#THEY ARE BUDDIES.....!!! COMPANIONS EVEN..

[hotshotsxyz]

this town is only gonna eat you

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1.1k) already wrote some buck-gets-hit-by-a-car spec, so how about some buck-gets-shot? kept thinking about "take eddie [to the laker's game] and die" and uh... here we are. cw: mass shooting/ gun violence (described vaguely), somewhat graphic description of a bullet wound, blood edit: now featuring a companion piece

Buck is smiling when it happens. Grinning at Eddie like he hung the fucking moon as he points out what must be the hundredth interesting play he’s seen on the court tonight. Buck’s smiling.

Eddie registers the screams before the gunfire. He smells the metallic scent of spent shell casings before he sees the shooter. He tackles Buck to the ground before he realizes he’s already hurt.

Buck was smiling, but now his face is inches from Eddie’s and his eyes are wide with pain and panic.

“Eds,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper but it’s still too loud.

Eddie shakes his head, a tiny, sharp movement. Buck takes a shaky breath and presses his lips together. He understands. Eddie hates that he understands. Thank God he understands.

There’s something warm and wet slowly spreading between them, and it takes Eddie several wasted seconds to realize it’s blood. He’s almost completely certain it isn’t his, which—

God, that’s so much worse than if it was.

One of Eddie’s hands is still cradling Buck’s head, an instinctive act of protection before they hit the ground. With the other, Eddie slowly begins feeling his way around Buck’s abdomen. His fingers brush against torn fabric and he feels nauseous.

I’m sorry, he mouths before pressing down hard.

Buck gasps in pain. A muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort it must take him to keep from screaming.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s ear. “I’ve got you; I promise.”

The bullet caught him somewhere along the fifth intercostal space on the right side of his chest. Eddie doesn’t have a way to feel for an exit wound, not without letting up pressure on what he knows is there.

At best, the bullet glanced off a rib and tore through nothing but skin and muscle. At worst…

At worst, Buck is dying beneath him and there’s not a damn thing Eddie can do, not until the shooter is dead or gone. All Eddie can do is pray. Pray and hope like hell that God has forgiven him for his incomplete confession.

Another spray of gunfire echoes through the arena. It’s nearly impossible to identify where it’s coming from, but Eddie’s got a vague idea based on the direction people seem to be running in.

Buck takes a ragged, watery breath.

For the first time in his life, Eddie hopes he’s crying. He draws back, just far enough to look Buck in his eyes. His eyes, which are clouded over in pain but free from tears.

Fuck, fucking goddamn it.

Eddie presses his cheek against Buck’s.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay?” he whispers. “You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Buck’s chest.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. “I just need you to hold on,” he begs.

A single shot rings out, and nearby, something falls to the ground with a dull thump.

“Suspect is down!” someone shouts. “We’re clear for EMS.”

Eddie carefully extricates his hand from behind Buck’s head. “Hear that? We’re so close, Buck.” He brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, then sits up and raises his hand in the air. “Over here!” he shouts. “I’ve got a penetrating chest wound that needs to be on the first ambo out of here!”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he fights to stay conscious.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says.

With his free hand and his teeth, he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt to wad up and press into Buck’s wound.  The skin there is ragged and torn, almost certainly an exit wound. Eddie curses.

“I need EMS now!” Eddie roars, not tearing his eyes away from Buck for even a second.

“I’m coming to you!” someone calls back.

Buck’s eyes slip shut.

“No!” Eddie commands, rubbing his knuckles across Buck’s sternum. “You’re staying right here with me, you got it?”

Buck groans weakly. His eyes flick back open.

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie babbles. “Just keep—c’mon, Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

Buck’s lips part. “Hurt,” he breathes.

“I know,” Eddie says desperately, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

A pained sound falls from Buck’s lips. He lifts one of his hands just high enough to ghost his fingers along the ruined hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Behind him, Eddie hears a gurney roll to a stop.

“Here!”

