but Sam’s brow furrows, and there’s something searching in his eyes now.

“Hmm.” he hums, a little quieter, his shoulders jostling as if he's chuckling to himself. You're not sure about mirth, though.

He seems about to say something more, but then he pulls himself away, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

"Well, if all else fails, maybe I can arrange a swift frying pan to the back of the head so you can get a good bit of shut-eye."

He actually laughs at this, but before he can respond, Scott calls out to you both from a few steps ahead, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Hey, are we climbing these steps or chatting the whole day?”

You roll your eyes playfully and turn back to Sam, who gives a resigned shake of his head.

Onto the Monastery Trail. Just under one-thousand craggy rock steps making up a two-plus mile uphill climb. You're not fit. But you hope your enthusiasm will keep it tolerable.

"Cardio time, baby." You say with a click of the fingers, adjusting your backpack straps.

About ten minutes later, you're still motivated but, unfortunately, painfully aware you're nowhere near as fit as the men you're with.

Sam throws a glance back, raising an eyebrow at your silence. “You know, it’s weird hearing you so quiet,” he teases, his tone light but pointed. “What, savin' your breath?” He bares his teeth in a smirk.

“I’m sooo sorry that I’m not... a mountain goat,” you huff, voice drenched in almost as much sarcasm as your forehead is with sweat.

Scott's chuckle that follows is immediate, warm and a bit smug.

The two continue their chatter as they walk, their words punctuated by Sam’s occasional mutter of “show-off” whenever Scott throws in some tidbit about the ancient Nabateans or Petra’s construction. You listen to them as you trail behind, using their conversation to keep your mind off of your burning thighs and sore lungs - ugh the steps are definitely getting steeper.

“So how’d you pick up Arabic? I know Chloe said you both studied for a bit over in... Oman, was it?” Sam asks Scott, curiosity laced with a hint of begrudging respect.

“Yep. Picked it up a little more colloquially while working with a few archaeological digs near Jerash once I'd graduated. Came in handy since most of the crew spoke it. Nailed the basics, then took some proper classes,” Scott replies with a shrug, looking completely at ease as he hikes up the jagged steps. “I find it helps a lot with locals when I can talk to them in their language. Makes people… open up a bit more, you know?”

Sam scoffs lightly. “Gotta say, I'm - Arabic's one I could never get my head 'round.”

“Yeah, I mean my grandfather was stationed out this way in the forties too, so his stories gave me the enthusiasm from childhood.” Scott grins, then glances back at you, still valiantly pressing forward. “Speaking of enthusiasm, how are you holding up, darl'?" He teases, knowing the answer full-well.

You give him an exaggerated glare, wiping your brow. “Stop taking the piss while I can't defend myself.” Great. That sentence alone halved your lung capacity.

Sam just laughs, enjoying your persistence, you hope. “We're almost halfway there. You're doin' fine.”

“Oh, that’s encouraging.” you reply dryly, though she’s oddly glad he’s checking in.

After a long and exhausting climb, you finally reach the top. Well, almost. Just ahead of you, at a ledge overlooking the expanse of Petra, you spot another brief set of steps - the highest viewpoint, accompanied by one of the many Bedouin vendors with a small table set up. A kettle sits in the centre, steam rising into the air, and a small group of tourists huddles around.

You’re drawn to it immediately.

“Gents, this has been… horrible.” You sigh, your heart slowly becoming more steady as you take off your baseball cap and fan your face with it. “I’m gonna grab some tea,” You remove your backpack and take out your little notebook, “read up on a few things, and take in the view. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and come and find you when I can breathe properly… See you in a few?”

//

Sam stands a few paces away with Scott near the stone-hewn monastery, a local tour guide gesturing energetically to a group of tourists they've managed to integrate themselves into (three cheers for the unassuming baseball cap!), prattling facts about Petra’s history. But Sam’s mind isn’t entirely there. He keeps glancing around, his eyes skimming over the thinning crowd, half-listening as Scott peppers the guide with questions about excavation sites and artefacts.

“…so, nothing significant has been found here in recent years?” Scott’s voice is smooth, with that confident tone that always seems to get people to open up. Something about the Australian accent seems to give people who have it an instant boost to charisma. Sam notes the way the tour guide leans toward Scott, clearly charmed and eager to impress.

“No, no. No treasures have been found here in centuries.” The guide’s words are tinged with disappointment, but Scott doesn’t miss a beat, nudging him with another line of enquiry about restricted areas and less-documented sites.

But Sam’s focus wavers as he catches sight of a figure standing further off, hovering by the edge of a ruin. He squints. The person looks familiar, and it takes him a second before recognition dawns - the same guy from the balcony last night.

The man isn’t close enough to be eavesdropping, but he’s angled just enough to appear like he’s watching them, hands stuffed casually into his pockets as he leans against a stone column.