Eddie turns and find a young woman, no more than twenty years old, wearing a polo that declares her part of a private ambulance service. He doubts she’d weigh even a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

Buck’s eyes widen. He makes a strangled sound. “Hurt,” he coughs out again, fingers scrambling uselessly against the concrete floor of the arena.

“They’re gonna give you the good stuff at the hospital,” Eddie reassures. He lets go of Buck’s wound and pulls him into a seated position, then rolls him awkwardly onto his back. “I got you,” he says as he stands.

Eddie staggers beneath Buck’s weight but manages to get him down three rows worth of steps and onto the gurney without the young EMT’s help.

“We’re staged just outside the north entrance,” she says as she begins to push Buck toward a set of doors.

Eddie nods sharply. “He’s got a perforating chest wound, probable pulmonary laceration, and a history of pulmonary embolism. Allergic to naproxen,” he rattles off as he pushes the gurney alongside her.

“Um, okay, that’s—are you a doctor or something?” she asks.

“Firefighter,” Eddie corrects. “We both are.”

The closer they get to the exit, the harder Eddie has to work to keep pace with the EMT. He must be coming down hard as the adrenaline fades. A few spots cloud the corners of his visions. He blinks them away.

The doors to the outside fling open, revealing two paramedics from the 136.

“Diaz, is that you?” one of them asks.

The best Eddie can do is nod.

“Shit, and that’s—”

Eddie’s ears start to ring.

“Diaz, were you shot?”

No, he tries to say. One of the paramedics grabs him under the shoulders, and the other pushes his t-shirt up until—

Oh.

Huh.

He has been shot.

The paramedic in front of him is saying something, but Eddie can’t quite understand it. Over his shoulder, the EMT looks blurry and horrified.

The spots in his vision return with a vengeance, and in his last few moments of lucidity, it occurs to Eddie that the bullet in his abdomen is probably the same one that ripped through Buck’s chest.

Then, the world fades to black, and Eddie thinks nothing at all.  

[orangetintedglasses]

Yeah. You too.

Said softly, easily, like that look hadn't meant... so much. Like it hadn't been obvious what that pause had been; like it hadn't made Vash's heart legitimately stop for a moment before he managed to smooth everything out and shut it down. What he offered the undertaker, instead, were waves of warmth; of trust and concern in equal parts.

Not here. N-not here, not in this place.

They had a job to do, still. Two, technically. So Vash shook the rush of nerves out from his forearms and tucked those thoughts away; following suit out the door until he didn't and hung a right down the hall. Disappearing entirely-- even the sound of his boots on the floor as he rounded the corner were swallowed up by the stagnancy of the facility faster than they should've been.

Much as Vash doesn't want to leave his companion, they have to do it this way. This is the best chance they have at finishing this job without any more unnecessary bloodshed.

So, once again, the facility was deathly silent, minus the hum of machines and electricity. No screaming, no gunfire, no rapid footsteps approaching... the air had even gone still. If anyone had run because of the radio show, they'd taken off in an entirely different direction-- and it didn't look like they'd come back for any of their buddies, either. The most recent victim was still slumped over in a heap in the middle of the walkway when Wolfwood exited the office.

!!!

One of the cameras blinked at the undertaker; letting out a single, shrill beep as it whipped around to face him. It almost sounded like a question... of which Ashton probably had a baker's dozen of by now--

Wolfwood scoffs lightly as he watches where Vash's eyes fall. He may have an estranged relationship with his body, but at least he's got assets. Almost human. Almost his own body, but sometimes it doesn't feel like it is. Vash likes it though, he assumes, so that makes it feel more... concrete. Self-assured.

Yes, you're human. Yes, you look older than you are. But you're Nicholas D. Wolfwood all the same.

There are bad days. Of course there are. But there's just something about Vash that makes him feel less like a feral beast or a weapon; somehow that blond optimist has cracked him open and made him real. Made him human. All those years training himself not to be, and then here's this one guy to come and ruin it all. It fills him with a strange sort of warmth that he can't put a name to, not really. Even if he did call it love, it's not good enough, and that's embarrassing.

When Vash's fingers grasp his sleeve, Wolfwood reaches forward to take his hand. He accidentally gives Vash a vulnerable, sparkly sort of gaze—far too soft for his own good. His thumb rubs the back of Vash's hand in a soothing circular motion.

I'll try my best. Promise.

Turning around, Wolfwood peeks outside through the slits in the door, checking for any activity. He feels like he's forgetting something. Something important.

Moments before setting his hand on the doorknob, Wolfwood freezes and turns from the shoulders up to look back at Vash.

Vash, I...

Wait, he has to rephrase that.

Good luck.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello,could I ask for Carlton Lassiter 36. “He broke into my home”

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gaydragonwitch @walkinthefairygarden @shadyhologrambanana @lostinwonderland314

Companion piece to:

No Right - Carlton gets himself busted back down to patrol for defending you.

Wait It Out - Carlton think he may be more invested than you are.

Carlton has a problem with your ex Joe. He always has.

He doesn’t understand the type of man that tells his wife he doesn’t love her while she’s buck naked, fresh from the shower. He doesn’t understand the type of man that fucks her beforehand.

One last roll in the hay, Joe told you as he broke your heart into a million pieces, taking his golf bag and the pre-packed rolling suitcase with him.

It’s the deliberateness of it that riles Carlton, the cruelty of it.

You’d left L.A after that, chasing lighthouses you’d called it and run right into him. You’ve been together for a while now and until this afternoon he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you in his life.

The worst part is that he got busted back down to patrol for you, for sticking up for you. Trout’s been treating you like a glorified secretary because your ex is his golfing buddy and you’re expected to sit there and take it.

It frustrates him because you’re a good detective, one of the best he’s worked with and you’re talents are being wasted.

And that’s what led to the fight…

He’d offered to talk to your ex and you’d told him the other man had no idea that Carlton even existed. It had been a blow, a harsh one because to him that means your ex is back on the scene, that the two of you have a dialogue and Carlton, he just didn’t see that coming. He thought he was an important part of your life up until this point but now, now he sees the truth.

He was just a distraction.

He’s getting out of the shower when his phone rings. He sees your name on the screen and despite the fact he’s heartbroken he still picks up the phone. When it comes to you he always will.

“Bunny.” He says softly and that’s when he hears it, the shouting in the background, the sound of things smashing.

“Joe’s here.” You say, there’s a tremor in your voice that he’s never heard before and Carlton, he’s already pulling his clothes on. “He was in my house when I got home, helping himself to my expensive coffee. I told him about us and he’s not taking it well.”

“Are you somewhere safe?” Carlton asks as he slips into his holster, the guns tucking neatly against him like an old friend.

“I’m outside waiting for the PD to turn up.” You tell him and he pictures you standing there under the street lamp outside your house, unprotected, still in the hot zone of that man’s anger. “I thought it was best if I stay out of his way while he’s losing his shit.”

“Bunny.” Carlton says calmingly as he snatches up his keys from the coffee table. “Go to the neighbours and lock the door. I’m on my way.”

Love Carlton? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

[aphomic]

Dopie is Ozy's lil meow meow now I don't make the rules here

Doppie tagging behind Ozy's back bc the crowd has suddenly grown larger and he's now anxious

[bamfwizard]

"SOMEBODY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND"

my brother in Satan, you are walking out of a burning building, looking absolutely heartbroken, and there is a Queen song blasting

and that man is your BEST. FRIEND.?

[herearedragons]

tag the oc that's most likely to get stuck in a time loop and what kind of time loop it would be

[leliwardens]

My impression on Veilguard so far a few hours in and what I've been reading is summed up to they have done well with taking into account concrit from Inquisition and correcting it/doing better in some aspects, but they have also very much over-corrected in other aspects. I will wait to see when I get to what people have been talking about, but I see the cracks already in the first few hours of play as a longterm fan.