Scott catches Sam’s distant expression and steps closer, brows knitting together in concern. "Hey, mate. You with us?"

Sam’s eyes dart back to him, and he forces a smirk to cover his momentary lapse. "Yeah, yeah, I’m here," he replies, crossing his arms in a show of nonchalance. "Just… thought I saw someone I recognised."

Scott raises an eyebrow, glancing around before shrugging, his usual easy charm returning. He gestures back to the tour guide, who is wrapping up his explanation with an apologetic shrug, obviously not the wealth of information they’d been hoping for.

"So no dice on the inheritance?" Sam asks, slightly relieved to shift his focus back to their original purpose.

"Nah. Just the standard spiel." Scott sighs, offering the tour guide a polite smile before turning back to Sam. "Guess we’ll have to keep digging."

Sam nods, but he can’t shake the feeling that they’re being... watched. He catches a glimpse of the man again, just on the edge of his peripheral vision, standing with his arms folded, half-hidden by a weathered stone column. This time, Sam’s certain it’s the same guy.

"You okay, man?" Scott’s voice cuts through again, sharper this time, his eyes steady and probing.

They're staying in one of the cheapest hotels closest to one of the world's most famous heritage sites. They're bound to come across the same people during their stay. Snap out of it.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just - long night. Didn’t get much sleep."

Scott studies him a beat longer, and Sam feels a flash of irritation at being read so closely. Scott’s perceptiveness borders on uncanny, the kind of thing that usually annoys him when it’s turned his way. But Scott’s well-meaning smile disarms him.

The silence between them breaks as the missing part of the trio skids to a stop beside them, her energy lifting the tension immediately. She’s practically glowing, a wide grin plastered on her face, notebook in hand, the edges dog-eared and a little torn from use.

“Alright,” she pants, catching her breath as she waves the notebook with an eager grin. "Umm ar-Rasas."

Sam’s lips twitch, grateful for the distraction, while Scott’s face lights up, already leaning in, genuinely interested. 

"Umm ar what ?" Sam asks with a lopsided grin.

She pauses, looking between them both. "Wait - what have you two found?"

"Jack shit." Scott huffs, scratching his neat beard, "Go on, then. Umm ar-"

"Rasas. Yes. The Bedouin bloke was saying-"

Sam’s head whips around, a frown deepening. “You told him we’re looking for something?”

He watches her bristle a little, feeling the bit of accusation he'd thrown at her. “Not exactly. I didn’t spill everything, if that’s what you’re worried about. He saw the name at the top of my page. Got enthusiastic. That's all.”

"So he saw your damn notes?" He asks, sceptically.

She sighs. "Fuck sake, Sam, the word 'Sadir' in green bubble writing hardly told him we're disturbing the peace. A quick mention of my dissertation convinced him to spill."

Sam bites his lip, narrowing his eyes a little. He nods, though he's inexplicably on edge. She clears her throat.

"They're old Roman city ruins - a couple hours from here. Karam had a hand in the start of its excavation. Apparently..." She stops to go over her notes, "him and his wife -"

"Emaan's parents?" Scott interjects, arms folded in interest.

"Yep - they put in a bid for it when official funding for the excavation stopped in favour of Petra. He was convinced there was more there to be found, and wanted to fund it himself."

"So the Sadirs... owned this site?" 

"That's what I've surmised. Yeah. Could’ve used it for anything."

Scott nods, pouting in a way that reads 'not bad'. She lights up. Sam lowers his sunglasses again just in time to roll his eyes.

"I'm going to presume that's our next stop then?" He asks.

"Thought you weren't convinced." She glouts, raising her brows up at him, head tilted.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "You're right." He sniffs, nodding. "It's more than we've found."

She gives him a relieved half-smile. It's laced with what he thinks is some sort of sympathy.

"Alright, well," Scott says, thumping them both on the back as he begins to walk ahead of them both, "I'm off to act like a tourist for the rest of the day. We can suss out next steps tonight."

As Scott strides off, blatantly giddy, Sam watches him disappear into the crowd, feeling a momentary pang of relief. But that comfort is short-lived as he glances back at her. She’s still looking up at him, brow slightly raised, waiting for him to say something. It's awkward, but she's unrelenting. A London thing, perhaps? He shifts uncomfortably, a bit too aware of her proximity and the glint of expectation in her crinkled brows. Oh, she's ballsy.

He sighs. “Look, I wasn’t-” He stops himself, catching the slightest hint of frustration flickering across her face. He doesn’t want to make this into a whole thing, doesn’t want to admit outright he might’ve overreacted or sounded harsh. “Just… good work.” he mutters instead, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking off to the horizon. He can feel the moment teeter on the edge of unresolved tension, and he isn’t quite sure how to balance it.