[whatsfourteenupto]

So was anyone gonna tell me that when Ten was regenerating he didn’t just go back and see ‘his’ companions? He went back and looked in on every companion I’m fucking crying

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Celegorm should not be held responsible for Lúthien’s kidnap. He was forced by Tolkien’s Catholic ideal of monogamy; Curufin was the original perpetrator and, despite lord of the rings later requiring Celebrimbor as Curufin’s son and banishing the prospect of him loving Lúthien, he remains so in spirit. #freeTyelko

[livesincerely]

this pounding in my heart just won’t die - ch. 1

Rated E. Also on ao3. Companion fic here

00000

It starts as a pretty typical shift, which, honestly, should’ve been his first warning.

They’re responding to a fire at an upscale health and fertility clinic. The sprinkler system’s already taken care of any flames but that hadn’t stopped the people inside from trampling over each other in their hurry to evacuate; he doesn’t envy Chim, Hen, or Eddie at all, watching the three of them struggle to wrangle a crowd of hysterical pregnant people and their partners into some semblance of order.

Which leaves Buck to do a final sweep of the building for any stragglers. 

He’s checking the storage area tucked in the back when he opens a door and is hit with a face full of some kind of… mist?

It's sticky and cloying—almost like a perfume, maybe, but with a bitter edge—and his eyes start tearing up immediately, sinuses stinging. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his uniform, and that seems to help some, but he’s definitely gonna need a shower and a change of clothes when they get back to the station.

“Buckley to Cap,” he calls over the radio. “We’re all clear inside.”

“Copy that,” Bobby responds. “Meet back out front, we’ll regroup.”

He’s chatting with Munroe from Squad 4 when things suddenly shift.

Buck staggers on the spot, hot and hazy with it, something sharp tingling behind his teeth. His vision is swirling, his mouth painfully dry.

He blinks once, then twice, then swallows hard.

“—okay? Your whole face has gone red, man.”

“I’m—“ Buck tries. When the fuck did it so hot? “It’s—“

“Do you need to sit down?” Munroe asks, reaching out to steady him. “I can help you over to the curb—“

Buck bats the hand away, bristling at the contact. “No, no, I’m good—“

A growl cuts through the air behind him, fierce and furious. Munroe startles, his eyes wide, but it’s like Buck’s entire spine softens, tension seeping away as if it was never there.

He’s certain before he even turns. “Eddie.”

“What’s wrong?” Eddie demands, and his hands land on Buck’s shoulders, then shift up to cradle his jaw, his eyes darting over every inch of his face. “Why do you— What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says, relaxing into his hold. There’s something about Eddie’s touch that soothes a part of him that he didn’t know needed soothing. “I got dizzy for, like, two seconds but—“

He stops to take a breath, and that’s when Eddie’s scent washes over him—and by washes over him, he really means that it nearly takes him out at the fucking knees.  

It’s warm and rich, decadent even, like the darkest of dark chocolate with just a hint of something spicy underneath. It’s mouthwatering, it’s addicting, and Buck leans closer, desperate for more.

“You smell really good,” Buck informs him—just in case Eddie didn’t know, because he’s helpful like that. He rubs his cheek against Eddie’s neck, then nuzzles against his jaw, the rough edge of his stubble prickling deliciously against his skin. “Like, really fucking good.”

Eddie makes a noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a groan and his arms curl around Buck’s waist, strong and secure. 

“I smell good?” he asks, incredulous. “I smell— Buck, I can smell you from clear across the lot.”

“No, you can’t,” Buck disagrees, looping his own arms over Eddie’s shoulders to hold himself up. His body feels like taffy: soft and pliable, sticky and sweet. “‘M on suppressants. My scent’s all…” 

He drags the tip of his nose along Eddie’s hairline, then presses his mouth to his temple, breathing him in. 

“Subtle. Muted. Though, there was a study a few years back that found that prolonged suppressant use can sometimes lead to this weird phenomenon where the user starts to spontaneously smell like coconut, but to be honest, their sample size and diversity left a lot to be desired—“

“No, Buck,” Eddie interrupts in a sandpaper-rough voice.  “I can definitely smell you”

“Oh.” Buck considers this for a moment. There’s a thought—an explanation—tickling right at the edge of his consciousness, but it slips through his fingers like dust on the wind. “Do I smell good?”

Eddie makes another one of those noises—low and throaty and a little pained. 

“Chim!” he calls over his shoulder, his arms tightening ever so slightly around Buck’s waist. “Chim, I need you over here!”

“Eddie,” Buck wheedles, curling closer. “You didn’t answer me.” A horrible thought occurs to him, and his voice wobbles just a bit when he asks, “I don’t smell bad, do I?”

“Trágame, tierra,” Eddie mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “No, querido, you don’t smell bad. You smell like…”

Eddie pauses a second too long. Buck pulls back to look at him, a little afraid of what he’ll find.

But Eddie’s eyes are dark and hooded, those beautiful brown eyes smoldering like embers. His nostrils flare as he takes in another deep inhale, and his gaze turns heated, turns hungry.

Buck’s breath hitches in his throat.

“What’s going on?” Chim interrupts before Buck gets his answer, Hen just a few steps behind. “Who’s… Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Buckaroo,” Hen says, her ‘calming a patient’ voice. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Buck insists, a little annoyed. “It’s nothing—“

“He’s going into heat,” Eddie interjects, his voice tight.

“What?” Buck rears back, confused. “No, I’m not.”

Hen and Chimney exchange a loaded glance. 

“Yes, Buck,” Eddie says, and there’s a fresh tension around his eyes, in the clench of his jaw, that Buck doesn’t know what to make of. “You are.”

Buck scoffs. “I think I’d know if I were going into heat.”

“Yeah,” Eddie rumbles, still watching him with those dark, intense eyes. The corner of his mouth pulls up into something that could be a smile, except it’s just a little too sharp around the edges. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“But—“ Buck wets his lips, brow furrowed. It’s a struggle to focus on anything besides the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. “But, I’m on suppressants.”

Eddie arches an eyebrow. Then he slides his hand up Buck’s spine, cups it around the nape of his neck, and squeezes gently.

Heat sears through him like a solar flare, overwhelming and inescapable. A wrecked little whimper forces its way past his teeth and he sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut, his legs refusing to support his weight.

Eddie’s the only thing keeping him upright, pulling him in until he’s flush against him, cradling him tight and keeping him anchored inside his body. Buck clings to him desperately—presses in as close as he can and then presses closer—flames licking at every inch of his skin. 

He wants to curl up against Eddie’s chest and settle there for the next infinity, wants to tuck his head under his chin and press his mouth to his throat and drown in the spiced-chocolate-warmth of him. Maybe Eddie would let him, maybe he’d understand if Buck can explain how badly he needs it, how much he wants it—

He wants—

“Oh,” Buck hears himself say. His voice feels distant, distorted—like it’s coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “I’m going into heat.”

“Whoa, hey, hey,” Eddie says firmly, shifting his grip around until they can meet each other’s eyes. “Stay with me, Buck. Slow, deep breaths.”

“I’m trying,” Buck gasps, his fingers tight in the fabric of Eddie’s uniform. “It’s so hot.”

“I know, cariño, I’ve got you,” Eddie assures him. “You’re doing great. Let’s find somewhere to sit down, okay?”

“O-okay.”

With Eddie’s help, Buck manages to stagger over to the firetruck and collapse against the gripped steps. Chimney gives him maybe half a second to recover, then he’s pressing two fingers to his neck and shining a flashlight in his eyes, his expression pinched with concern.

“Onset is too rapid to be anything natural,” he says, peering down at him. “He was fine at the top of shift—even a stress heat would take a few days to ramp up.”

“It’s a fertility clinic,” Hen points out grimly. “What are the odds they had inducers on-site?”

“Oh, is that what that was?” Buck mutters to himself, dazed.

There’s a moment of silence, then they both start talking at once.