But she only drops her shoulders and smiles, that same easy, understanding smile that somehow always makes him feel like the asshole in the room. “Don’t worry,” she says, amusement softening her voice. “I didn’t tell him we’re planning to raid his ancestors’ graves. Yet.”

“Glad to know you can keep it subtle,” he mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

The awkward moment stretches, her expression softening as she tilts her head. “Maybe next time you’ll trust me to handle things without…” She trails off, and he braces himself for the jab that never quite lands. Instead, she holds up her phone, grinning, tonguing her teeth. “Actually, if you’re serious about making it up to me, then maybe I’ll settle for a picture.”

He scoffs, shifting his weight. “You serious?”

Her smile is downright playful. “Oh, come on. You owe me at least one nice memory from this godforsaken climb. Besides,” she taps his arm teasingly, “think of it as evidence of the fact that we actually get on very well when you haven't got a pole rammed up your arse.”

Before he can protest, she nudges up beside him, raising her phone, her arm hooked around his shoulders as she leans in. He barely has time to force a smile, but she catches him off-guard - leaning up, she presses her lips to his cheek as the shutter clicks.

The instant it registers, his bravado turns to dust. She steps back, grinning, scrolling through the photo while he’s left blinking, thrown off by the sudden, chaste affection.

“Perfect,” she chirps, giving him a quick wink. “Now, let’s get down from here before I succumb to altitude sickness.”

She heads off, leaving Sam standing there, blinking after her, mind spinning with the confusion of that sudden kiss and how effortlessly she brushed it off. A corner of his mouth twitches as he watches her go.

Ah, shit.

[knightsquire]

I don't think enough ppl realise Yaz would've been like 24/25ish maybe even older by the time she left she didn't stay 19 that whole time you know that right

[tinyfantasminha]

👍

[eldewinddolly]

Little Holly ! 🔥

… Yeah. You don’t wanna mess with her.

[semiotomatics]

lol. i think ive reached my limit.

[kushanna]

"it was all set out in our contract from the beginning. when kinzo's life ended, all the gold i lent him and all of the assets he created would be given to me" i really didn't need a red truth to tell me kinzo was dead, did i. it was pretty much tacit understanding. he had to be dead for the ritual to even start. fml 🤦🏻‍♀️

[this-should-do]

god i am obsessed eith the tonal shift between ahlf life 1 and 2 in regard to the sense of success at ur accomplisments

in 1, nothing you do ever gives u a sense of success or accomplishment, u killed people, u killed aleins but u have so much more to do. its an empty feeling, oh u killed the tentacles? cool go down the hole, dog urself deeper into this mess. oh you killed the gargantua and turned on the railway? go down deeper into the water and blood deeper into the bowels of the beast you created of the facility. you kill the nihilanth and u look up at the fireworks knoeing you are going to die, you cannot escape the explosion and the mess youve created. ur pulled from the mess and you are told you have guranteed urself a future of killing and endless battles or a battle u can never win. mothing you do matter none of it is worth anything. you are cold and alone and soaked in blood and people are only getting more scared

but in 2 the mood shifts, the smallest battles give people hope for a future. you can kill even a few soldiers and even if you do have to go deeper, the people around you cheer, if only for a moment, theyre alive and breathing and so are you. so many things yo do youre asked to do them again and again and each time these people are excited, thwyre grasping for a semblance of hope til thwir nails bleed and they cheer becuz they are alive and in the sun and watching their breath freeze as they cheer in the cold air of the mountains. the grass is green and growing and its more life than uve seen since before you moved to the middle of a desert to work in a concrete prison far from the warmth of the sun where it bakes all that it touches.

do you think gordon feels the happiness of the rebels? feels a sense of accomolishment in even the smallest thing he does? is he satisfied or fullfilled for helpjng these people? can he feel the sun warm the skin of his face and the bite of eastern european chill on his nose the way the rebels do? does he relish in that he is alive still? is he coming back? or do you think he still feels dull as he sinks deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind and the concrete cage of balck mesa where his old life died?

[quatregats]

Doing math problems from this old navigation manual and I think I will soon be meeting my old nemesis "Percy is very good at the math" (statement made by my high school physics teacher to my dad at a parent-teacher conference in which the implied second half "but unfortunately not very good at figuring out how situations translate into these equations" was kindly omitted)

[kyouka-supremacy]

(´･ᴗ･ ` )

[estradasphere]

God i hate Google

[bubmyg]

writing this in the tags bc i need to articulate it somewhere that isn’t to my mother on the phone

[chaosinstigator]

ngl… my excitement for this weekend literally vanished last night

[skitskatdacat63]

I will read the most inane and useless stuff for hours just for my own interest/enjoyment, but reading academic papers is like pulling a tooth 😭😭 like I genuinely think I'd find the info interesting but the fact that ik it's in pursuit of doing an assignment somehow manages to kills my motivation 100%