“—aerosolized during the fire—“

“—inhaled them while clearing the building—“

“—no telling how much he was dosed with—“

“We need to get him somewhere safe,” Bobby says, arriving out of nowhere to take charge of the scene. “Get him home—“

But Hen shakes her head. “The inducers are burning through him too quickly,” she says. “He can’t just hunker down at home by himself, his heart could give out. We should take him to the hospital, they can sedate him and flush his system.”

“That shit’s gonna knock him on his ass,” Chim disagrees. “His hormones will be out of whack for months afterwards. It’d be better in the long run if he could work through things with a partner. An alpha, ideally,” Chim clarifies.

Alpha, Buck’s hindbrain whispers, and he’s reaching for Eddie again before he realizes what he’s doing. He pulls him in until he’s standing right between Buck’s knees, curling his fingers through Eddie’s belt loops and pressing his face to his stomach, keening softly.

Eddie lets out a low, rumbling noise, that cocoa-rich scent spiking sharply. Buck nuzzles closer with a sigh, his head swimming with need. 

Around them, the others are still talking, crowded in a makeshift half-circle around them. 

“—know, but I can call Maddie?” Chim’s offering. “She might have a better idea.”

Buck groans. “Oh my god, please do not call Maddie.”

“We won’t call her unless we have to,” Bobby assures him. “But we need to make a decision before this gets out of hand. Now, I know you don’t want to go to the ER, but unless you’ve got an alpha you trust to see you through this, we don’t have much of a choice—“

“Then it's a good thing he does,” Eddie calmly interrupts.

And everything stops. 

 “…What?” Buck croaks.

“I said, it’s a good thing you have an alpha to see you through this,” Eddie reiterates, not that it makes any more sense the second time.

Buck’s lungs seize in his chest, his stomach swooping uncertainly.

“…I do?” 

“Yeah, Buck. You do,” Eddie says, his voice soft and impossibly fond. His fingers sweep across Buck’s forehead, then begin to card gently through his hair. “You’ve always got me. But, only if you’re okay with letting me help you.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he can even think about stopping them. 

“Of course I am,” he blurts, because of course he fucking is. “But…”

“But…?” Eddie prompts patiently.

Buck flounders for a way to point out the obvious. 

“I just— I mean— You don’t have to,” he eventually manages to piece together. “Just because you’re my best friend and an alpha— “My alpha, his instincts purr. “—doesn’t mean you’re, like, obligated to volunteer or—“

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Eddie says, holding a finger to Buck’s lips to quiet him. 

Buck’s mouth shuts with a soft click. 

“I’m not feeling obligated, Buck,” he continues, emphasizing the word like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, “I’m offering because I want to.”

“Yeah, but not because you’re actually interested,” Buck insists, though he’s growing more unsure by the second. “Or, well, no, I guess I probably smell good or whatever, so I know you’re like, biologically interested, but you don’t really want to. You’re just being nice… right?” 

Eddie goes very still. Then he reaches out and—calmly, deliberately—takes Buck’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his head up until their eyes catch and lock, pulled together like some kind of inevitability.

It’s so incredibly, unexpectedly sexy that Buck feels himself flush, feels his cock twitch and his thighs slick, pinned like a bird beneath Eddie’s gaze.

He doesn’t dare look away. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Eddie says, in a quiet, husky voice that’s meant for Buck’s ears alone. “Nothing about you and I has ever been an obligation, Buck. And there’s nothing just nice about the things I want to do to you. Not now, and probably not ever, if we’re being honest. So, if I’m offering to help you through your heat, it’s because I want to. Because I want you. Do you understand me?”

Buck can only nod, utterly speechless.

Eddie studies his expression for a long moment, then continues: “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’m gonna ask you again. Will you let me take care of you?”

“Please,” Buck breathes. “Eds, please.”

Eddie’s thumb grazes gently over his cheek, then slips lower to rest against the swell of his lower lip. “Will you let me take you home?”

He wants to ask one more time, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to whisper, Are you sure? Please tell me you’re sure, that you’re absolutely certain you won’t regret this.

That you won’t regret me.

But Buck’s only human. And he wants. so. badly.

“Yes,” he says.

Eddie soothes a hand down his spine, then tugs him close, brushing a kiss against the center of his forehead. Buck shivers and surrenders.

“Hey, guys?” Eddie says louder, and there’s a strength in his voice that feels like a promise. “I think we’re gonna need a ride.”

[n1ghtwarden]

she won the idgaf war in the shadowfell

[grapecaseschoices]

*squints*

th ... that's it?

if you dont choose to free him you get NO conversation? NONE of the companions approach the Inquisitor about it? They dont say anything when you click them?

[optiwashere]

What does Ashreera and Shadowheart like about each other respectively? Fluff qn :)

Heya anon! I really enjoyed writing the answer to this one 💜

Because I'm me, this got kinda long-winded. All of this is stuff that's in the fics. The fluffy fics show the domestic side of things, but It Is the Wound She Gave Me and Like I Am Safe Again are the linchpins to their relationship. The Gauntlet/Nightsong fic that I'm chipping away at will be equally as important!

But I like typing about my babies soooooooo!

Shadowheart finds Asheera's bad jokes and obvious flirting endearing. Asheera's also pretty forward without disrespecting her boundaries, and Shadowheart loves that. In-game Asheera challenges her without trodding on firm "no" areas, and that's a huge show of respect. Shadowheart's low level of self-esteem gets big validation from someone like Asheera.

Even when Asheera is being a Paladin-ass Paladin™ she is always leaving room in their relationship for Shadowheart to have agency over what to share, who to be, and things like the events in the Gauntlet/Shadowfell. That's not something you get as a Sharran, and from someone that's dedicated to redeeming monsters and creating change in the world... I mean, the themes are right there!

Asheera finds Shadowheart's love of animals very telling of the kind of person she is. Asheera thinks someone who is as willing to say, "I'd rather not talk about this" as Shadowheart has a firm command of what she wants. Even if she needs nudges to know it's OK to express her desires and needs as well as what she doesn't want. The slim difference is actually huge.

Even when Shadowheart is potentially on the road to becoming a Dark Justiciar, and therefore someone that Asheera must kill, she is taking these things for herself that she deserves. Asheera might hate the choice that Shadowheart could make, but it's Shadowheart's choice. Shadowheart spares Aylin for whatever her reasons are (crisis of faith + wanting to know the memories and past that Aylin can give her) but Asheera sees it as someone that's finally embracing the fact that she is a person and she deserves to choose. When Shadowheart turns to Asheera and asks, "what should I do?" Asheera says nothing. She just nods. Shadowheart chooses for herself from that point onward.

As for in a love sense and not just a general "companionship" sense?

Shadowheart loves that Asheera isn't complicated in her love. There's nothing for her to hide with Asheera. She's tired of darkness. Asheera embraces her faults and all the things she's done as a Sharran without any hate in her heart. Though Asheera is a paladin of Redemption, she also doesn't treat Shadowheart as a project to fix. Shadowheart is just Shadowheart, and that makes it easy for her to love Asheera. She likes that no matter how she's feeling, no matter the kind of day she's had, Asheera is there for her. In anger, in joy, and in darkness.

Asheera loves Shadowheart's strength and perseverance, and the fact that she can pick herself up after something that would destroy most people. That she's extremely capable, but also that she's strong enough to share her moments of vulnerability or uncertainty. That she cares so much more than she lets on. That Shadowheart knows she can trust Asheera with anything, and that after a certain point she does.

Love is something that changes shape, especially in long-term romantic relationships. Sometimes the changes are good, though.

[vosquitransitis]

baldurs gate 3 is greatttt. really cool. dnd for people who dont gave enough friends to play dnd with.

[ettadunham]

okay, i was riding pretty high at what i assumed was the end of act 2, but that emperor fight is absolutely bullshit

[vampirebiter]

finished bg3. really good really fun.